If you would let me make beer in the engine room we could live off the cut, I said. At least it might get you into the engine-room, said Monica. What we need is protein-what we need is rabbits. That whippet has got to be good for something. What about lamping, like the gypsies -you can borrow my torch. (My wind-up torch had recently attacked me, then exploded.)
So I set out into the dusk, gatherer turned hunter, by the light of my faithful hound Jim, the fastest dog in the world, and a kitchen torch with a half-mile throw. It seemed like a winning team to me.
The field was big, and there were dozens of rabbits grazing a yard from the hedges. I aimed the torch. They stopped chewing and sat transfixed, their eyes shining. Jim began to scream softly, like a fiend in hell watching a likely soul go over the wall. I cried havoc and let him slip. As he approached at forty miles an hour the rabbits stepped into the hedge, and when he had gone they stepped back out again.
After some time I put Jim on the lead and we considered our position. Then we saw some baby rabbits ten yards away, lolloping around. They were the size of chocolate Easter bunnies. My heart filled with lust, I realized the enormity of what I was going to do but still I did it. Jim rushed at the babies and knocked two of them over, then stood and looked at them as they hopped into the hedge.
Back at the boat Monica was waiting with a scissors. Jim went into his kennel, looking straight ahead. Where are my rabbits? asked Monica. Not much out there tonight, I said. You are a pair of losers, said Monica. I did not answer - I was too ashamed. I am ashamed still, and glad that Jim won't talk.