This morning I said to Her Outdoors that we had pate for lunch, but were short of a main meal for the day. (I was thinking chicken, but the butchers are pricey and the supermarket's closed - it being a Sunday and this being a country that still plays by the Old Rules.)
She said: 'Rabbit?'
Remember when I stood in the woods a couple of years ago wondering where I was going to find all the wood for the yurt platforms? It's a bit like that - down in the Orchard/Chicken Run we have (other than chickens) ten rabbits approaching the right size for the table - one male definitely heavier than the rest - and the boys have recently started fighting, despite spending all day in a run with fresh grass under their feet.
Armed with a small, sharp (boning) knife, I went down to the not-supermarket, wondering if my headache was related to what I did yesterday evening with friends, or what I was about to do with the rabbit. (I'm still in the early stages of killing, and rabbits are especially fluffy. The last two were despatched by my friend Paul.)
I talked to the rabbits, asked them if they were still fighting, nearly backed out of the whole thing, then picked out the one who had selected himself by virtue of his size. I had a little difficulty holding him by the back legs, during which time I dropped him on the ground. Immediately, in my mind, he became a threat to our veggie patch and a potential pest that had to be dealt with (all without moving a muscle), which is what happened next. I then skinned and gutted him (this I've only done one and a half times before, although I've seen it done two and a half times - I didn't do a bad job, but will research videos on youtube for technique and will post any excellent ones I find), and brought him back for dinner.
Which is what's going to happen next. (Nothing too flash - you can use any chicken recipe for rabbit - I'm going to do a casserole - it could be the last one this winter... The weather's just about to turn very, very warm.)