“I’m walking here. Why the hell don’t you look where you’re going eh? What are you blind-oh”

Rabbit looked the squinting mole full in the face, lowered his voice and suddenly felt very guilty. “So… I’m sorry. But you really think you ought to be out this time of day? I mean…you’re a creature of the night right? You can cause a lot of damage crashing around like-yeah? Yeah? You too. You too….you…you creep”

Rabbit returned the offending gesture at the retreating mole, turned his back, closed his eyes and began to count to ten under his breath “….eight, nine, ten…” .

He took a short breath in and blew a long one out just like he’d been taught. A moment. Rabbit opened one eye, paused, then smiled. It had worked. Rabbit’s missing karma had been restored. The red mist had lifted, his pulse had steadied and he could hear his pounding heart no more. No blood had been spilt and he was feeling really good. He hadn’t felt the need to pop a pill and he hadn’t coloured up, well, maybe just a little. In short, he was doing just fine. The cost of the anger management sessions had been a good investment and hadn’t, as his friends insisted, been squandered. Mrs Rabbit had been right all along. Talk-don’t balk. Think it.-don’t drink it. This time last year and Mister Moly there would have walked off with a fir cone stuck firmly up his ass. How Rabbit had changed. Or not, as the case may be.

Rabbit was pleased with himself. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his ears, put the last few distressing minutes behind him and moved on down the pathway feeling ten years younger. He laughed at his exaggeration. OK, so maybe five years younger.

Rabbit always came this way. Apart from it being a lot quicker it had the added bonus of being much more peaceful than the long way round. For this reason it was good for him health wise. Sure it was a minor workout as far as workouts go but anything that took the stiffness out of his hind legs and made him feel this alert had to be good. However, the realisation that once, not that long ago, he would have hopped down this path in half the time it took him now, cut deep, but, the truth had to be faced up to. Rabbit was no bunny anymore. Time and boisterous living had taken their toll but hey…what the hell, no regrets.

In truth, the path that he walked now could have been worse had it not been worn down over the years by a procession of stupid sheep, who had lived and frolicked in the field opposite. Now, thanks to their aimless meanderings, a hole in the fence and the fact that they never seemed to know whether they were coming or going, (even when they were off on a one way trip to the abattoir), the once rough ground had been reduced to the texture of a well sprung dance floor. The idiot sheep had also eaten the hedgerow, reducing what was once a excellent habitat for an extensive selection of Mother Nature’s finest, down to a narrow strip that now was only capable of supporting those creatures that crawled or slid. Still, on the plus side Rabbit had plenty of elbow room and a relatively clear passage in which to move, which was the way he liked it. Smooth underfoot with just enough width to avoid snagging the threads. This, as far as country walks went, was the best.

Comfortable and leisurely, with healthy thrown into the bargain as an after thought. Rabbit could take in the scenery, breathe in the country air and smoke his cigar without interruption and all in superb comfort. What more could a buck want? Especially at his time of life.

He could, if he should so wish, easily find a spot to take a nap. But not today. He looked up at the sun and quickened his pace. No nap. No time. He was a very late rabbit and yes…there was no-one to blame but himself….but…so what? If anyone deserved to take life a little easy and have fun then it was him. He’d worked hard most all his life producing and raising numerous offspring and now, this was his time. Time to do what the hell he liked. He smiled, looked down at his smouldering cigar and laughed at how simple it was to slip back into the old ways. He shivered with pleasure, blew out a smoke ring and cast his mind back a few hours. OK…so for a couple of enjoyable moments he’d dropped his guard and got lazy. Big deal. His only crime was to relax a little. He knew that he’d spent far too much time at the old turnstile showing his woolly tail to the lady rabbits…but who cares? No-one died, and everybody got to enjoy themselves. He could vouch for that.

The smile that was in danger of splitting Rabbit’s head in half faded quickly as he wandered into a sudden and stinging hailstorm. The words, ‘Global warming my ass’ had barely left his lips when he realised that the hail was not hail at all. The hail was bird shit.

