When Inky Pete left the warren, his parents hardly noticed. He could have left days before and no one would have cared. His brothers and sisters were happy to spend their days painting eggs, munching dandelions. He heard his mother’s warning, that hawks and snakes were waiting. That foxes were faster than any rabbit or hare. He was paas-itively sure that the longer he stayed it would get only worse. Mom was carrying another litter, and Dad wasn’t trustworthy - he’d hump anyone. Maybe she didn’t care, maybe it was all the poppies she ate, but Pete hopped away determined to be his own rabbit.
He traded some egg work for the Chuck Taylor’s and outran a coyote just to see how they fit. He hung out down in the sticker bushes, snickering with the loners he met about how no one really hides eggs like they mean it. If they hid eggs no one would ever find them.
Pete’s his own rabbit now. He just got his first tribal ink. If you can’t find Easter eggs this year, or happen upon one sometime in June, it was probably Pete who visited your house. He might start a warren of his own someday. Right now he just don’t care.