I was going to tell you about the ill-fated and brief trajectory of the Office of Strategic Influence in 2002, a wild hallucination that came as close to getting my name in the pages of the Washington Post as I pray I will ever be. They say there are a lot of Swamp Dwellers preparing to throw each other under the partisan bus now that the Mueller Report has been formally released.

Next stop? More House hearings to beat the expired equine of the investigation, then the DoJ IG final report from Mr. Horowitz as soon as next month. There is yet another investigation that was farmed out Salt Lake City Justice for reasons best known to Deputy AG Rod Rosenstein. So, more fun to come.

So more on that tomorrow. In the meantime, I am not going to take the easy way out and call this something stupid about rabbits and Easter, the symbols of pagan, secular and Christian lives, and the ancient tradition of the Passover.

To all my observant Christian and Jewish friends, I wish them the joy of the season of resurrection, freedom and and rebirth. Goodness knows, the rich Virginia earth is erupting in weeds, flowers and assorted foliage.

With the exception of three personal emergencies, and a four-day induced religious hysteria in Israel, I have never paid much attention to faith. But this is a pretty good time to recall the rich heritage of the people of the Testaments, both Old and New.

I think I missed Maundy Thursday altogether. It is intended to commemorate the foot washing (Maundy) and Last Supper of Jesus Christ with the Apostles. I have an excuse, though. The Russians came over from their farm for drinks. Natasha thought I might have an emotional need and bought over a Service Bunny to console me as the slow recuperation continues.

She is a grand lady, and felt that I needed something innocent, and new and soft. I was a little startled, but the bunny was a snuggler and his fur was as soft as anything I have ever touched. Natasha said he was a Flemish Giant, even though he is currently quite small. He is going to be a big guy, if he doesn’t contribute to the food chain, and based on his intrinsic adorableness, I am hoping he achieves family status and adulthood.

I am thinking that Service Rabbits are a good thing, though Mr. Fox strolled down the driveway this morning and I realized I might not be able to take on a hare-buzzard-fox three-way assault on the farm at the moment.

Mattski got my magnifying glass off the desk and confirmed he was male. We thus decided to name him Pete, since whatever else would you name a boy cottontail? Yeah, I know, trite. But the wine was good.

We drank that and talked country stuff- whether or not the ewe was going to deliver her lambs by Easter, how the chickens were doing, what is up with the turkeys and the newly-introduced guinea hens. I had a spiced rum, and Pete stayed with me and crawled all over, nestling into the crevasses of my arms and jeans. He is eleven days old- twelve this morning. He is about the cutest darn thing I have ever seen. Heck of a bunny.

I should have thought of suggesting names like “Elwood P. Dowd” or just “Harvey” from the Jimmy Stewart movie of long ago.

He is not weaned from Momma Bunny yet, asked nothing from me except gentle handling and failed to exercise any bodily functions while on my lap, though I probably need to do a load of laundry anyway.

Anyway, it was a most pleasant visit and I strongly recommend Flemish Giants. I felt good all evening, but it wasn’t until bedtime that I crawled in the bed and sat up straight in the dark, classical music murmuring in the darkness, the almost full moon flooding the lower bedroom with magical silver light.

Of course. Darn it. Pete was the freaking Easter Bunny.

Joy to you all on this special holiday week in progress for some, and the start of another tonight.

Copyright 2019 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com