If it weren't for Peter Cottontail, rabbit could be as common as entree as meatloaf. But peter and his lovable fictional pals, the Easter Bunny, Thumper and, of course, wise-cracking Bugs, have kept rabbit off most dinner tables.

That's a shame, says rabbit breeder Harold J. Benner of Penndel. Rabbit meat is cheaper than beef, higher in protein than beef, chicken, pork or lamb, and lower in fat, calories and cholesterol. But that image of furry adorableness keeps people from eating it, says Benner, who should know. His wife, Emily, a telephone operator at Saint Mary Hospital, refuses to partake of the bunnies she's watched grow up.

If I try, I get a picture of them and the meat just sticks in my throat, she says apologetically but adamantly. i just can't do it.If it weren't for Peter Cottontail, rabbit could be as common as entree as meatloaf. But peter and his lovable fictional pals, the Easter Bunny, Thumper and, of course, wise-cracking Bugs, have kept rabbit off most dinner tables.

that's a shame, says rabbit breeder Harold J. Benner of Penndel. Rabbit meat is cheaper than beef, higher in protein than beef, chicken, pork or lamb, and lower in fat, calories and cholesterol. But that image of furry adorableness keeps people from eating it, says Benner, who should know. His wife, Emily, a telephone operator at Saint Mary Hospital, refuses to partake of the bunnies she's watched grow up.

If I try, I get a picture of them and the meat just sticks in my throat, she says apologetically but adamantly. i just can't do it.

Benner says with a snort, "It's mind over matter. That's all it is. My wife's from Cokeburg. that's coal-mining country, out in Western Pennsylvania. When her father was out of work for a time, she lived on rabbit. So that's why she won't eat it today. . . she's just plain sick of it!"

There are those who will not every try "bunny burgers," as rabbit meat has been dubbed recently. Demonstrators protested over the weekend in State College at a conference of Rabbit breeders. Pennsylvania ranks only behind Oregon in production of rabbits with 6,000 breeders raising one million animals a year.

Benner himself has no qualms about rabbit meat. Now 63, he's raised them for more than 50 years. A a boy of six, he bred laboratory guinea pigs on the family farm along Trenton Road, where the Forsythia Gate section of Levittown stands today. He switched to rabbits a few years later, selling New Zealand whites, ???eds, and Flemish Giants, to labs in Princeton and at the University of Pennsylvania.

His family didn't eat rabbits, he says, but only because the ? paid so handsomely there were none to spare. I got $6 a piece ?ound rabbits, he says. "I made more money on them then today. That's a typical price now, but feed costs three time more today!

Benner, a retired steelworker, now has about 70 rabbits. .

Let me see, he says, counting out loud. "There are 11,54, yep. Around 70. Not counting all the young ones. Can't count them all.

Over the years he's mixed breeds in search of the meatier ???ops, whose long ears, dangle like a basset hound's, ?? with Flemish Giants, then crossed with New Zealand Whites. Back and forth go the unorthodox breeding until Benner is no longer surprised when a black rabbit bred with a white yields brown spotted bunnies.

Mixing gives you a bigger rabbit, he says, scratching the peculiarly mottled and ear-drooping result of one such mating. Mix and match. it's the same thing that makes Americans the strongest, healthiest people in the world.

A think, deeply tanned man, Benner is given to mixing personal with practical advice. Of the latter, he says the gestation period for rabbits is 31 days. Benner can produce 4 1/2 pound rabbits in eight weeks with plenty of good feed. A 5 pound live rabbit dresses out to about 2 3/4 pounds of all-white meat. Only eight to 12 percent is bone, compared with a chicken's 40 to 45 percents.

The hind legs and back are the meatiest parts, he says. Benner sells rabbits for $1 a pound live-weight, which means the meat costs buyers a little less than 2 a pound.

At those prices, it's hard to make money, Benner says. One hundred pounds of commercial rabbit pellets costs $12.90. During breeding seasons, he uses 100 pounds every 2 1/2 days. The American Rabbit Breeders Association figures it costs 42 cents a pound, live weight, to feed a rabbit to slaughter age. That does not, however, include the costs of electricity for the rabbit house or gas to transport the rabbits to livestock auctions.

Benner keeps none of his rabbits more than 3 1/2 years, he explains, because even occasional breeding burns them out. He staples charts to the cages of females to show when they were mated with one of his five bucks. Otherwise I'd never know who was due when, He says. Litters normally average seven to ten babies, though 11 or more are not uncommon. It's possible to get five to eight litters a year per doe, but Benner says such heavy breeding makes them old, fast.

