Rabbits are the icons of magic. I want to be part of their iconic reputation, so I keep a rabbit in the house. I bring it to my shows and produce and vanish it magically to the children’s shrieks of delight.
I named my rabbit Roger. He goes to sleep in one second flat when I hypnotize him. Well trained, he stays quietly inside my magic box’s load chamber until I cue him to appear. Most of all he can levitate when I cover him with a trick, seance-hand foulard.
Oh, how he hates them. Contrary to what the books on rabbits claim that rabbits love carrots, Roger doesn’t care for them, let alone love them.
Once, in my attempt to convince him to eat carrots, I showed him a book with a picture of a rabbit eating a carrot. “See,” I told him, “rabbits eat carrots. It’s nutritious, it’s delicious, so go ahead eat some!”
I left the book in his cage to give him ample time to muse over the words of wisdom I shared with him. As soon as I turned my back, he ate the pages of the book—every single one of them, including the covers, except for the page that had a drawing of the carrots on them.
Didn’t I tell you my rabbit hates carrots?