Rabbit looked up into the trees and frowned. He’d been so busy feeling pleased with himself that he hadn’t been aware of the horrendous eardrum-bursting row that was taking place just above his head.

It was obvious that even if he had found the time to nap, sleep would have been damn near impossible what with the screeching and excreta that came raining down from on high. Rabbit covered his ears and his head and returned the fire…

’You call this bird song? What is it with you feather brains these days? Tweet fucking tweet. That’s all I ever hear. What’s happened to the dawn chorus eh? I’ll tell you what’s happened to the dawn chorus shall I ? You can’t get up in the mornings that’s what’s happened to the dawn chorus. You’re too damn lazy to raise your feathered asses. You can’t be bothered to sing in the morning so you’ve replace it with the all day fucking chorus? You…you make me sick. You’re a disgrace. you should be…shot. In fact…’

Rabbit put his anger management training to one side and pulled out his pistol, waved it wildly at the tree where he figured most of the noise was coming from and let fly a couple of loose rounds. Bam! Bam! If the desired effect was to shock the birds into silence then it didn’t work. It just served to get them more excited. And more excitement meant more bird shit. A furious Rabbit slipped another magazine into his handgun and prepared to let loose again. He hesitated, took his paw off the trigger and smiled to himself. ‘What the hell was he doing? Put the gun away idiot. Those days are over’. Rabbit chuckled. He was getting old. No patience anymore. He knew better than this and more than that, he knew birds. He knew what they were like. He’d forgotten that it wasn’t really their fault. He remembered his father’s words…’Birds is almost as dumb as fish and fish are the dumbest of the dumb…’. Dad, as usual, was right. It was obvious. With birds brains (hence the expression), being roughly the same size as their eyeballs what could you expect? The feathered lunk-heads just couldn’t help it.

If whistling through their teeth and shitting on anything that stood still for more than one second was what gave them pleasure then who was Rabbit to think he could end it for them? And anyway…what else did they have in their miserable lives? Worms. That was about it. Worms. Worms and berries. Worms and berries and grubs. And bugs. Worms and berries and grubs and bugs. Rabbit nodded his head in sympathy. Let’s face it, that’s enough to make anyone go crazy. If Rabbit had to eat that crap everyday of his life then he’d be up a tree whistling at the top of his voice. Probably lay eggs too. What with that and the price of ammunition these days, it was hardly worth the effort. He’d be out of danger in a second or two anyway. Rabbit laughed to himself, cursed his short temper, spat on the soft ground and shouted upwards…‘Hey….hey fellahs, do me one favour eh? Clean this shit up…’?

The answer came quickly as Rabbit side-stepped a yellow glutinous substance that dropped from the sky and squished on the path in front of him. As Rabbit made to avoid the foul smelling gloop, he took a deep breath and shouted once more up into the big blue yonder… ’That ain’t no way to treat the Landlord boys…big mistake’.

As the cacophony of bird screech suddenly reduced to a nervous ‘tweet’ , Rabbit made a mental note to increase the rents on the trees that he’d inherited all those years ago from his wise and forward-looking father. Revenge was sweet. Revenge was ‘tweet’.

Rabbit had planned to get to the river bank by early afternoon but owing to the episode at the turnstile that was now looking highly unlikely. He had hoped to maybe bully a duck into taking him across the raging torrent or, if things got too desperate in terms of time, attempt to hijack a swan, but that, the swan thing, was the last resort. He’d tried that once before a long time ago and had learnt the hard way.

Swans were bad news and very intemperate creatures. Rabbit grimaced at the painful memory and its consequences. Unfortunately, that past encounter had cost him his two front teeth, which was a blow, because as everybody knows, rabbits are famous for their front teeth and anything less than two looks stupid. However, on the plus side, (Rabbit always lived his life on the basis that there were two sides to every problem, a down side and an up side), a lesson had been learnt and now he knew better. Agonising as that whole violent episode had been, he’d taken onboard a valuable lesson concerning the rights and wrongs of swan-abuse, of which he now knew, there were two main points.

