The hand-raised cottontail dumped at the Brighton millpond last year following Easter is looking fit as she forages in the northern areas of the park. I happened to catch up with her while she was chatting with another rabbit, probably a male she’s dating now that it’s spring. She hollered,
EB: “Move along, Buster. There’s nothing to see here.”
Me: “You can talk?”
EB: “Only at Easter when magic kicks in.”
EB: “Yeah. I can’t explain now. I’ve got to pick up my suit at the cleaners, fill more baskets, and shred a whole lotta cellophane.”
Me: “You’re the Easter Bunny? The official Easter Bunny?” As I was looking at the buttons on my camera to get another shot, I felt her rummaging through my pockets.
Me: “What are you looking for?”
EB: “A red cabbage. Do you have one? They make a great sky blue dye for eggs.”
She ran off looking frazzled after I told her I didn’t have a red cabbage on me. I didn’t have time to ask her questions I had. For one, I thought the Easter Bunny was a buck instead of a doe.