The Orphaned Rabbit.
Earlier this week I encountered Peter, munching on a pot of petunias in my garden. I watched him for a long time, wondering if he was one of the Rabbitowitz's kids - he seemed a bit ruddier than Mrs. R's offspring, although it was possible his coloring was simply a fluke of the gene pool.
"What's your name?" I asked quietly.
The rabbit stopped grazing, albeit still ruminating the blossoms in his exceptionally sweet little mouth, he starred ahead as if he were thinking. Of course that's what rabbits do when they're discovered. They pretend to be invisible, ready to spring upon any sudden movement from the potential predator standing above them.
"I know what you're doing there Peter - but I'm not going to hurt you or try to catch you - you are safe here." Trying gently to encourage him to stay and even speak to me.
Surprised, the bunny turned to me, still chewing his salad, and asked incredulously, "How did you know my name?" Suspiciously adding, "Why would you ask my name if you knew it already?"
I laughed realizing he was too young to understand that people always call bunnies Peter before they get to know them, because of the Peter Rabbit tales. I didn't want him to know I was just being facetiously polite and really did not know his name, so I explained, "It was just a good guess! Now little fella, I suppose your last name has to be Rabbitowitz then?"
He looked at me quizzically, his ears bending every which way, apparently spelling the name back to himself ... 'R' .. 'a' .. 'b-b' .. 'i' .. 't'? ......'o'?!" He stopped suddenly, stood on his haunches and proudly declared, "Oh no sir - I'm Pieter Rabbinsky! My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great=great-great grandfather was the famous Russian composer Igor Rabbinsky!"
Little Pieter abruptly turned and hopped away in a huff.
"Another Russian rabbit?" I thought to myself.
Taken from "L'histoire du Lapin Russie"