Point One; Don’t do it, not unless you really have to. Swans are a definite no-go area. They’re big-boned heavy creatures with, (and this goes for every feathered animal. See above), a very small space in their heads for a brain. Because of this, they are not to be messed with, unless you’re heavily armed and have an abundance of confidence.

Point Two. Be prepared. Which, of course, Rabbit was. Always. He patted his shoulder holster and smiled a toothless smile. It wasn’t that Rabbit was scared of swans, in fact he was ready, willing and more than a little able, anytime, anywhere, to take a swan out should the occasion arise. Rabbit had no problem with swan-wasting, in fact he felt strongly that it should be declared a national sport. No, what Rabbit was as far as swans were concerned, was wary…extremely wary, and although Rabbit himself would be the first to admit that his wariness may more often than not border on the overcautious, if you knew swans like Rabbit knew swans, it was no bad thing. To wrap it up neatly, swans gave him the creeps.

His past experience he had to admit, had left its mark in the form of the heebie-jeebies, loose bowel movements and a deep, deep, dislike of large white flying objects. Rabbit had declared publicly and on many occasions that swans should be made into hats. The one that had removed his front teeth, was.

Rabbit sighed, whatever his eventual mode of transport, he’d have to kick butt to get to the big oak tree on time. Meetings, meetings, meetings. How Rabbit hated meetings.

Especially the kind of meetings that were called by overblown, self-important Pixies. And didn’t Rabbit hate Pixies too. On Rabbit’s list of personal dislikes swans may have come first but there was no doubt in his mind who ran a close second…Pixies. Rabbit snorted, wondered about his blood pressure and revised his ratings. It was a dead heat. Swans and Pixies. He hated them both in equal measures.

Pixies, as everyone who isn’t one knows, are failed Fairies. They’re spiteful little shits who are eternally bitter and twisted over one simple fact of life. Fairies have wings and they don’t. And boy does that hurt. Of course, Pixies conveniently choose to forget the fact that they came out the pot well ahead of their ugly relations the Gnomes, who really do have something to complain about. How the Pixies would have handled the Gnomes curse of a short and worthless life as the ultimate model for garden and water features is anybody’s guess. Actually that’s not true. We know exactly how the Pixies would have handled it. With a lot of active foot stamping and holding of the breath, that’s how. However, more than that, the main bug-bear for Pixies was the terrible reality that they can’t leave terra firma, that they can’t hover like their hated cousins the Fairies. Pixies are not happy woodland folk and it shows.

Of course if it ever became possible that for just one moment in time they could forget their petty jealousies and see that every downside has an upside (like Rabbit), then they would note that what they, (the Pixies), lose in gracefulness and the ability to float motionless in the dew-filled air, they gain in their outstanding organisational skills and the ability to get things done. What the Pixies have is the ability to move things along. Pixies are the Stewards of the Woods. What they lack in the gossamer wing department they gain in the ability to keep the forest ticking over. Much as Rabbit hated to admit…the forest needed the Pixies. Without the miserable, whinging, po-faced little shits all would be lost.

Need a place to hibernate? Ask the Housing Pixie. He or she can put a spindly finger on every vacant log, every empty hole in the ground or every hollowed out tree within a days travel from your present home. Want somewhere to store your nuts? Go see the Food and Nutritional Pixie. No problem. By the time winter comes around your nuts will be as fresh as the day you stole them from your next door neighbour. Rabbit sighed in disgust. There’s no doubt about it. As far as organisation goes, there ain’t no-one to beat the Pixies.

In fact, give Rabbit a Pixie over a Fairy every time. While the Fairy makes for great decoration and are extremely attractive to have around the place in terms of good vibes. They spend so much time preening and admiring their own reflections in the forest pools and ponds, that you’d be forgiven for wondering just exactly what they’re for. Once, on one long juniper berry wine fuelled evening, Rabbit and his pals came to the conclusion that Fairies were like wind chimes. Only good in certain circumstances.

Rabbit sighed and muttered under his breath as he stubbed out his cigar on the back of a passing tortoise. ‘Immigrant’ .