Not all of his bunnies are destined to become Italian Rabbit Cacciatore or Oven - Fried Rabbit, however. At Easter, Benner does a good business selling pets. He charges $5 for small rabbits, culls from meat breeding. He gets $10 for even smaller rabbits, raised from his special stock of cuddly-looking dwarfs. He keeps four cages of the small, bright - eyed bunnies in his garage. He would never consider showing them, as do many breeders. Got no use for ribbons, he says disdainfully.

This past Easter he sold only 21 rabbits, a poor showing compared with his usual 75 to 100. Benner blames the economy. People aren't even considering pets anymore. They don't need another mouth to feed. "last year he sold every one of his available 82 pet rabbits before the holiday rolled around, and had to take down his battered sign. "Rabbits for Sale".

In the aftermath of every Easter, though, Benner gets some of his bunnies back. "When the kids get tired of the, or when vacation time comes, the rabbits aren't wanted anymore. Every so often someone drops one off at my place again.

He opens the door of a former hen house to reveal cage after cage of plump rabbits lolling on wire and board floors. He spots a huddled bit of silver beneath the cages. "There's that little sonuvagun. A lady gave it to my wife to bring home. Good for nothing; too small for meat, Darn thing is pregnant."

Benner peers behind a half-bale of hay and grunts. "Now she's not. There is her her litter." The babies are pink and hairless, like young mice. The silver rabbit has lined her nest with fur plucked from her breast. For all of his grumbling, when Benner spies another baby a few feet away on the bare floor, he carefully makes a place for it in the nest. "Still alive. Might as well give it a chance." he says under his breath.

He gives the rabbit house a quick one-over. Most of the bunnies need water, he says, picking up a garden watering can. They can overheat quickly in summer. One young doe troubled him with a fever for 3 days. He tried to cool her by dipping her front paws in cold water, to no avail. Finally, he turned her loose in a wire pen outdoors to run in the dewy grass.

She's in here somewhere, he says, opening the pen gate. After a cursory search beneath cages and behind firewood, he gives up. If she's hiding, she must be feeling better.

Benner doesn't normally allow his rabbits to leave their cages. Neighborhood dogs are a constant threat. Two years ago, a pair of German Shepherds got into his rabbit house and killed 19 bunnies. "They were laying all over the floor when I found them. It was quite a sight, he says disgustedly. One of the rabbits was a boarder. It belonged to a man who had paid $65 for it.

If it weren't for Peter Cottontail, rabbit could be as common as entree as meatloaf. But peter and his lovable fictional pals, the Easter Bunny, Thumper and, of course, wise-cracking Bugs, have kept rabbit off most dinner tables.

that's a shame, says rabbit breeder Harold J. Benner of Penndel. Rabbit meat is cheaper than beef, higher in protein than beef, chicken, pork or lamb, and lower in fat, calories and cholesterol. But that image of furry adorableness keeps people from eating it, says Benner, who should know. His wife, Emily, a telephone operator at Saint Mary Hospital, refuses to partake of the bunnies she's watched grow up.

If I try, I get a picture of them and the meat just sticks in my throat, she says apologetically but adamantly. i just can't do it.

Benner says with a snort, "It's mind over matter. That's all it is. My wife's from Cokeburg. that's coal-mining country, out in Western Pennsylvania. When her father was out of work for a time, she lived on rabbit. So that's why she won't eat it today. . . she's just plain sick of it!"

There are those who will not every try "bunny burgers," as rabbit meat has been dubbed recently. Demonstrators protested over the weekend in State College at a conference of Rabbit breeders. Pennsylvania ranks only behind Oregon in production of rabbits with 6,000 breeders raising one million animals a year.

Benner himself has no qualms about rabbit meat. Now 63, he's raised them for more than 50 years. A a boy of six, he bred laboratory guinea pigs on the family farm along Trenton Road, where the Forsythia Gate section of Levittown stands today. He switched to rabbits a few years later, selling New Zealand whites, ???eds, and Flemish Giants, to labs in Princeton and at the University of Pennsylvania.

His family didn't eat rabbits, he says, but only because the ? paid so handsomely there were none to spare. I got $6 a piece ?ound rabbits, he says. "I made more money on them then today. That's a typical price now, but feed costs three time more today!

Benner, a retired steelworker, now has about 70 rabbits. .

Let me see, he says, counting out loud. "There are 11,54, yep. Around 70. Not counting all the young ones. Can't count them all.

Over the years he's mixed breeds in search of the meatier ???ops, whose long ears, dangle like a basset hound's, ?? with Flemish Giants, then crossed with New Zealand Whites. Back and forth go the unorthodox breeding until Benner is no longer surprised when a black rabbit bred with a white yields brown spotted bunnies.

Mixing gives you a bigger rabbit, he says, scratching the peculiarly mottled and ear-drooping result of one such mating. Mix and match. it's the same thing that makes Americans the strongest, healthiest people in the world.

