Years ago, while lying in my hammock and drinking JD from the bottle, I noticed my dog dragging something under the fence.

Upon inspection, to my dismay, I realized it was the next door neighbors' 10-year-old daughter's rabbit. For years I had watched her come home from school and head straight out to its cage, free it and play with it in the yard. I knew today would be no different and fearing for our dog, I had to think fast.

The rabbit was quite dirty, as if it had put up quite a struggle, so I washed it off with the hose, combed it with the dog brush and blew it dry with the leaf blower. When I finished grooming it, I jumped over the fence and placed it back in its cage, hoping its death would be written off as "natural causes."

I went back to the hammock and JD. Within the hour, the neighbor's Volvo pulled in the driveway and
out popped the little girl, and as usual she headed straight for the cage. Only this time she stopped about six feet away and screamed, "Daddy!"

Her father, panic-stricken, stood looking at the cage. Being he good neighbor that I am, I rushed to the fence and asked if there was anything I could do.

Her father, less than calmly blurted, "What kind of sick individual would dig up a little girl's dead rabbit that she just buried and put it back in its cage?"