11 hours ago
By now, he had been searching for many decades, which is a lot more in rabbit time. Every year, he would visit all the chicken coops and fields he could, sometimes up to twenty a day, and collect as many eggs as his basket allowed. The necessity of finding that one egg was what gave him energy and persistence. Basket brimming, he hopped back to his warren and added the new eggs to the pile, which had become higher than his kitchen table. Then he would pick up each new egg, examine it, listen carefully, mark it with a coloured pattern to denote a dud, and discard it back to the pile. Once a year, around April, this pile became so mountainous that he couldn’t keep it in his den any more. So he would collect them all up, and place them amongst the gardens of the neighbouring cottages. Under a hedge, on top of a window sill, right outside the front door, spaced out to avoid suspicion. And then he would hop back home, hoping the next year would be different, not stopping until he found the egg.