Seventeenth Day (and the last rabbit story)

Oh who knows any more.  Gotta love a black feather wreath, don't you?

Takes some nerve (and lots of birds!)  Call PETA.

Today's money went to the New England Quilt Museum, mostly as a thanks for continuing to show my stuff!  Actually right now they are having the 'Masters' exhibit so it may be worth a visit- check the website for when it ends, I'm totally out of touch.  But if you do get there, after you see the exhibit, you simply must hike two blocks over to the Whistler House Museum and see their newly acquired Archile Gorky paintings.   Here he is: looking every inch the dramatic and tragic Armenian artist!

and an example of his work-  this one is named something about a liver and a cock's comb, but I'll get it wrong I'm sure.  Actually this is not in the Whistler collection.  Call first to see what is on display.  I  l*o*v*e Gorky!

I don't have any more rabbit stories today so go watch Jimmy Stewart in 'Harvey' if you need one.  Or buy this from Dutch by Design.

 Happy Rabbit Hunting!  Remember to shoot photos, not bullets.  Oh dear.  That does make me remember my first rabbit story, sorry-  you might want to wander off instead of reading further.

Here goes:  My dad was a hunter and fisherman having grown up in the Colorado Rockies in the '20s and '30s.  In fact one of his favorite memories was having his dad drop him and his slightly older brother off in the mountains with just their rifles.  He was about 10 and his brother 12.  This amazes me, but things were different then and the idea was that they would be self sufficient and fend for themselves at an early age.  Days later his dad would pick them up-  they learned quickly how to make shelter, find food and prepare it, and occasionally they would have enough to bring home too.  So, my dad thought this a good practice for his kids but my over protective mother would not hear of dropping her kids off in the wilds of northern Ontario where we could hear bears, wolves, and other mysterious things right outside our cabin.  Thank you mom!

But he did teach us to shoot.  We would hike down the logging road a few miles and set up some cans or other junk we would find and shoot for hours.  On the way back one day a rabbit happened across the road a bit ahead of us and away we went shooting at it.  One of us hit it and the poor animal let out a hideous scream.  We couldn't find it after looking a long time, and it is a guilt I have harbored all these years.  My brother had his own rifle at 10, I refused mine and have never regretted it.  (Except that I always enjoyed target shooting.) OK, now you know why I have a rabbit-thing.  I am trying to make up with the whole species, and Amelia and Lily, that carnivorous pair, were my karmic pay back.