Teen Time

The Easter Rabbit and Mrs. Cow

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Mrs. Cow finds a friend who likes her poems…

The Easter Rabbit and Mrs. Cow

         The Easter Bunny was hopping along the trail when he stopped where the path turned. For there, sitting in front of him, was a genuine cow – the black and white, spotty kind with udders and all.

         “What are you doing here, Mrs. Cow?” asked the rabbit, hopping up and down in place while nervously shifting his whiskers back and forth -- a process which caused his nose to waffle up and down most sniffingly.

         Mrs. Cow didn't seem to hear the rabbit. She continued scribbling in her black leather book. Her hoof was so dainty and refined, it was a pleasure to see the flow of her pen moving across the formerly blank paper.

         The rabbit moved closer. “Mrs. Cow,” he said even louder, “Mrs. Cow, what are you doing?”

         The flow of the pen paused, and Mrs. Cow looked up. Her eyes, so big and brown, looked twice as large and beautiful as one would have supposed. They blinked with long, black eyelashes. She shoved her thick-rimmed glasses upward and stared at the rabbit.

         “Well, look at you, Mr. Easter Bunny. Don’t you look swell with your handsome orange shirt and that basket of colored eggs. Oh, and those purple trousers are just too lovely for words.”

         The rabbit stopped jogging in place for a moment and smoothed his whiskers down with a dampened paw. “Yes, I do look rather smashing, don’t I?”

         “I see you are off to do your Easter chores. Are those candies in your basket?”

         The rabbit stopped his grooming for a moment and stepped closer toward Mrs. Cow. “Would you like a chocolate egg?” he asked.

         She laughed and shook her head, swaying her long, narrow muzzle. “Moo, no,” she replied. “I only eat green things like grass and leaves. I don’t eat Easter candy.”

         Mr. Easter Bunny braved a couple of hops even closer. He was dying to get a peek inside that black book of hers with its fascinating words. “What’s that you’re writing, Mrs. Cow? Is it a story?”

         Mrs. Cow turned red and slammed her book shut. “You can’t look at this. It’s just my... my..."

         “Please tell me,” Mr. Easter Bunny urged, placing his paw on top of her shoulder most pleadingly.

         Mrs. Cow looked up into his eyes. Would he laugh at her? Would he make fun of what she'd written?

         “I'm afraid you’ll laugh,” she said, blushing a rainbow of colors.

         “I won't! I won't! I promise I won’t.” Mr. Easter Bunny continued to implore her. He set down his Easter basket and stretched out his paw in a polite gesture of request.

         Mrs. Cow didn’t speak. She sighed long and heavy. She examined Mr. Easter Bunny's serious and pleading eyes once again, and then she bravely handed over her book.

         The meadow was silent while the rabbit read. Oh, the grasshoppers were fiddling, and an old bull-frog was courting. His song carried all the way from the pond. The leaves of the trees were wrestling in eagerness to play with the wind. But what I mean by silent was that neither the rabbit nor the cow spoke for a good two minutes, and that was the silence of expectation – the longest silence of all.

         Finally, the rabbit looked up and said, “You are a real poet, Mrs. Cow. I am so impressed.”

         Again Mrs. Cow flushed colors -- first scarlet and ruby and magenta and indigo. And then the roses and pinks crept up into her face. As they started to fade away, she looked up and asked, “Do you really like my poems?”

         The rabbit smiled. He nodded his head which sent his tall, slender ears flopping merrily. “Oh, yes,” he said. "I love them. My favorite one is this:

                   Five fat little bunnies are hopping about;

                   They’re having great fun without any doubt."

         “Oh, I’m so glad you like that one,” smiled Mrs. Cow. “My favorite one is:

                   Easter comes just once a year

                   And brings such wonderful cheer."

         The two of them continued to read, to share, and to discuss the poems in Mrs. Cow’s book for almost an hour. Then the rabbit remembered that a group of children were impatiently waiting his arrival for their colored eggs and Easter candy.

         “I must go now, Mrs. Cow,” the rabbit told her, "but I shall come back to read your poems when Easter is over, if you will let me."

         Mrs. Cow was pleased as grass is green that she had found someone who enjoyed poetry. She smiled and smiled, nodding her rather large but beautiful head up and down.

         So the Easter Rabbit hopped on down the trail thinking about his new friend, the writing ruminant who wrote in rhymes, and Mrs. Cow looked about the meadow, taking note of the lilacs starting to bloom and of a small lizard doing push-ups on a log nearby.

         “Ah," said Mrs. Cow, and she stuck her glasses back on her nose and bent over her book. Once again the pen began to move, and the words began to flow:

                   "A small spotted lizard plopped down on a log

                   He'd decided to journey away from the bog."

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