Raising Rabbits

It was a different world back then. Living under the specter of war, of fear and uncertainty, Americans found themselves tested. Patriotism was a way of whistling in the dark, of finding safety, even tranquility, in those terrible times.

Service and sacrifice. Everyone had to pull his weight, do his share, carry the load. This single-mindedness was an expression of a nation's determination, a people's will to carry on, to triumph!

But in some—those with weak personalities—it revealed a tic, a kink, a hiccup of the mind. Such is the case with our warbunny here.

A psychological type like him would be stamped 4-F. But he serves in other ways. Namely, in volunteering himself and all his fellow Leporine-Americans. (As John Milton didn't say, "They also serve who only serve themselves. For dinner.") If condemning generations of his rabbit relations to the cooking pot—and then jumping in after them—can give a shot in the arm to the folks on the home front, well then, he'd call that a small price.

Of course, he is insane.

The pencil in his hand suggests that he is the architect of the deluxe rabbit hutches pictured on the brochure. "Yes, sirree! Why, with my keen plans, you can easily raise 15 of us hoppers in one Liberty Hutch, right there in your back yard! Ain't America grand?"

What can we say of someone who devotes himself so cheerfully to the destruction of his brothers? Can we ever be truly free with creatures like this in our midst?

(Image source.)







Sartorial notes: 1. While we appreciate the Uncle Sam hat, we find the ear placement unfeasible at best. 2. The straps across the rabbit's chest make us anxious.