Eager toward day!” Striker howled. If Striker could have whistled a tune would have accompanied his ritual salutation, but his teeth were not those of a wandering troubadour, and his own tongue would have been deli sliced at the first “hi-ho”.

Striker counted twenty-eight rabbits pulling the roots at the front of the cage, with at least twenty more rabbits on each side and twenty or so pushing from the back. “I could easily kill them all!” Striker thought, as the ground gave way and everything went dark.

Welcome!” proclaimed, Barrister Homes with the fanfare of a wrinkled ringmaster, his palm frond ears bending like alien tentacles one upwards and one out.

The scent of the sweating rabbits pressing against the cage, filled Striker’s snout, causing him to drip huge drool wads--lathering the rabbits that pushed against the back of the cage with big, moist doggie loogies.