A think, deeply tanned man, Benner is given to mixing personal with practical advice. Of the latter, he says the gestation period for rabbits is 31 days. Benner can produce 4 1/2 pound rabbits in eight weeks with plenty of good feed. A 5 pound live rabbit dresses out to about 2 3/4 pounds of all-white meat. Only eight to 12 percent is bone, compared with a chicken's 40 to 45 percents.

The hind legs and back are the meatiest parts, he says. Benner sells rabbits for $1 a pound live-weight, which means the meat costs buyers a little less than 2 a pound.

At those prices, it's hard to make money, Benner says. One hundred pounds of commercial rabbit pellets costs $12.90. During breeding seasons, he uses 100 pounds every 2 1/2 days. The American Rabbit Breeders Association figures it costs 42 cents a pound, live weight, to feed a rabbit to slaughter age. That does not, however, include the costs of electricity for the rabbit house or gas to transport the rabbits to livestock auctions.

Benner keeps none of his rabbits more than 3 1/2 years, he explains, because even occasional breeding burns them out. He staples charts to the cages of females to show when they were mated with one of his five bucks. Otherwise I'd never know who was due when, He says. Litters normally average seven to ten babies, though 11 or more are not uncommon. It's possible to get five to eight litters a year per doe, but Benner says such heavy breeding makes them old, fast.

Not all of his bunnies are destined to become Italian Rabbit Cacciatore or Oven - Fried Rabbit, however. At Easter, Benner does a good business selling pets. He charges $5 for small rabbits, culls from meat breeding. He gets $10 for even smaller rabbits, raised from his special stock of cuddly-looking dwarfs. He keeps four cages of the small, bright - eyed bunnies in his garage. He would never consider showing them, as do many breeders. Got no use for ribbons, he says disdainfully.

This past Easter he sold only 21 rabbits, a poor showing compared with his usual 75 to 100. Benner blames the economy. People aren't even considering pets anymore. They don't need another mouth to feed. "last year he sold every one of his available 82 pet rabbits before the holiday rolled around, and had to take down his battered sign. "Rabbits for Sale".

In the aftermath of every Easter, though, Benner gets some of his bunnies back. "When the kids get tired of the, or when vacation time comes, the rabbits aren't wanted anymore. Every so often someone drops one off at my place again.

He opens the door of a former hen house to reveal cage after cage of plump rabbits lolling on wire and board floors. He spots a huddled bit of silver beneath the cages. "There's that little sonuvagun. A lady gave it to my wife to bring home. Good for nothing; too small for meat, Darn thing is pregnant."

Benner peers behind a half-bale of hay and grunts. "Now she's not. There is her her litter." The babies are pink and hairless, like young mice. The silver rabbit has lined her nest with fur plucked from her breast. For all of his grumbling, when Benner spies another baby a few feet away on the bare floor, he carefully makes a place for it in the nest. "Still alive. Might as well give it a chance." he says under his breath.

He gives the rabbit house a quick one-over. Most of the bunnies need water, he says, picking up a garden watering can. They can overheat quickly in summer. One young doe troubled him with a fever for 3 days. He tried to cool her by dipping her front paws in cold water, to no avail. Finally, he turned her loose in a wire pen outdoors to run in the dewy grass.

She's in here somewhere, he says, opening the pen gate. After a cursory search beneath cages and behind firewood, he gives up. If she's hiding, she must be feeling better.

Benner doesn't normally allow his rabbits to leave their cages. Neighborhood dogs are a constant threat. Two years ago, a pair of German Shepherds got into his rabbit house and killed 19 bunnies. "They were laying all over the floor when I found them. It was quite a sight, he says disgustedly. One of the rabbits was a boarder. It belonged to a man who had paid $65 for it.

He even cares about the wild rabbits that act as though they own the place. While Benner surveys his magnificent garden, fertilized with rich rabbit manure - a tiny brown rabbit hops from beneath a patch of beets. It stares, wrinkling it's nose at Benner as if to say, "Whaddya bother me for?" The man laughs, startling the rabbit. In a few seconds, ;though, it returns,nibbling on a fat beet just a few feet away.

This place is overrun with rabbits, "he says. "Wild,tame,makes no difference. They sure can keep you busy.

He even cares about the wild rabbits that act as though they own the place. While Benner surveys his magnificent garden, fertilized with rich rabbit manure - a tiny brown rabbit hops from beneath a patch of beets. It stares, wrinkling it's nose at Benner as if to say, "Whaddya bother me for?" The man laughs, startling the rabbit. In a few seconds, ;though, it returns,nibbling on a fat beet just a few feet away.

