2010
ECW Spring Conference Short Story Contest Winners
First Place: The Good Hare Day by
Sheryl Hartwell
Yawning as she woke, Harriet knew it was going to be one of those days, the kind where everything goes wrong. After all, it had been one of those nights. She'd dreamed she was the Easter Bunny, and laying all those eggs had been — very painful. Glancing down, she saw the matted and knotted white fur rumpling her usually smooth figure.
Definitely a bad hair day.
Then she saw the huge pile of eggs under her body. “No, not today!” she complained. Though she hated it, she really was the Easter Bunny one day each year. She had never found a way to keep the sun from rising on what always turned out to be a very jumpy day. But without her willingness to hop to it, every rabbit would have a bad
hare day — every day of the year.
Rabbits could stew in more than one way, and worrying brought Harriet’s anger to a boil. “Why me?” she asked herself for the umpteenth time. As usual, nobody answered.
Her husband had long ago left, saying she was unfaithful. All those eggs came from somewhere, Harvey claimed. Then he disappeared like an old movie, although rumors said he befriended some drunk human in town. His accusation had about as much point as an egg. If Harriet had ever strayed, she would remember. No use asking if the chicken or the egg came first — she knew there was no chicken involved. And she was a model mother in every other way.
Oh yes, the Easter Bunny was a mother.
Whoever spread the rumor that this job went to a male? Maybe the fat man in the red
suit, Harriet decided. But what man could juggle home and work the way she did? Or lay all those eggs?
Ow. That aspect of the job was sheer torture, all so there would be no rabbit stew on this special day. The humans would be too busy eating eggs.
People didn't know the real meaning of having egg on one's face. That first year when Harriet’s great-great-however-many-greats-grandmother had discovered herself capable of laying eggs to save her extended family from a stew loving bunch of villagers, she hadn't cooked the eggs long enough. Many a foolish adult, as well as the children, ate them — so runny yolks started a long running joke, in addition to a short bout of runs. But no rabbit had to run that day.
This day always kept Harriet running. At least she had plenty of room to move in her spacious burrow.
Well, size does matter, if you're laying thousands of eggs. But it’s not only about location. Amenities matter too.
She had found a large cavern with a natural spring at its center — heated, no less.
To soak my poor bottom. But I ought to soak my head for doing this impossible job.
Just when she wished she could lie down and die, she had tons of dying to do.
Long before sunrise, Harriet eased herself off the huge pile of eggs. Over the years, she had learned economy of movement
could move mountains. “Get cracking,” she told herself.
Not the best wording. But she was the perfect egg-picker, spotting eggs-actly the right egg to remove without causing a ton of white to come crashing down. Leave avalanches to winter hares, thumping their paws on mountainsides above unsuspecting skiers.
Humans, so naïve.
She got to work boiling the eggs in a number of hot-pots to which she added dyes. With such quantity, why not consolidate the cooking and coloring? Harriet was proud of all the bright dyes she’d gathered this year. All organic, of course. She twitched her nose.
Egg painting is so old-fashioned. No one can say this Easter Bunny doesn’t keep up with the times.
Harriet’s babies were staying overnight with Bunny, her oldest daughter. Without young ones underfoot, Harriet was also the perfect egg-timer. Mere hours later, a rainbow colored pile of ovals waited. This was where the children came in — to deliver and hide the treasures. What human could tell one white rabbit from another? Harriet smiled as hundreds of her little darlings hopped down the long tunnel into her chamber, empty baskets held in their mouths.
“Mom! You're so, so, colorful today,” said Bunny, always the diplomat. The teen wasn't anxious to inherit this job, however much prestige came along with the title — Easter Bunny, savior of all rabbit-kind — for a day.
Harriet glanced down at her fur, no longer even close to pure white. “Well, goes with the job. It will wear off in a few weeks. And what woman doesn't dye her hare once in a while?”
The children laughed. They loved knowing Mom's big secret. Only they could answer the question — who really hid the eggs? But they kept quiet, knowing the answer would spoil the hunt, a hunt for eggs, rather than themselves, this special morning.
Filling up their baskets, the youngsters had a hopping good time.
“Hurry along now. Dawn will soon break,” Harriet advised. She worried that one of her babies, as she still thought of them, would be too slow and get caught. But it hadn't happened yet. And she had to admit as she watched them hop up the tunnel — some of them were now old enough to have babies of their own.
Doesn’t Bunny look a little plump today?
Harriet lay down by the side of the pool to rest. After the fact, she always wondered how she accomplished such an amazing feat of fertility.
Now really, she reminded herself, isn't fertility a given, where rabbits are concerned? But it felt as if she’d pulled way too many rabbits out of a very old hat this morning.
Maybe it’s time to retire. She closed her eyes.
Sleep would be so wonderful, but Harriet had some planning to do. She wanted more than one day of rest from rabbit hunters out of every 365. Her children deserved better than ending up in a bowl of stew. There had to be another way to save rabbits from daily duty on the dinner table.
A faint sound came to her ears. They perked up. The rejuvenating sound of music came from above, and Harriet couldn't resist sneaking a peek. Bouncing up the tunnel, she came into the dawn light doing a little bunny hop — and found herself the center of attention. A small group of adult humans standing at the edge of a field were staring at her in astonishment. Children ran everywhere, hunting eggs, but none of them had caught sight of her yet.
Harriet froze as one of the adults, a female, pointed. “Look, could it be?”
“There's no such thing. Is there?” another asked, blinking.
Harriet’s ears funneled the music echoing from the depths of the cavern into the field. Then her ears swiveled and the music grew louder.
My ears are musically inclined, she realized.
“The perfect pair of rabbit-ears! No more adjusting antennas,” exclaimed a third human.
A bald man, top hat in hand, scratched his head. “Can you believe it? We've been eating rabbit stew all these years when we could have enjoyed clear reception.”
“Here, pretty bunny,” the first woman coaxed, pulling a bright orange tuber from a bag. She had come prepared. “I have a carrot. Come with me and you will never need to hide again. You'll have the pick of produce from my garden. And a nice warm bed on top of the radio.”
Harriet hesitated. Well, if I can keep my own rabbit-ears, receiving beats stewing any day.
Hopping into the woman's arms, Harriet felt gentle stroking along her back. Her aches and pains melted away.
Ah, whoever said rabbit’s feet were lucky? Munching on a carrot, she relaxed.
The bald man held out his hat, upside down. “I'll pay you good money to sell that hare.”
“I’m onto your old tricks. Find your own hare,” said the woman, glaring at his shiny pate.
Hopping mad, the man ran off to find a new hat-trick. Harriet hoped he’d find Harvey.
Like magic, adults spread out along with the children. Harriet wanted to remember for all her ears, however long — how humans hurried and hopped like mad-hatters, hunting for hares.
Seeing one of her own children hiding nearby, she signaled in long-ear. “Don't run. This is the first of many good hare days.” Adjusting her angle, she dangled the real carrot. “We’re starting a new business, music to everyone’s ears. The Easter Bunny is going into receivership.”
