Big George was our Easter Bunny
Big George wasn’t the Easter Bunny.
But Big George didn’t know that.
He was a black-and-white rabbit who lived in a homemade hutch out by our garage in Highland.
My brothers raised lots of rabbits. Most of them were little white rabbits, cute as could be. They were about half the size of Big George and about half as fluffy. I was allowed to feed them only rabbit pellets. Only in the cage. That’s because I took a rabbit out once and placed it gently on the grass. Before I knew it, the little furball was high-tailing it halfway to Trenton. It took three brothers, a bike and a couple of neighbor kids to wear out the bunny so we could catch it.
Big George was different.
Big George was content to lie around in his cage all day. When I showed up, the other rabbits would get nervous and head to the far end of the cage. But Big George wouldn’t wiggle a whisker. Usually his eyes were closed and he was off in bunny dreamland.
While most of his body was limp as a dishrag, sometimes his paws would be going to town, fluttering in midair. Pop told me he was dreaming about running free through the fields, playing with other bunnies and swiping juicy hunks of lettuce from gardens.
I thought about that for a while. I decided it was a shame for Big George to be cooped up. So I plotted to bust him out.
Early one morning, I opened Big George’s cage, gave him a couple of carrot pieces for energy and tried to lift him.
My brothers could grab him by the scruff of the neck and lift him right out. But not me. I had to get both arms under him and lift with all my might. Even then, I could get him up only if he really wanted to be gotten up. That day, he didn’t.
Finally, I wrestled Big George to the ground. I put a couple lettuce leaves in a line through the yard, showing Big George the path to freedom, through Mrs. Spencer’s garden.
Big George wasn’t interested. He just sat and sniffed.
I went inside and left him sitting there for a long time. When I came back out, Big George was lying on his side, snoozing. Legs kicking. Dreaming about running free.
Pop came along and put Big George back in his hutch.
I confessed.
Pop told me Big George was happy being with us because we cared for him so much, fed him, cleaned his cage, he had other rabbits to talk to and he didn’t have to worry about dogs or other animals trying to eat him.
A lot of the same reasons I liked it at home.
After that, I tried to make Big George’s life even better.
I took Big George out a lot. Not to set him free but to let him feel the grass on his tummy and scratch him behind the ears. I lay next to him and talked to him about stuff. Mostly baseball. I showed him a baseball card I had of Walter “Rabbit” Maranville, who played shortstop for the Boston Braves way back when.
He sniffed Rabbit Maranville. I sniffed Rabbit Maranville.
Once, my sister played dress-up with Big George. We made him a little SuperBunny cape and tried to put a little hat on him that had holes cut out for his ears. Big George didn’t want any part of it. It was the only time I saw him hop away fast.
I tried to take him for a ride on my bike, with a blanket in the basket. But I was afraid he might bounce out. So we fixed up a box in the wagon. I pulled him all over 12th Street, introducing him to the neighbors. Big George seemed happy to see the USA in his Chevrolet — as long as he didn’t have to do any of the work.
Once, we set up a racetrack in the backyard. There was a starting box and two lanes drawn in chalk. At the finish, there were two rags-on-sticks flags with a ribbon stretched between them. We invited all the neighbor kids to the Race of the Century. I wanted to charge a nickel. Mom said no way. We put Amos, my box turtle who lived in the basement, in one lane and plopped Big George in the other. I was pulling for Big George.
BANG! I fired my Kit Carson cap gun into the air. And they were off.
Actually, they weren’t. The cheering scared Amos so much, he went into his shell. George turned and hopped in the wrong direction. We declared Amos the winner because he was closer to the finish line.
I smuggled Big George up to my room once. He left little presents on my bedspread. That was the end of that.
Easter was Big George’s big day. Every Easter, we’d get all dressed up and get our pictures taken in the grass with Big George and our Easter baskets. Big George would get to stay out while we hunted eggs all around him. Pop said Big George knew where all of them were because Big George got up early and hid them.
I think Pop was kidding.
But you never know.
This story was originally published March 26, 2016 at 5:50 AM with the headline "Big George was our Easter Bunny."