On his afternoon constitutional, David spies a sign on the sidewalk in front of a modest blue bungalow with a neatly manicured yard. The sign reads “Talking rabbit for sale: $10.” Captivated, David knocks on the entry door.
“Good morning! I’m intrigued by the sign in your yard. Do you really have a rabbit for sale?”
“Yes, that’s right,” the tall, wiry, bald-headed man replied in a surprisingly blasé tone.
“Are you serious? Can the rabbit really talk?”
“Come on back and see for yourself.”
“OK… let’s do this.” David is led around the house through a wooden gate to the backyard where a chestnut brown English rabbit is munching on iceberg lettuce in a small gilded cage. The man leaves David alone with the rabbit.
“How do you do?” chimed the rabbit brightly. “So nice to meet you. What is your name?”
“Uh… my name is David,” was the shocked response.
The two chatted amiably for a while. “When I was last in Paris,” the rabbit recalled, “I found the most delicious young carrots in a small market in the 15th Arrondissement. You simply must check it out next time you are abroad.
The conversation continued for a few minutes, before David and the rabbit bid adieu.
“So, how did your conversation go?” the man asked glumly.
“Incredible! The rabbit talked about his journeys to Paris, Berlin… even Moscow. Amazing! I have just one question of you. Why are you selling him? He’s a miracle!”
“If you must know, I’m sick and tired of that grubby rabbit. Paris? Moscow? He’s never been out of my backyard, except for the vet visit last June. That rabbit is a damn liar!”