When the Porch Light's On. . .Stories of People, Popcorn, and Parasails - Don Ph.D. Newbury PhD

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Raider/Aggie was asked (actually, it was more of a plea) if he would judge the rabbit competition as well. Swelling with confidence, he responded, “Of course I will.” (Keep in mind that he had never judged rabbits or even seen it done….)

      “Are they fryers or breeding rabbits?” the young man asked, his response implying that he knew something about one or the other. The director answered, “Fryers,” and the response seemed to relieve the deputized judge greatly. He gave the impression that he could judge fryers with an eye closed. Breeding rabbits? Not so sure. (Decades later, he admitted that whichever competition awaited—fryers or breeders—THAT would have been his area of expertise.)

      Dick later admitted that he simply didn’t have the heart to confess that all he knew about rabbits was that they had floppy ears, pink eyes, and twitchy noses--the same facts known by pre-schoolers whose parents read to them at bedtime.…(This admission came, however, many years later when rabbit ribbons were faded. We “formerly unsteady freshmen” are now unsteady in other ways. Many have grandchildren showing animals in competition, and—surprise, surprise—are studying in “co-ed” agriculture and home economics classes! From what I understand, not many students choose rabbits for show animals today, either….)

      BACK TO THE contest. The judge went straight to the rabbit tent, where a bunch of wide-eyed freshmen had their entries lined up, steadying them with their hands around the rabbits’ rumps that rested on rickety pedestals. He walked up and down, carefully eyeing each entry, much the way he would look at calves. Calves, though, were led around the ring, so they could be viewed from every angle. Dare he ask the kids to lead their rabbits around the ring? He thought not.

      Realizing that “fryers” meant that the rabbits were raised for frying pans, the judge figured most of the meat would be found in the rear areas. He couldn’t see those parts; that’s where the youngsters were holding them down. Then, he had an idea! “Reverse the rabbits!” he ordered. (Dick swore later he had never heard the Reagan Brown chicken-turner story. He said this was the only way he knew to examine the “meaty” parts.)

      The kids stared at each other in disbelief! They had practiced showing their rabbits, but had never heard such a request. They would have been no more surprised if the judge had ordered them to drop their pants! (High school freshmen, in those days, did exactly what teachers asked. If he had told them to start their engines, they would have looked for engines to start.) Tediously and slowly, they turned their animals’ “rumps outward,” trying, as best they could, to steady their bunnies by holding on to their front legs. The rabbits fidgeted, not accustomed to being in such poses. (I laughed at the “what if” thought of having an entry. Mine would likely have wound up sideways! My buck and doe, as you’ll soon see, had nothing to show for their efforts.)

      SENSING THEIR DISCOMFORT, the judge realized that with just a few word strokes, he had painted himself into the smallest of corners. What to do? He did what seemed most logical, given the rabbits’ new positions. He methodically felt the rump of each rabbit, humming softly as he made pencil notes. He determined which rabbits were “rumpiest” and awarded ribbons accordingly. No eyebrows were raised, not even one. The kids just figured this was a new rabbit-judging technique, introduced and perfected at one of those great universities—perhaps researched at all three--and was just now making its way to our part of the country.…

      NOW, I RETURN to my sad agricultural efforts. Though “rabbit-turning,” like “chicken-turning,” is funny at the very thought, my efforts to raise rabbits in the high school 4-H club weren’t funny and weren’t successful. As my teacher suggested, I bought a full-grown buck and doe and built my own rabbit hutch, using apple boxes and some used chicken wire. I whistled while I worked, thinking in single dimension: keeping the rabbits INSIDE the hutch. I gave no thought to hutch predators from the OUTSIDE. I use the word “hutch” as often as I can, because every time I said “cage” around Mr. Wheeler, he corrected me. (Critical error number one: Use half-inch hail screen, not two-inch chicken wire, for the cage. No one was that specific about how to build the hutch.)

      Sure enough, in a few weeks, I was more than excited to find eight wiggly bunnies when I went to feed one morning. I couldn’t wait to tell the teacher of my good fortune. Dollar signs filled my mind. After all, I only had four dollars invested in the pair of rabbits who were capable of producing many, many more litters. I was told I might get two dollars each for the bunnies on a Saturday morning from kids playing on the lawn at the county courthouse square.

      These thoughts lasted only a few hours. I was counting rabbits too soon after they’d “hatched.” Imagine my horror after school that day when I opened the hutch to feed the rabbits, and the babies—every last one of them—were missing! I told my sad story to all who would listen. My teacher asked what kind of wire I had used. “Should have used one-half inch hail wire,” he sighed. “My guess is that a cat was able to get its paw through the chicken wire.” (How weird, I thought, but then reckoned, from a cat’s point of view, this was easier than chasing mice. Sort of like catching fish in a rain barrel.)

      It made sense--we had a cat—we called her our “mouser.” We noticed that she seemed quite content just to lie around the next couple of days, like out-of-shape old men in front of the television after Christmas dinner.…I guess she was also our “rabbiter.…” (Critical error number two: When you don’t know how to build a rabbit hutch, ask--don’t just guess. As Dad said, “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” Unless, as he admitted later, there was the convenience of chicken wire laying around, but hail screen would have to be bought.…In such a reflective work as this, it seems important to work in a “my dad always said” line. But, it has always seemed to me that such quotes usually are first uttered by famous people, with dads across the ages later latching on to them as their very own.)

      THANKFULLY, HOPE SPRINGS eternal in freshmen. My hope? There was still time in the freshman year for one more litter…Time seemed an ally. Near year’s end, my doe presented me with ten baby bunnies. Again, dollar signs floated in my head. Hey, it was near Easter; no telling what the bunnies would bring at the feed store, in a pen right next to the colored chicks! Why, youngsters would choose rabbits about every time. I shared my excitement with my teacher. He congratulated me.

      Hours later, he took the congratulations back. At evening’s feed time, I was below crest-fallen. The doe, perhaps seeing the cat peering through the new hail screen, probably panicked. It appeared she chose to eat the litter before the cat had a chance to do so! My teacher, ever compassionate, told me that sometimes when screwy things happen to the first litter, the doe becomes “mentally warped,” and she does strange things to the second litter.… (Critical error number three: When time is of the essence and final grades are close by, always ask the teacher, “Is there anything else I need to watch out for?” I would gladly have stood guard over both litters, by night and by day, if I had even suspected such a dreadful thing might happen.)

      Guess what? I made a “B” in agriculture. (I told you the teacher was compassionate.) He also loved funny stories, and didn’t we decide the true ones are funniest? The teacher told me he was not going to grade me down for not increasing the rabbit count. But, he warned me to be sure to take care of the buck and doe. (Following the second litter, the doe seemed to have zero interest in having a third bunch of bunnies….)

      HOW GRATEFUL I was! A “B” is just short of an “A,” and plenty “okay” in my book of school life. I was grateful for the chance to prove my worth by really taking care of the old rabbits. I “smooshed” their

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