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Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

 

Once upon a time, long before “The Andy Griffith Show” went into reruns, there was an eastern cottontail with a dream.

He had a name, but it’s nigh impossible for a mere human to pronounce a rabbit’s name, so I’ll call him the rabbit.

Yes, the rabbit was a dreamer. But that’s like saying Fred Astaire was a good dancer or Babe Ruth could hit a home run. As he nibbled on some salad (he was no rocket scientist and didn’t know the name of many plants, but he knew he liked white clover), the rabbit thought about what he wanted to do with his life. He’d taken a few days off to clear the fog from his brain. His job was being pulled out of a top hat by a mediocre magician.

Yes, the rabbit was a dreamer. He not only believed the grass to be greener on the other side of the fence, he knew a pillow was softer and cooler on the other side. He didn’t embrace being earthbound. He knew he wanted to go to the moon. He believed in magic, but going to the moon and popping out of a hat are two different things. He didn’t want to jump over it. A cow had done that. He was more than a dreamer. He acted upon his dreams. He had gumption. When he did something, he did it up brown. Other rabbits scoffed at his dream and called it a nothing burger. He didn’t care. He was going to the moon. That would undoubtedly make him a first ballot inductee into the Rabbit Hall of Fame.

He’d find a way to go during a full moon on a clear night. That would make it easier to find the moon in the dark. He’d fly there when the wind was blowing up. He’d seen the wind blowing up a street before.

He waited and waited. It was like dividing 22 by 7. It took forever. Then the wind blew up in the high trees and the moon was not only full, it was a blue moon, which meant it was the second full moon in the month. That was a good omen. He packed nothing but the four rabbit’s feet he carried for good luck.

A commercial flight to the moon was more expensive than a quart jar of banker’s tears. That was OK. He knew things that could fly. He’d hop down the bunny trail and ask those with the ability to fly for a ride to the moon.

The first one he happened upon was a red-tailed hawk. He asked the hawk if he’d be willing to fly him to the moon. The hawk said, “No, but I’ll eat you.”

The rabbit refused the hawk’s kind offer, explaining that he was just getting estimates.

The next winged creature he met was a bald eagle. He asked the big bird for help. The eagle replied, “Let’s do the math. It has to be 500 miles to the moon. I’ll take you, but if I get hungry on the way, I’ll be forced to eat you.”

The rabbit said it was the best offer he’d had so far and he’d get back to the eagle on it.

The rabbit hopped farther down the bunny trail and found a turkey vulture eating the most disgusting thing. The rabbit averted both his eyes and nose as he asked the vulture for a lift. He made sure he didn’t call him Mr. Buzzard. Vultures hate that. The vulture turned down the gig by saying, “My feet and talons are weak. If they were strong enough to carry you, I’d be ordering my meals from the drive-in window of fast food restaurants.”

The dejected rabbit hopped until the day had turned to night. No flights were booked. He sat forlornly on the dock of Lake Inferior. He saw the moon in the water. It didn’t appear to be swimming. It was just there. 

The rabbit was a strong swimmer. Everyone in his family was. He dove into the lake and swam to the moon. He climbed onto it. It was a successful lunar landing. It was as if the moon had been made just for him. Sometimes dreams come true.

That’s why if you take a good look at a full moon, a really good look, you’ll see there is no man on the moon. It’s a rabbit. That’s why dogs, coyotes and wolves howl at the moon.

I don’t know how Neil Armstrong missed that.

Al Batt’s column appears every Wednesday.