I grew up in a very urban area of Flatbush, in Brooklyn, NY. In those days, people had kids, families of less than 4 were a rarity. My neighborhood was working class, all apartment houses, and back then "rent control" was the order of the day, so nobody moved, and you got to know all your neighbors. My parents owned some land in Delaware Co., NY, and that was very rural, the nearest house was a mile and a half away, the nearest town about 3 miles. For easter, 1960, when I was 7, my father bought me a rabbit, just a little, cute bunny, to "teach me what it is like to care for another living creature." We lived on the 4th floor of a walk up apt., not the prototypical rabbit environment, but I was pumped to get this cute little bunny. I used to make deliveries for the "Grand fruit Market." a little mom and pop size store, and I had an inexhaustible supply of the remnants from every box of lettuce, and any other leafy produce, along with the carrot, cucumber, potato, and any other kind of peel you can imagine. The rabbit grew rapidly, eventually he got to big for any scale we were aware of, the highest weight we actually recorded was 38 pounds, and he grew to be nearly 2x that size. One thing about rabbits, is you cannot housebreak them, so a good part of my daily routine was sweeping rabbit pellets from the floor. Some people in the neighborhood had little gardens, and they wanted the pellets for fertilizer, so I saved the pellets for them. One elderly Italian gent made wine from virtually anything that grew out of the ground, and he was very generous about distributing that wine to those of us who wished to drink it, and, of course, he would drink with us. One afternoon, I stopped by with a bag of pellets, and he had a relative from "the old country" visiting him. They had a good head start with the wine, but I was welcomed, and joined in. I put the pellets down, and this vistor popped one into his mouth. I started to say something, but the wine maker stopped me, and let his relation feast on those scrumptious delicacies. This continued daily, until the relative returned home. One afternoon, I was called on to make a delivery to that same house, and the vintners wife, who I rarely ever got to see, accepted the delivery, and tipped me. She then asked me this question: Do you know why my brother always had diarrhea while he was here? I couldn't help laughing, and, while I didn't spill the beans, she knew what treasures I brought for her husband, and figured the rest out. She went to my mother, got a few pounds of pellets for herself, and cooked them into her husbands dinner. He liked it!!! and thereafter, once a week, she made a rabbit pellet pie for him. The rabbit lived about 7 years, eventually succumbing to old age, and is buried alongside Jimmy Hoffa in a secret grave.