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The carrot was right there
WHEN OLD BELIEFS JUST REFUSE TO LEAVE OUR MEMORIES
On Easter morning, when my little shy feet poked out of the den my grandfather had dug for me, it was inevitable:
My smile was bound to be spotted three or four houses down the famous street in Gatineau.
Naturally calm, I was never the type to run wildly, ignoring the trail of lettuce pieces that marked the path between the half-open fridge door and the sliding patio door.
Of course Jano the Rabbit had stopped by.
Of course he went looking for a carrot in the fridge.
Of course he found none — so of course he grabbed a handful of Iceberg lettuce instead.
And of course he was in such a rush that he forgot to close the fridge door behind him.
And no, my grandmother didn’t even complain about it.
Because, of course, she drinks her beer at room temperature — and frankly, she couldn’t care less.
There’s your carrot, Jano. 😉