Skip, The Rabbit

Cleaning his paws carefully after a delicious dinner of carrots and honey, his absolute favourite, Skip heard the unmistakable rustling of someone moving through a nearby bush. Freezing to his spot, his ears twitched to full attention. Maybe it was his friend Snowy, or perhaps Patch had come back from her trip sooner than expected. But just as he was about to call out a friendly hello, Skip looked up to see the tell-tale bushy orange tail of his nemesis, Mr Fox.

"What on earth could he want at this hour?" wondered Skip.

"Surely he should be off having his own dinner..."

So that's what he was playing at - Mr Fox must be thinking he would try and pinch some of Skip's food for dinner, rather than find his own. Maybe he thought Skip had gone with Patch, and left his larder unprotected?

"That terrible sneak," Skip thought. "He certainly is lazy. If he spent as much time getting his own food as he spent skulking around, pestering everybody else, then he would be a very well fed old fox indeed."

Mr Fox's sly visage appeared around the bush, his hungry green eyes peering straight ahead towards the entrance to Skip's warren. Silently slinking across the clearing, Mr Fox's reddish coat was impossible to mistake, along with the white patch that ran from his nose and cheekbones down to his belly.

"Looking for something?"

Mr Fox jumped high in the air, Skip's measured voice giving him a fright. But he soon regathered his composure, circling to take in Skip, who stood tall with his smooth brown coat and coal-black eyes, pointed ears and slowly twitching whiskers.

"I, I have a message for you," Mr Fox slowly drew out. "Yes, that's it, a message."

And what, pray-tell, might that message be?" asked Skip, dubious to Mr Fox's ways.

"Your friend, the one with the floppy ears and big feet - she wanted me to tell you something. She said to, uh, make sure you remember to, um, water the carrots."

"I see. And she sent you to tell me this?"

"Well, I suppose it might surprise you, but I am generally well trusted around these parts."

This would indeed have surprised Skip, if he could have believed it for even a second. But in his experience, Mr Fox was without a doubt the least trustworthy character he had ever come across.

"And it's just a coincidence you came to tell me this at dinner-time?"

"Well, I wanted to tell you before I forgot. Dinner time you say? Why it hadn't even crossed my mind. Now that you say it, I suppose it is."

A smile danced across his lips.

"Hey, I suppose you wouldn't have a little something to tide me over for the long trip home by any chance?," he simpered, a tone that Skip figured was Mr Fox's attempt at seeming likable. As it was, Skip couldn't have given Mr Fox anything if he had even wanted. He had just polished off the very last of the honey, savouring every last drop from the jar. That's why he had still been cleaning his paws, as he had run them right around the jar to make sure it really was finished.

"I'm afraid you've just missed the last of our food," Skip told Mr Fox.

"I suppose you'll have to just find something of your own."

Mr Fox peered down his nose at Skip, who realised that he must have forgotten to bring his glasses.

"Find something of my own, yes, I suppose I will," he said, licking his lips.

"A splendid idea."

Skip was glad he had kept a close eye on Mr Fox, for at that moment he pounced.

By the time Mr Fox had landed where Skip had just been standing, Skip was now on the other side of the clearing. Mr Fox pounced again, but Skip was still too quick.

"Stay still, there's nothing to be frightened about," Mr Fox panted.

"Just the small matter of you trying to eat me!" shot back Skip, thoroughly irritated at this turn of events. Mr Fox ran at him and Skip stepped off to the side at the last moment, with Mr Fox skidding to a halt. Skip began running around the edge of the bushes, just out of reach of the fox in hot pursuit. This went on for what felt like an age, with Skip making a bee line for a blackwood tree just past the entrance to his home. Just as he reached it he stepped to the left, brushing the rough bark as he went by.

Skip looked back just in time to see Mr Fox mistime his evasion and go crashing into the tree. Mr Fox gingerly picked himself up, dusted off his coat, straightened his gloves and promptly fell in a dead faint. Taking advantage of the respite to regain his breath, Skip went over and prodded Mr Fox with a toe. Nothing happened. He prodded again, but still there was no response. He saw the rise and fall of Mr Fox's chest and, confident he was out to the world, began to hatch a plan.

Skip raced into his warren, looking for a pair of floppy rabbit ears he had brought home one day after a visit to the fair.
He found them perched on the top of a bookshelf and busied himself in search of a pot of glue. He then chose two small pieces of coal from the hearth and found a couple of pieces of chalk as well.

Creeping back up to the surface, he set to work. Mr Fox was still lightly sleeping, but Skip knew he didn't have long. He pulled out the glue pot and began. Stepping back to admire his handy work, he was most pleased with himself. With coal eyes, chalk teeth and the ears, Mr Fox's tail could have been a quite cute red-haired rabbit.

Finding a spot just beyond the clearing where he could still see back in, Skip watched as Mr Fox began to stir. In the growing darkness he could still see the hungry look in Mr Fox's eyes as they opened, one after the other. Skip watched as out of the corner of his eyes, Mr Fox saw he wasn't alone in the clearing. A sudden movement to the left and a flash of teeth followed, with a baleful howl erupting into night.

Skip almost felt sorry for Mr Fox, until he realised that could have been him and not Mr Fox's own tail if he hadn't been quick.

"That should at least take his his mind of his stomach a little while," he thought, watching as Mr Fox wandered out the clearing, holding his tail and muttering darkly to himself beneath his breath.

****************

I'm pretty sure I caught a glimpse of Skip one afternoon, walking with my grandfather in the bush that began at the end of his street, at the bottom of St Ives. It was no more than a brown flash from the corner of my eye and then he was gone, but Pa assured me that it must have been the Skip I had heard so much about, coming to say hello but seeing that he had company. Pa often told me new stories about Skip as day turned to night, stories that he assured me Skip had passed on to him directly. When I would ask how a rabbit could pass on a story to a person, he assured me that if a rabbit set its mind to it, then a rabbit could do anything it pleased. This of course included telling tales to humans.

My dearly-loved grandfather passed away this week, but I know Skip is still out there, passing on his stories to other grandfathers like Pa so they can send their own grandchildren to sleep with fresh tales of Skip's exploits. I know, too, that when my time comes, I'll be able to rely on Skip to keep me up to date with his adventures so I can ease my own grandchildren safely into their dreams.