Sitting at home tonight, watching the Sport Relief version of Dragons Den, the evening was progressing well. I’d had a bath to ache my limbs from the game of tennis and walk I enjoyed today. Julie was dozing nicely.
Cue a knock at the door at 9.30. My mate Jonathon stood on the doorstep, smiling, with a pick up truck full of wild rabbit he’d just shot. When I say, just shot, I mean about 20 minutes ago. It was impressive stuff. Before all the animal welfare activists get excited about murdered bunnies (not that they read this blog, I’m sure) it’s a job that has to be done to keep the population under control and the benefit to them is they can sell them too at the farm shop.
Anyway, as promised he delivered super fresh wild rabbit from the blue hills of West Yorkshire – apparently this was a small catch by his usual standards.
Although I was game (sorry) to skin the critter, Jon offered and who was I to turn him down. ‘Like taking off a pair of pyjamas’ he said. Yes, the same pyjamas Carrie wore on her prom night when she was drenched in blood, I thought. Anyway he made short work of Roger, claiming it was a tricky one, and promptly asked me if I had an axe.
This, by the way, was happening on my driveway in full view of the neighbours. It was truly a suburban gore fest and I hope it put them right off their ready meals.
Into the garage next – which I’d just tidied up by the way – for an impromptu butchery session with the bluntest axe in the world (sorry Dad, I promised I’d keep up to it). Jon made short work of the de-pyjama’d rabbit and hey presto it started looking a lot like something you’d see in a butchers and not running around in a field.
With a flourish, he hacked off the rest of the furry bits including the head and drew out the remaining internal stuff having already gutted them in the field. We stood around talking about bee