"I spit my last breath at thee."

A man in a gingham driving hat stood at the garden wall, coughed and said, “Good morning friend. Warren Conill from the next county over. I was walking by on this fine spring morning and noticed your garden.”

“I don't want any.”

“Any what?”

“Whatever it is that you're selling, I don't want any. I have more than enough vegetable peelers, scrub brushes and a very fine vacuum that the misses bought about a month ago.”

“Oh” you have me wrong, I'm no salesman. I'm a gardener like you.”

Great the gardener thought, he's going to want to talk. “As you can see I am busy this morning.”

Warren moved his head from side to side sniffing, taking in big whiffs. “Laeporidae. Rabbits. Rabbit scat, spore, fresh I'd say.” He sniffed again, “Maybe a day or two past at the most.”

“You,”

“Warren, Warren Conill.”

“Mr. Conill, you can tell that there have been rabbits here just by sniffing the air?”

“Yes, yes I can. It's my life's work the tracking and hunting of the furry beasts.”

The gardener stifled a laugh. He had never thought of rabbits as beasts, more like pests and tasty in a fricassee or stew but never as a beast. “Peter.” The gardener held out his hand across the wall.

“Well Peter I’ll let you in on secret. I didn't just happen by your place. I've been tracking this particular family. A rather large buck, that's what we call the males and his doe. They have been fairly prolific if you get my meaning and have had several liters of kits. We figure, my wife and I, that they are headed your way, seeing as you have such a bountiful garden.”

“You know, there has been a steady increase in rabbit attacks to my garden over the last week or two. I have lost all my carrots and lettuce. The little buggers have been very persistent.”

“I'm expert in getting rid of the furry pests.”

“Rabbit exterminators?”

He handed Peter a card with the silhouette of hanging rabbit in black. “No, we prefer the French, Lapin Tuerur. Doesn't sound as evil, especially around the little ones. They tend to get all nervous around adults who kill bunnies for a living.”

“It seems to me that I might be happy that you came along. Come in, we can enjoy a morning glass of beer while we figure a way that maybe we can be mutually beneficial to one another.”

Warren came around to the gate his vest jingling with a chain of several rabbit’s feet bouncing across his belly.

Peter could not help but stare. “Quite impressive.”

“A sideline from all the rabbits we catch. It’s on the card. We have furs, pelts, fresh and frozen meat as well as several frozen rabbit dishes. My beautiful wife Beatrice is the butcher and the cook. And of course rabbit feet.” He un-clipped a rather large black foot and placed it in Peter's hand. “We've had our ups and downs, but people always come back to us, either for our patented rabbit removal or for the food. It has been tough on my wife over the years. Long ago school kids gave her the nickname of Beatrice Slaughter after some delinquent saw her chopping the head off of a rabbit she was getting ready to skin and butcher.”

Peter pulled out two bottles of beer from a cooler next to a small garden table. The two men sat and began to make plans on the extermination of the rabbits now using Peter's garden as an all you can eat buffet. An hour later they shook hands and agreed to a price. As Warren stood to walk away, Peter noticed the limp.

“You're looking at my foot.” Warren lifted his footless leg up on the table with a thud. “Use to be a foot. The damn beast's doe knocked me down one night and then he chomped the whole thing, five toes and all right off. It didn't hurt as much as there was plenty of blood.”

“And you think this beast is out there?”

“Oh, he's out there, probably watching us right now, watching, waiting, planning his next move. He's a smart one that one is. A big white furry bastard. Yes, he's out there.”
“How will you know it’s him? The one that got your foot.”

“He has a nicked ear where I sliced in to him with a chainsaw. You and I know better than to sneak up behind a man cutting wood, but rabbits can be stupid, even the smart ones. The beast snuck up behind me. I turned and wham, I took a huge slice out of his left ear. Kind of flops over. That was before he did this.” He pointed to his footless leg. “We're kind of even now, but I want to settle this once and for all.”

The two men paused for second while Warren sniffed the air.

“Tell you what, if I catch him, my services are free. I'll catch all the little kits, kittens the animal lovers call them, and him and you won't have to pay me a penny. Oh, I do take major credit cards. And our work, unlike others is guaranteed or your money back.”

What a great sales pitch. Peter had enjoyed Warren's tales of hunting the great white rabbit. However goofy it sounded it had worked.

That night in the light of the full moon, Peter took one last look out at the garden and the nearby wood before going to bed. It was nice to know that Warren and his wife were out there hunting down the rabbits that had been munching away at his garden. Something moved along the inside wall and for a moment, for an instant he could have sworn that he saw in the moonlight a large white rabbit with a nicked ear and a human foot around its neck.