My brother was about eleven years old when he and his friend from the farm about two miles over stumbled into an opportunity to get free rabbits. Even as a nine-year-old, I was surprised when Mom and Dad said it would be all right
What on earth do we need with a rabbit?
It was obtained for sheer curiosity and to achieve the status that an eleven year old achieves by owning a rabbit. There really was nothing more to it than that and of course, it easily satisfied those childhood goals.
He built a 4′ X 6′ pen out of chicken wire with Dad’s help. The sides of the pen were about four feet high. It didn’t really have a gate – just a corner where the fence could be easily twisted away from the 2″ X 4′ so that we could give the bunny fresh veggies from the garden and keep its water pan full. We felt bad that it had to be in a pen most of the time so we played with it a lot.
When his friend came to visit throughout that summer, he brought his matching rabbit and the two of them would spend the afternoon just playing with the rabbits which, of course, became quite tame as a result.
With winter coming on, along about September or October, Dad explained that the rabbit would have to be turned loose well before hard freeze-up so that it could figure out how to fend for itself by the time winter settled in.
The day came, too soon, when the stakes that supported the pen were simply lifted out of the ground, the nails that had held the thing together were pulled, the bit of fencing rolled up and returned to its storage space, and the 2″ X 4’s put back in the lumber pile. And now Stinky the rabbit sits there on the ground under the clothesline, wondering at freedom.
The Boy has taken my walls away, the rabbit thinks. What is to keep me in place now?
So Stinky hops – tentatively – first this way and then that. Wondering if, as during the months of summer,the boy will suddenly come running to scoop him up to keep him from going too far from the pen, holding him close and stroking his pure white fur from ears to cotton tail, murmuring small rebukes about running away and then returning him to the safety of the pen.
But – no.The Boy doesn’t come. He’s sitting over there on the step just watching, which is a bafflement to the Bunny. But he has already discovered he likes freedom so he continues his exploratory hopping.
By the time the afternoon has passed and the sun is sinking in the west, Stinky the Bunny is beyond the fence line at the edge of the barnyard, just near the grain bin – and when he looks back toward the house he realizes that The Boy is nowhere in sight.
Stinky found plenty to nibble on during his several hours of independent living so he’s comfortable as dusk descends, although a little disoriented at not having his little fence around him.
He slowly finds his way back to the familiar spot under the clothesline and hunkers down there for the night, not too far from the sidewalk, in the familiar flat spot in the grass still bearing the marks of his former living room and kitchen.
The night passes normally for him, and when the sun comes up – here comes The Boy! Excitedly he picks Stinky up and scratches his ears, giving him a big carrot from the root cellar and spending some time playing with him before setting him back down in the middle of his still fence-less world. Then The Boy goes off to chores or school and Day 1 of a new pattern is in place.
Stinky spends his days exploring this vast new world, never finding the edges. The Boy is always there in the morning with a great big carrot, some ear scratches and some back rubs, removing the occasional burrs that got caught in the tail. In the evening Stinky finds his way back to some familiar area to spend the night although, with the passage of time, he learns that the dropping temperatures make the wide open spot under the clothesline less attractive. Once he discovers the hay stacks, he is seen in the yard less often in the evening or early morning.
So from the time he was about five months old Stinky had the run of the entire western hemisphere for all practical purposes. Imagine our delight as pre-teens on a twelve hundred acre prairie farm when, one day in the middle of the following summer, our Dad called to us and said, “I think your rabbit’s back!”
Across the yard – there by the west end of the granary, near the chopping block where the chickens lose their heads – there is a great big white rabbit. Sitting there quietly looking across the open space.
My brother went to the root cellar and got a couple of big carrots. Is it Stinky? If it is, will he tolerate an approach after all this time on his own?
Dad and Mom and I stayed by the house while my brother moved slowly across the yard. He had about seventy five yards to cover to get to where the rabbit sat. Except for a couple of small nervous feints, the rabbit held its ground and allowed him to approach with the orange offerings.
Yup. It was Stinky.
When he realized he was still welcome and carrots were still served – a genteel reunion followed. No effort was made to pick him up. Just a bit of scratching of the now great big ears. A respectful rubdown of the fur on his back. After all, he had been out in the world on his own for almost a year and had earned the respect due an experienced rabbit.
Stinky showed up in the yard off and on for several years, although the visits became fewer and farther between and finally were no more. His willingness to have a close approach lessened over time but he always behaved in a way that suggested it was a visit back home to the old stomping ground. He always accepted a carrot, even though eventually we had to lay them on the ground near him and he would move in and eat them only after we moved away again.

The fact that he continued to acknowledge that he knew us was rather nice.

Stinky the Rabbit was a good friend. He was an honorable bunny.