Communication is key in marriage. Case in point. My neighbor was a great guy. Older. Former Marine. Hard of hearing. His wife is a wonderful woman. Also hard of hearing. One day she was at work while he was at home working on the lawn. Under the bush on the front lawn he discovered six or seven baby rabbits.

He called me over to look at them. He lifted up a patch of earth with his shovel and I saw them, all shivering and cuddled together. Tiny little things. Cute on steroids.

At that moment his wife calls just to check in so I head back to my lawn. He tells her about the rabbits under the bush. And she freaks.

“There are rats under the bush?” she asked, horrified.

“Yeah, a bunch of them? They’re so ador…”

“Rats?!!!!!!!” she screams.

“Yeah baby rabbits!”

“Rats?!!!!!!!”

“Yeah, honey. Under the bush.”

She then informs him that he must kill them all. Now. He hesitates, his moral center revolting against this seemingly evil order from the woman he loved more than anyone.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Honey, if you don’t kill them they’ll be everywhere. They’ll be in our house and all over the neighborhood.”

“But they’re so cute,” he responded.

“The rats?” she questioned, wondering what kind of man she married. Had he been a secret rodent aficionado all these years? Someone who adored filth and vermin?

He hesitated but she pleaded with him to kill them immediately. It was then his turn to wonder about the kind of woman he married. But he relented because he knew that agreeing with his wife was the safer course of action and typically led to a more peaceful existence. He thought maybe she knew something about rabbits he didn’t. He thus agreed to slaughter the innocent puffy creatures that God had lovingly created and placed under his bush.

His wife hung up the phone and got back to work while her husband went to the tool shed to decide which tool would make the massacre of the rabbits the most painless. He decided that the big shovel would do the trick and feeling the weight of this momentous moment he turned towards the bush and approached it solemnly.

As his wife replayed their conversation back in her head she began questioning if she’d understood him correctly. It hit her all of a sudden that she might have made a terrible mistake, perhaps a lethal one. She lifted the phone just as her husband pulled back the earth that shielded the doomed rabbits. He raised the shovel. His muscles tensed as he poised to deliver death unto the the innocent puffballs. And then his phone rang.

“Did you say rats?” she asked, just making sure.

“Yeah, rabbits,” he said.

Then she insisted he spell it. He did. And in that way the Conttontail Massacre was avoided.

We laughed over that story many times. He passed away recently. I really liked him. He had a story for everything and everyone. I’ll miss him. And yes, there are still rabbits all over the neighborhood. He took credit for that. Every time I see one I think of him.