The river wasn’t as high as he thought it might be. Maybe he could wade? Naw…why the hell should he get his feet wet for some Pixie, he’d wait. It wouldn’t be too long before some feathered fruitcake with the IQ of a floating log came sailing along. What Rabbit needed was a duck and he shouldn’t have to wait too long. This was the mating season, sex-crazed Mallards were all over the place. The river was full of these guys trying to have sex with anything that moved. No-one, inanimate objects included, was safe. Find the right duck and with luck Rabbit should find it a simple task to hop aboard without it even noticing, so full would its single brain cell be with the urge to fuck. Rabbit sucked his gums and thought over the disadvantages. How d’ya make a sex-crazed duck stop where you want it to. You could end up anywhere. Rabbit needed to think. He scratched his head, leant back on the trunk of an old yew tree and looked up into the blue sky.

Life was good. Rabbit had no complaints, (OK…so maybe one or two) but if anyone had told him a few years ago that he would make ‘The Creatures with Fur Official Representative’, he’d have laughed. Huh. If his dad could see him now. A silver tear squeezed itself from the corner of his eye, attempted to run down his cheek but thankfully, at the last moment, pulled itself together and aborted the attempt. If he could see his dad? What the hell was he talking about? He could…he could see his dad, anytime he wanted. No problem.

All he had to do was take a night trip down to the Human’s glove and boot shop that was situated on the edge of the town and look through the illuminated window. He’d see his dad all right. Hanging there like a pair of gloves. Like a pair of gloves? What was Rabbit thinking? His dad was a pair of gloves for Lab-rat’s sake.

Rabbit was ashamed. His father had been in the window for over six months. Winter had come and gone with its varied selection of snow, wind, rain and hail and still no-one had purchased him. Oh the embarrassment of it all. The slur on the family name. What was wrong with his dad’s coat that no-one wanted him…even for a pair of gloves? It wasn’t as though it was too warm for gloves. Listen, the temperature had dropped so low this year that the Troll who lived under the rickety bridge had quit and gone home to spend more time with his family. That had never happened before. That’s how cold it was. That’s how cold it was and his father couldn’t even make it as a pair of gloves. Rabbit wasn’t so sure he believed anymore. All that guff about living on. All that bullshit about the afterlife and the glory of taking on another form. His dad didn’t look so glorious. Huh. Blasphemy. Who cares?

The sun was starting to fall from the sky and Rabbit was getting a little edgy. For all his rebelliousness late was not good. There’d be a vote and he wouldn’t be there and that’s something else that had never happened before. The Rabbit missing a vote? Perish the thought. Rabbit knew some who’d be pleased about it and that gave him grief. He sneered. He could see the perfectly formed Artimus X smiling sweetly and declaring in that Tinkerbell voice of his, that he,…’hoped nothing drastic…like a trap….or poison bait, or even a hungry woodland creature…etcetera etcetera… had happened upon Rabbit to make him miss this important vote’. Rabbit laughed aloud. Artimus X had hated him since the day Rabbit had insulted the Head Fairy by calling him a.. ‘a fruit of the forest’. X had never forgiven him for the insult. Rabbit laughed again, belched and realised that he didn’t give a shit. Life was too short. So he missed a vote…what we gonna do, put the forest on Red Alert? Rabbit brought down a passing dragonfly with a spitball and wondered about his punishment. What could they do to him? Get the Top Pixie to shake the bell on top of his hat at him? Sprinkle him with fairy dust? Rabbit made a decision.

The meeting was off. This had been a good day in Rabbit’s busy calendar and it wasn’t over yet. Rabbit didn’t get enough days like this. There were too many responsibilities in his life. This day, he would enjoy while he could and to the full. There was still a little sunshine to come and the meeting…well the meeting could go run. There’d be other meetings, unfortunately. Rabbit lay back, checked his pulse and grimaced as a short sharp pain shot across his chest. He paused and waited for the discomfort to fade away like it always did. Rabbit smiled, reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a long thin cheroot. Today, he do things his way. He’d smoke the cheroot, take a nap, and then go back the same way he’d come…and this time… this time…he’d spend a little longer at the old turnstile.