DevonW
Well-known member
This was posted on a meat rabbit group and I just had to share it.
TO: Harold Kovach, Fair Manager
FROM: Jeremy Miller, Rabbit Department Superintendent
DATE: 8/12/93
RE: Public relations problems - rabbit exhibit
Per your request, here is my report on the recent negative incidents in our department. I will be relieved when the fair closes, these matters are settled, and I can return to the comparatively easy task of teaching physics and chemistry to teenagers.
The security office informed that, as of this morning, the squirting complaints number 143. All but three of these complaints involve the same animal, a 16 pound Flemish Giant buck owned by Harold Stevens of Millvale. The rabbit seems to have a twenty-gallon bladder. Though he denies it, I am convinced that Mr. Stevens was aware of this problem long before he brought the rabbit to the show. The animal's identification tattoo is LOOKOUT.
When I first learned of this animal's habit, I posted a sign on his cage which read: CAUTION - This rabbit is a squirter. Most of the people laughed, but heeded the warning. I believe that this rabbit does this deliberately because, when people began avoiding his cage, he put his front paws on the crossbar and stuck his nose between the uprights. Many fairgoers found this cute and ignored the sign. The rabbit relished the attention. He'd close his eyes, let them rub his head, and then suddenly jump in a circle and shower them from head to foot.
I tried to disarm the animal by limiting his water. This proved futile because the spectators felt sorry for him and refilled his water dish. One person filled it with Coca-Cola, causing a major case of Montezuma's Revenge. This necessitated changing the bedding in his cage about three times an hour.
The beast not only won Best Of Breed, but also Best In Show. Harold decorated the cage with the rabbit's ribbons and trophies which drew still more traffic to the area. People now lifted their toddlers to the cage and pushed wheel chairs alongside. Two SWAT team members visited the exhibit and openly admired the buck's accuracy.
I removed the ribbons and trophies and covered the cage with feed sacks. Indomitable human curiosity prevailed and the situation worsened. Every time nosy individuals bent over, peeled back the corner of a sack and peeked in, the eternal fountain erupted. In the two hours that the cage was covered, he scored fifteen for fifteen. Several exhibitors have nicknamed him "Old Facefull."
To regain control of the situation, I placed him in a cage in my office cubicle. (This should also explain the soiled condition of my reports and show records.) Everyone is happy except Harold Stevens; he threatens to picket us for hiding "the best rabbit ever raised." The ordeal has given me a deep sympathy for Elmer Fudd.
Yesterday, Madeline Baker stopped in. She is the lady who received the nasty bite after opening a cage and picking up one of the Netherland Dwarfs. Madeline and her attorney have graciously consented to negotiating an out-of-court settlement. Insisting that an Eskimo kiss cannot be considered provocation, the lawyer is tossing around
numbers in the $50,000.00 range. By the way, the doctor reports that a permanent scar is still a possibility. The bandage will be removed from Ms Baker's nose today. The offending rabbit died about six hours after the incident. Millie Sutter, the owner of the "attack rabbit" (Madeline's words) is contemplating a countersuit claiming that the rabbit was
poisoned from ingesting heavy makeup from Ms. Baker's nose. Necropsy reports are forthcoming.
Regarding the Pickens situation: This is another example of the proverbial "mountain from a molehill." It's a common joke at fairs to take eggs from the poultry exhibit and put them inside rabbit cages to bait gullible city dwellers. That's as far as it usually goes. Several of the exhibitors' kids were more creative this year. They collected several dozens of various types of eggs, matching them with different breeds: brown eggs with New Zealand Reds, goose eggs with Flemish Giants, speckled eggs with English Spots, and bantam eggs with the Netherland Dwarfs. They proudly displayed them with a sign: RABBIT EGGS - $3.00 A DOZEN.
Of course, I stepped in immediately and ended their entrepreneurship. They agreed to desist, but as I walked away, I heard, "Don't tell him we already sold five dozen." I put little stock in the remark and, so far as I knew, the incident was history.
When the weekend arrived, several breeders and I sat near the main aisle, engaged in lively discussion of the previous day's judging. A loud "Let go of me, you idiot!" interrupted us. A couple in their mid-thirties, Leonard and Sarah Pickens, stood in the doorway. Mr. Pickens
dragged his wife through the door. After a quick look around, he spied my superintendent's badge and pulled his wife toward me.
