Rabbits are okay. They’re cute and furry. I don’t have a garden so I don’t worry about them eating my vegetables. But I don’t love rabbits. Well, at least I don’t love rabbits anymore.

See, back in the 1970s I read Watership Down. Then I read the book referenced in Watership Down: The Private Life of the Rabbit ((Actually a pretty good read.)). Then I visited Watership Down (along with Stonehenge and Oxford) when I visited England the following summer.

So, my sudden fascination with rabbits caught the attention of folks who cared about me and for a few years I was given rabbits as gifts.

I’ve kept a few —

This is not a rabbit, but it has rabbits on it. Jeremy found the bit of white rock (it could have been from the White Cliffs of Dover as we visited those that trip too. It has interesting indentations that suggest it is a fossil of some sort) and painted Watership Down on the side along with a couple of rabbits..

Then there is the green soapstone rabbit. I don’t remember where this came from, but I am pretty sure it was a gift.

I’m pretty sure I bought this one for myself. At least it looks like a rabbit.

Finally, I must have really liked the rabbits snuggling in bed, because I bought (or someone bought me) another rabbit from that line of pottery.

When Dean first came to my apartment shortly after we met, I had all of these figurines (and more) sitting around. He must have really liked me to look past the bunnies everywhere and decide I was worth keeping.

These guys are going back into the knee-wall from where they’ve stayed for the past decade or so. Although, I kind of like the green one. Maybe he can stay out for a while.