"Can we get him?" She said. Our eyes locked with big red beads in the cage just wide enough for the white rabbit to turn away. It was May, and we wandered the aisles of the local feed store, looking for chicken scratch to sustain our newly purchased flock.

"Where is he going to live?"

"I don’t know. But we can’t just leave him here."

Convinced otherwise, I found the forty pound bags I came for and loaded up the pushcart. Guilt bubbled beneath as I walked toward the register, noticing the white fluorescent bulbs for the very first time. She was a few paces back, turning to catch eyes in fear of longing.

"Anything else I can help you with today?" The lady in the cherry red uniform asked.

"Yeah, how long do you keep the rabbits?" I replied.

"Oh, they’ve been here since January. Just plump enough to eat this time of year."

I paid for the feed and said thank you, my wife almost in tears as the glass doors opened in front of us.

"We have to get him."

"Let’s figure it out this week and come back next Saturday."

"He could be gone by then."

"I know."

We made it to the car in silence. We drove home the long way, through state parks and open fields, a strained rumble of our old engine the only constant.

"I found a rabbit hutch online. It’s fifty dollars."

"Okay. When do you want to go back?"

"Tomorrow."

The next morning, we drove back to the feed store. We rushed through aisles of tools, feed, cages, bedding, turning the corner to lock eyes again.

"He is speaking to me."

"I know."

"He needs me."

"I know."

He blinked. He was ours.