To the best of my memory, this conversation followed:
"You in charge here?"
"Yes, sir!"
"I hate to bother you, but will you please tell my wife that rabbits lay eggs?"
I replied, "I'm sorry, but they don't."
The woman reddened 'til I thought blood would spurt from her ears. Leonard released his wife's arm and dropped his head. All the breeders within earshot were desperately trying to maintain some sort of decorum during these tense moments.
Leonard's eyes never left the ground as he spoke. "I was here three days ago and saw rabbit eggs for sale." Our audience thinned as those with lesser control of their emotions made a hasty retreat.
"Sir," I replied with as much empathy as I could muster, "a group of exhibitors' kids were making a joke. I'm sorry if it caused problems."
Mrs. Pickens took over. "Don't feel sorry for him! The crazy fool has been telling everyone about those rabbit eggs." Jimmy Barnes, one of the exhibitors, began quaking violently and buried his face in a grooming towel. I bit my lower lip and closed my eyes trying to retain some decorum. Leonard nearly crumbled. "I can't show my face at work again," he mourned. "I bought five dozen and picked up an incubator to hatch 'em." I abandoned hope of self control. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I turned my back, whooping loudly enough to cause passersby to stop and gawk.
With that, Mrs. Pickens raised her clutch bag and smashed poor Leonard in the face. The pitiful man just stood there as she screamed, "See, confound it! I told you so!"
By now, there wasn't a straight face in barn. A raspy "haw-haw" rattled the barn as Jason Moreland, from Oakdale, hugged one of the support poles and gasped for air. Making no attempt to defend himself, Leonard began his retreat toward the door. Sarah followed close on his heels, swinging furiously. Leonard moved faster with each step. By the time they reached the door, both were in a dead run.
I glanced at the group of breeders that were sitting nearby. Sally Weinstock, cackling like she had just laid one of the eggs, threw her head back with such force that she tipped over her aluminum folding chair. She landed in Irene Thompson's lap. Irene ricocheted sideways and knocked over seven rabbit cages. Billy McNeal guffawed so violently that he choked. Edna, Billy's wife, jumped to slap him on the back. Her feet got tangled in the handle of a picnic cooler and she sat in the icy water. At that point, I feared losing continence and fled the scene.
TO: Harold Kovach, Fair Manager
FROM: Jeremy Miller, Rabbit Department Superintendent
DATE: 8/12/93
RE: Public relations problems - rabbit exhibit
Per your request, here is my report on the recent negative incidents in our department. I will be relieved when the fair closes, these matters are settled, and I can return to the comparatively easy task of teaching physics and chemistry to teenagers.
The security office informed that, as of this morning, the squirting complaints number 143. All but three of these complaints involve the same animal, a 16 pound Flemish Giant buck owned by Harold Stevens of Millvale. The rabbit seems to have a twenty-gallon bladder. Though he denies it, I am convinced that Mr. Stevens was aware of this problem long before he brought the rabbit to the show. The animal's identification tattoo is LOOKOUT.
When I first learned of this animal's habit, I posted a sign on his cage which read: CAUTION - This rabbit is a squirter. Most of the people laughed, but heeded the warning. I believe that this rabbit does this deliberately because, when people began avoiding his cage, he put his front paws on the crossbar and stuck his nose between the uprights. Many fairgoers found this cute and ignored the sign. The rabbit relished the attention. He'd close his eyes, let them rub his head, and then suddenly jump in a circle and shower them from head to foot.
I tried to disarm the animal by limiting his water. This proved futile because the spectators felt sorry for him and refilled his water dish. One person filled it with Coca-Cola, causing a major case of Montezuma's Revenge. This necessitated changing the bedding in his cage about three times an hour.
The beast not only won Best Of Breed, but also Best In Show. Harold decorated the cage with the rabbit's ribbons and trophies which drew still more traffic to the area. People now lifted their toddlers to the cage and pushed wheel chairs alongside. Two SWAT team members visited the exhibit and openly admired the buck's accuracy.
I removed the ribbons and trophies and covered the cage with feed sacks. Indomitable human curiosity prevailed and the situation worsened. Every time nosy individuals bent over, peeled back the corner of a sack and peeked in, the eternal fountain erupted. In the two hours that the cage was covered, he scored fifteen for fifteen. Several exhibitors have nicknamed him "Old Facefull."
