It was Christmas morning, 1961. I recall the empty pen where my rabbit had belonged, and my mother told me, "Don't go in the shed," and if I'd just behave, then I'd get something yummy later on. She also didn't know where Flappie was and said she'd ask my dad who was busy in the shed. So I searched for Flappie for an hour or so, all around the lawn and garden, and underneath my bed. But I was sure I locked my rabbit pen, just like I did every night, and I checked three times just yesterday when I felt something wasn't right, and I stared at the pen just as if I knew what I know now. It was Christmas morning, 1961. Everybody searched for Flappie, and my dad, daddy searched as well. By the trees and the water, but never in the shed, because he couldn't be in there, so I shook my head. We searched together, then we took a break for coffee. Everybody drinking coffee, but I didn't have a drop. I thought of Flappie and how cold it was at Christmas, and then I started crying, and I couldn't make it stop. 'Cause I was sure I locked my rabbit pen, just like I did every night, and I checked three times just yesterday because something didn't seem right, and I stared at the pen as if I knew what I know now. It was the first day of Christmas, 1961. Everyone ate so loudly, but I didn't care. I could only think of Flappie, my dear little Flappie, and my appetite for food just wasn't there. After the soup, the main course would arrive, and my father laughed and pointed "Look, it's Flappie in the pan." I still see the silver bowl and him lying in three pieces, and I realized my dad is such an evil man. I left the table screaming and stamping, and I cried on my bed for hours and hours, and I stood cursing loud at the top of the stairs, yelling, "Flappie wasn't yours." I stared out the window with the empty rabbit pen on my mind. It was the second day of Christmas, 1961. Mom remembers when she woke, daddy was gone, and I told her not to go into the shed, and if she'd just behave, she'd get something yummy later on.
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