Easter Story For Children.

The sun shone low on the meadow as Santino Bunny washed his fur in the brook. His paws broke the surface into twinkling diamonds as he rinsed them in the cool water. Goldenbriar was a Freehold Bunny Warren, gated with security to keep out other furry creatures like weasels and otters; gophers and skunks.

Santino Bunny hung his bag inside the door, and entered the dining room to greet his family, seventeen Bunnies in chairs, and Betty, his wife of seven years who was dicing dinner in the kitchen. He circled the table and kissed each child between the ears, then took his seat at the head of the table. His oldest son, Santino Jr (really the 12th Santino in Bunny family history) said “you’re wet Dad, but I didn’t see any rain today.”
Santino grinned and rubbed the tip of his right ear. “It was a busy day at work so I cleaned up in the brook before dinner. “
“Tell me about work, Dad,” asked Jr.
Before Santino could answer, Betty Bunny said, “We don’t talk about work at home Jr.”
“But Mom,” said Jr, “it will soon be Easter and Dad has all the eggs to finish.”
“When we’re at home as a family, we talk about family things.”
“But one day I’ll be…”
“What’s for dinner, honey,” asked Santino, winking at Jr.
“A spring treat indeed. The new romaine's in and is crisp and delicious.”
“Wonderful,” said Santino, and licked his whiskers.

After a fresh and crunchy green dinner, Betty Bunny was clearing up and Santino was grooming his children’s fur, one after another in front of his chair. Jr. hopped up to his Dad and whispered, “One day I’ll be an Easter Bunny, won’t I Dad?”
Santino nodded and put his paw on his son’s head. Then he stood up and stretched.
“Children, I think I’ll start a warm fire.”
He hopped to the old stone fireplace. Above it were the pictures of Santino’s father, his grandfather and his great grandfather before, the latest generations of Easter Bunny’s. Behind these were holes where previous generations were placed in high regard.

In the world of Lagomorphs, the Noble calling of Easter Bunny is passed down through generations of Leporidae to the oldest male. Although children of the world imagine that there is one true Easter Bunny, there are in fact hundreds of thousands, each working the same territory established by their families for generations. And this too ensures that no child is ever disappointed at Easter by a missed delivery or a bad egg.

But tradition changes, respect decays, and even rabbits defy their own code. For months, there had been rumors in the thickets and woods of Northumberland county, the area under Santino’s control. Invading rabbits from outside the family, in fact, outside the genera entirely, had been manufacturing counterfeit Easter eggs of the lowest quality and were preparing to distribute them too children via bogus Easter Bunnies.

Santino first became aware of this when an illegal shell shop was flooded in Spruce Hollow, allegedly the work of Beavers hired by a rival egg gang. The eggs came from old, sick chickens, only weeks away from being cubed up for canned soup.

Now, recent intelligence from a source deep inside the BSCA (Black Squirrel Counterfeit Agency), confirmed that shell shops had set up in the meadows of Snakeberry Hollow, just beyond the subdivision with easy Easter access to the children who lived there.

When Santino heard this from Malump, his trusted consigliere, he went wild. He tore up grass and thumped his feet. He ran into the corn fields, trying to knock down stalks and tear off ears of corn with his teeth. Finally exhausted, he rolled into a quivering ball and excreted a pile of cecal pellets. Santino turned back, smashing his right paw into the warm mound and screamed, “You will all be smashed to this. Every last one of you. Do you hear me?”

The afternoon breeze was mild for April. After six days of cloud, the sun was just creeping into the Western sky. This is when rabbits most like the cool security of their warren, relaxed and oblivious to threat. And this is when Santino and his thumpers jumped into motion.

It started with the Weasels, known to work with the counterfeiters, so they were trusted true but easily paid off. The shell shops opened their doors and the Weasels drew them outside.

One by one, Santino's gang cleared them out. A swift and violent rain of Bunny justice. Every enemy killed with pure, merciless retribution.

When it was finished, Santino and his thumpers walked away, loaded bags on their shoulders. They marched hard until they reached the county line for Northumberland. And there, just over it, they dumped the contents of their bags. Out tumbled 18 heads of 18 bunnies who should have known better than to step into Santino's turf.

Santino and his thumpers were covered in blood. They marched for home in a military line, their fur bright red against the brown grasses, until they disappeared into the valley.

By the time he reached Goldenbriar, the sun was low on the meadow and Santino washed his fur in the brook. His paws broke the surface into twinkling diamonds as he rubbed them clean. The swirls of bunny blood pulled apart in the current, watered down, until they disappeared completely downstream.