Bear's Den: "The Easter Bunny's Funny"

Easter Sunday. Boy, for Christians, the day is all about Jesus´ Resurrection, and very rightly so, too. But, for little ones, it has an equally ´sweet´ meaning. Yet, I do recall one of our own that was a variation on resurrection. Uh-huh, and in my heart and mind it will always be… the ´Easter Bunny´s Funny´.

Twenty-five years ago, I was a park ranger and manager in the Manistee National Forest. My young family and I lived in the park manager´s home, adjacent to the campground. Camping ended October 1st and, other than a few ice fishermen or cross-country skiers, we were alone until Memorial Day. I often worked as a deputy conservation officer during this time.

Easter Eve of 1984, I´d been out until the wee hours with a C.O., checking sucker dip-netters on the local streams. When I came home, a state police cruiser was in the wooded drive, just getting ready to pull out. The trooper driving was an older cop that I often worked with during summer campsite evictions and other park related enforcement. He hopped out of the car and said that he and his partner had heard me on the DNR frequency, so he knew I was up and about. They were passing by when they accidently hit a peta-kine-thi (rabbit) that darted out in front of them. He knew me and knew that I was an Indian and also knew… that I might like the rabbit meat. So, they swung over the see if they could catch me. I said "sure", rabbit & gravy was always good, eh. So, he popped his trunk and gave me the rabbit, and then, with my thanks, they headed back onto patrol. I quickly field dressed the peta-kine-thi and laid it on newspapers on top of the chest freezer in the park ranger garage which was connected to the house via the park office. It was plenty cold enough out; I´d skin and butcher it tomorrow. Then I went inside.

I found my domestic boss sound asleep on the couch with her ´lesson plan´ and accouterments scattered all about the living room floor. She was employed as a librarian and she had some big shindig at her library that ran late that day. Additionally, as she´s always done, she taught Children´s Church at the Oakcrest Church of God. Easter Sunday is always a big day for her class – she always spends a lot of prep time and does it up big. So, getting home late and having to tend the offspring, in addition to planning her lesson, had her up later than usual. So, this was the scene when I came in. In addition to all of this, she was also employed as the Easter Bunny´s assistant in our domicile. She always acquired the baskets, grasses and other assorted sweet doo-dads for the ´pesky wabbit´ to leave for our young´uns. And she had them for this year, stored out of site, in the hall closet. But the day had been long and neither of us talked of that. I woke her and we chatted a bit, I about our arrests that night, and she about her day and the kids´. We picked up her stuff and headed to bed... with nary a thought… about the big rabbit´s scheduled arrival that evening.

Easter morning came. Cindy was our youngest daughter at the time, and, as usual, she woke us from her crib with a cute, consistently happy but elongated… "Moooommy" followed by an equally contented and drawn-out, "Daaaaddy". They were precious sounds… better than birdsong… to wake up to, eh. Maureen and I got up, and, by then, the other two kids – Connie & Davey – were also wide awake and asking if they could get up. Maureen yawned a "Sure", but they were far more excited than usual, and this puzzled her as they raced around, looking everywhere, still groggy from sleep. Maureen suddenly shot a hand to her mouth, looking at me aghast. She whispered in parental horror, "Oh no! We forgot all about leaving the Easter stuff last night!"

The holiday rabbit always hid the baskets around the interior of the house – hanging from curtain rods behind drapes, behind the couch, on dining room chairs or under the table. While the kids were disappointedly checking hither & yon, seeking the Bunny´s gifts, Maureen and I brainstormed a way to ´resurrect´ the calamity. I advised that I´d buy us some time and we´d stash ´em in their room. I said to the kids, "Well… those baskets have to be here someplace. Hey… maybe the Easter Bunny hid them other places this time? Maybe in the basement, or out in the park office or in the garage, eh?" They looked at me expectantly and then chased off while I quickly helped my wife hide baskets. We got it done just before the little ones, with sad, dejected faces, arrived back in the kitchen. "No luck?" asked Maureen, "Well, you may want to check your room, too – that Easter Bunny is pretty cagey sometimes." I looked at our five-year-old son, who had climbed up on a chair and sat stone-faced. Maureen asked him if he wasn´t going to look in their room, too, and he shook his head no. "Why not?" she asked and he replied, forlornly, his voice still sleepy but profoundly sad, "There´s probably no Easter Baskets because… Daddy… must´a shot the Easter Bunny."

This pronouncement stopped six-year-old Connie cold in her tracks, a look of dread enveloping her features… while I… simultaneously recalled leaving the Eastern Cottontail rabbit out in the garage. They must´ve split up in their search – teamwork, eh. Maureen swiftly ushered the two girls toward their room as I knelt down. I explained to him that the rabbit out on the freezer was wild meat, and that he saw those kinds of rabbit´s all the time. I explained that we always ate wild game, and that those kinds of rabbits… were a whole bunch different than Easter Bunnies. Heck, I clarified, Easter Bunnies aren´t wild at all, and they´re funny… just like old Bugs Bunny, on TV. About that time, Connie let out a squeal from down the hall, signifying discovery of the Easter stash, and Davey´s face lightened right up, and he hopped down to race that way.

A half hour later, the kid trio was seated at the table, happily eating French toast and chattering before we headed off to church. Davey looked up at the domestic boss and me, and said that he figured… maybe the Easter Bunny hid the baskets differently, just as a joke this year, like Bugs Bunny played on Elmer Fudd. Then he cackled a giggle, at his own joke, as only a five-year old boy is want to do, and added through his own mirth… "That´s the Easter Bunny´s funny!" And so… it was.

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David Walks-As-Bear is an Inter-Tribal Elder and Kispoko Shawnee Indian. He works as a private game warden and detective and is a novelist and syndicated newspaper columnist living in Northwest Michigan. Contact him at The White Lake Beacon: 231-894-5356 or visit his website at: www.Walks-As-Bear.com