The Big-Time Bunny Run

By Tiber

Well, here we are again, approaching Easter and what’s known around here as the Big-Time Bunny Run. 

Dad really gets into this, partly because, though Mom can’t keep him away from Cook’s desserts the rest of the year, she has made him promise to limit his candy intake to holidays only. 

And the Big-Time Bunny Run is one candy event.

Dad always told us he knew the Easter Bunny (or “E. B.,” as he calls him) personally and was one of his top ambassadors. That was why he knew all of the “E.B. rules.” First and foremost was the one stating, “any candy not found by the children on Easter morning reverts to the Dad.”

With this kind of pressure on the five of us kids, our path would look something like that of a plague of locusts, if your own personal locusts averaged 50 lbs. each and could lift furniture.

So, of course, “E.B. ” came up with harder and harder to find hiding places for the candy.

Dad would often end up saying things like, “Oh, what a shame. You guys didn’t see the bunny’s stash up here on the chandelier. Well, as per the rules, I guess it’s mine now. Go get me the ladder, Duncan.”

I remember there was another stash we missed locating because it had been buried outside under the hedgerow. Dad didn’t get this one either, though. Some woodland creature had dug up and carried off the contents before we were even up.

Annoyed, Dad yelled out into the forest, “That’s just going to make you sick, you know!”

Mom responded that the only sound she heard was that of animals totally enjoying some candy that should have gone to the children in the first place but at least now, thank you very much, was not being enjoyed by Dad.

My sister, Erin, came along years after the rest of us, which is why we’ve always referred to her as “the surprise package.” Duncan’s always called her “The Unexpected,” making her sound like her own horror movie.

When it was her time for the Big-Time Bunny Run, even hunting alone, she was the most adept of all.

She’s a little psychic and maybe she can also just smell candy better at 20 paces but, in any event, E. B. had to become even more creative about finding effective hiding places for the chocolate.

Some of the candy no one has ever found.

In the distant future, someone will trip on a throw rug and end up finding what, in our day, was a chocolate rooster with a bow. By then, though, it will look as if one of us strangled some sort of one-eyed ghoul with a pink string and then hid the body under a floorboard.

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