To regain control of the situation, I placed him in a cage in my office cubicle. (This should also explain the soiled condition of my reports and show records.) Everyone is happy except Harold Stevens; he threatens to picket us for hiding "the best rabbit ever raised." The ordeal has given me a deep sympathy for Elmer Fudd.
Yesterday, Madeline Baker stopped in. She is the lady who received the nasty bite after opening a cage and picking up one of the Netherland Dwarfs. Madeline and her attorney have graciously consented to negotiating an out-of-court settlement. Insisting that an Eskimo kiss cannot be considered provocation, the lawyer is tossing around
numbers in the $50,000.00 range. By the way, the doctor reports that a permanent scar is still a possibility. The bandage will be removed from Ms Baker's nose today. The offending rabbit died about six hours after the incident. Millie Sutter, the owner of the "attack rabbit" (Madeline's words) is contemplating a countersuit claiming that the rabbit was
poisoned from ingesting heavy makeup from Ms. Baker's nose. Necropsy reports are forthcoming.
Regarding the Pickens situation: This is another example of the proverbial "mountain from a molehill." It's a common joke at fairs to take eggs from the poultry exhibit and put them inside rabbit cages to bait gullible city dwellers. That's as far as it usually goes. Several of the exhibitors' kids were more creative this year. They collected several dozens of various types of eggs, matching them with different breeds: brown eggs with New Zealand Reds, goose eggs with Flemish Giants, speckled eggs with English Spots, and bantam eggs with the Netherland Dwarfs. They proudly displayed them with a sign: RABBIT EGGS - $3.00 A DOZEN.
Of course, I stepped in immediately and ended their entrepreneurship. They agreed to desist, but as I walked away, I heard, "Don't tell him we already sold five dozen." I put little stock in the remark and, so far as I knew, the incident was history.
When the weekend arrived, several breeders and I sat near the main aisle, engaged in lively discussion of the previous day's judging. A loud "Let go of me, you idiot!" interrupted us. A couple in their mid-thirties, Leonard and Sarah Pickens, stood in the doorway. Mr. Pickens
dragged his wife through the door. After a quick look around, he spied my superintendent's badge and pulled his wife toward me.
To the best of my memory, this conversation followed:
"You in charge here?"
"Yes, sir!"
"I hate to bother you, but will you please tell my wife that rabbits lay eggs?"
I replied, "I'm sorry, but they don't."
The woman reddened 'til I thought blood would spurt from her ears. Leonard released his wife's arm and dropped his head. All the breeders within earshot were desperately trying to maintain some sort of decorum during these tense moments.
Leonard's eyes never left the ground as he spoke. "I was here three days ago and saw rabbit eggs for sale." Our audience thinned as those with lesser control of their emotions made a hasty retreat.
"Sir," I replied with as much empathy as I could muster, "a group of exhibitors' kids were making a joke. I'm sorry if it caused problems."
Mrs. Pickens took over. "Don't feel sorry for him! The crazy fool has been telling everyone about those rabbit eggs." Jimmy Barnes, one of the exhibitors, began quaking violently and buried his face in a grooming towel. I bit my lower lip and closed my eyes trying to retain some decorum. Leonard nearly crumbled. "I can't show my face at work again," he mourned. "I bought five dozen and picked up an incubator to hatch 'em." I abandoned hope of self control. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I turned my back, whooping loudly enough to cause passersby to stop and gawk.
With that, Mrs. Pickens raised her clutch bag and smashed poor Leonard in the face. The pitiful man just stood there as she screamed, "See, confound it! I told you so!"
By now, there wasn't a straight face in barn. A raspy "haw-haw" rattled the barn as Jason Moreland, from Oakdale, hugged one of the support poles and gasped for air. Making no attempt to defend himself, Leonard began his retreat toward the door. Sarah followed close on his heels, swinging furiously. Leonard moved faster with each step. By the time they reached the door, both were in a dead run.
I glanced at the group of breeders that were sitting nearby. Sally Weinstock, cackling like she had just laid one of the eggs, threw her head back with such force that she tipped over her aluminum folding chair. She landed in Irene Thompson's lap. Irene ricocheted sideways and knocked over seven rabbit cages. Billy McNeal guffawed so violently that he choked. Edna, Billy's wife, jumped to slap him on the back. Her feet got tangled in the handle of a picnic cooler and she sat in the icy water. At that point, I feared losing continence and fled the scene.
