“Peter is a liar,” she said grimacing, “he’s such a poopy-head.”
“Is this about the Easter Bunny again?” he asked confused.
“No, yes, maybe” she replied, “he lied about him too! He told everyone his bunnies lay eggs. Liar!”
“They don’t,” he agreed.
“So why would they hide eggs in the garden?” her inquisition kicked off.
“It’s to celebrate an age-old tradition between us and the bunny community,” he tried to explain, knowing that the bubble had already burst. If she didn’t believe Peter, she certainly didn’t believe him. Sometimes she was annoyingly smart for her age.
Regardless, she wasn’t old enough for the truth about the bunny. As her father, he knew that very well and wasn’t about to destroy the last shred of innocence.
Besides, how on earth do you tell a seven-year-old that the real reason for Easter eggs in the garden came from an old bunny tradition, in which the younglings proclaim their adulthood to the colony by raiding chicken coops? The eggs in the gardens were merely the result of hopping homewards with their small baskets, and losing half the loot.
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