Bunny House Rocked by Sex Scandal

February, 1998

"I need every reporter you've got!" I said to my investigative assistant, Tammy the Greyhound. "This story is huge. This is the Big One. Get some dogs over here at once and see what they can sniff out at the Bunny House."

"I'm sorry, Boss," said Tammy, "but canine reporters aren't allowed in the Bunny House. The PTB (Powers That Be) say it would lead to a media feeding frenzy."

"So much for freedom of the press," I muttered. "What do we know so far?"

"We know it started with three bunnies in someone's backyard last year. In just one year, they'd been fruitful and multiplied to the tune of 167, which is when the PTB were called in."

"But why weren't the three bunnies fixed?" I spluttered.

"According to my source, the bunnies' person testified that she 'didn't know you could spay and neuter bunnies.' By the time the PTB brought a truck down to round them all up, there were 177. And by the time they'd driven them back here, there were 185. Dr. Allen is fixing them all as fast as he can."

"Did you get a statement from the original three bunnies?"

"There's no way of telling which bunny is which. In any case, bunnies don't talk."

Tammy was right. You can always get a dog to talk - just bring a biscuit with you. And, I'm sorry to say, cats will usually talk, too, if you pretend not to be listening. But bunnies are a whole other story. An occasional thump, but never a word - not even if you send in the Energizer Bunny.

"There's got to be a conspiracy in this somewhere."

"I already called my source at the Bird House, Boss," Tammy replied proudly. "They don't have any right wing conspiracies at the moment, but they might have a broken left wing conspiracy. My source says a prairie falcon just had surgery."

"Well, see if you can get one of the parrots to talk. Now, do we have anyone who can go undercover?"

"That's our best chance," agreed Tammy. "We have a new cat who is, in fact, already undercover. Went undercover as soon as he arrived two weeks ago. Refuses to come out from under his blanket. The name is Cliff. He was apparently thrown off a cliff at the Glen Canyon Dam. Managed to climb back out, we're told. The person who rescued him says that . . ."

"Yes, yes," I said, impatiently. "We don't have time for heartwarming biographies. We're a respectable magazine. We need a scandal. But you've got to get a real story for it."

"You don't really need a story, Boss," said Tammy. "You just need a good headline, and then you can sell advertising space. The PTB will want to advertise the bunnies for adoption."

Tammy is a very media-savvy girl.