This place is overrun with rabbits, "he says. "Wild,tame,makes no difference. They sure can keep you busy.

If it weren't for Peter Cottontail, rabbit could be as common as entree as meatloaf. But peter and his lovable fictional pals, the Easter Bunny, Thumper and, of course, wise-cracking Bugs, have kept rabbit off most dinner tables.

that's a shame, says rabbit breeder Harold J. Benner of Penndel. Rabbit meat is cheaper than beef, higher in protein than beef, chicken, pork or lamb, and lower in fat, calories and cholesterol. But that image of furry adorableness keeps people from eating it, says Benner, who should know. His wife, Emily, a telephone operator at Saint Mary Hospital, refuses to partake of the bunnies she's watched grow up.

If I try, I get a picture of them and the meat just sticks in my throat, she says apologetically but adamantly. i just can't do it.

Benner says with a snort, "It's mind over matter. That's all it is. My wife's from Cokeburg. that's coal-mining country, out in Western Pennsylvania. When her father was out of work for a time, she lived on rabbit. So that's why she won't eat it today. . . she's just plain sick of it!"

There are those who will not every try "bunny burgers," as rabbit meat has been dubbed recently. Demonstrators protested over the weekend in State College at a conference of Rabbit breeders. Pennsylvania ranks only behind Oregon in production of rabbits with 6,000 breeders raising one million animals a year.

Benner himself has no qualms about rabbit meat. Now 63, he's raised them for more than 50 years. A a boy of six, he bred laboratory guinea pigs on the family farm along Trenton Road, where the Forsythia Gate section of Levittown stands today. He switched to rabbits a few years later, selling New Zealand whites, ???eds, and Flemish Giants, to labs in Princeton and at the University of Pennsylvania.

His family didn't eat rabbits, he says, but only because the ? paid so handsomely there were none to spare. I got $6 a piece ?ound rabbits, he says. "I made more money on them then today. That's a typical price now, but feed costs three time more today!

Benner, a retired steelworker, now has about 70 rabbits. .

Let me see, he says, counting out loud. "There are 11,54, yep. Around 70. Not counting all the young ones. Can't count them all.

Over the years he's mixed breeds in search of the meatier ???ops, whose long ears, dangle like a basset hound's, ?? with Flemish Giants, then crossed with New Zealand Whites. Back and forth go the unorthodox breeding until Benner is no longer surprised when a black rabbit bred with a white yields brown spotted bunnies.

Mixing gives you a bigger rabbit, he says, scratching the peculiarly mottled and ear-drooping result of one such mating. Mix and match. it's the same thing that makes Americans the strongest, healthiest people in the world.

A think, deeply tanned man, Benner is given to mixing personal with practical advice. Of the latter, he says the gestation period for rabbits is 31 days. Benner can produce 4 1/2 pound rabbits in eight weeks with plenty of good feed. A 5 pound live rabbit dresses out to about 2 3/4 pounds of all-white meat. Only eight to 12 percent is bone, compared with a chicken's 40 to 45 percents.

The hind legs and back are the meatiest parts, he says. Benner sells rabbits for $1 a pound live-weight, which means the meat costs buyers a little less than 2 a pound.

At those prices, it's hard to make money, Benner says. One hundred pounds of commercial rabbit pellets costs $12.90. During breeding seasons, he uses 100 pounds every 2 1/2 days. The American Rabbit Breeders Association figures it costs 42 cents a pound, live weight, to feed a rabbit to slaughter age. That does not, however, include the costs of electricity for the rabbit house or gas to transport the rabbits to livestock auctions.

Benner keeps none of his rabbits more than 3 1/2 years, he explains, because even occasional breeding burns them out. He staples charts to the cages of females to show when they were mated with one of his five bucks. Otherwise I'd never know who was due when, He says. Litters normally average seven to ten babies, though 11 or more are not uncommon. It's possible to get five to eight litters a year per doe, but Benner says such heavy breeding makes them old, fast.

Not all of his bunnies are destined to become Italian Rabbit Cacciatore or Oven - Fried Rabbit, however. At Easter, Benner does a good business selling pets. He charges $5 for small rabbits, culls from meat breeding. He gets $10 for even smaller rabbits, raised from his special stock of cuddly-looking dwarfs. He keeps four cages of the small, bright - eyed bunnies in his garage. He would never consider showing them, as do many breeders. Got no use for ribbons, he says disdainfully.

This past Easter he sold only 21 rabbits, a poor showing compared with his usual 75 to 100. Benner blames the economy. People aren't even considering pets anymore. They don't need another mouth to feed. "last year he sold every one of his available 82 pet rabbits before the holiday rolled around, and had to take down his battered sign. "Rabbits for Sale".

In the aftermath of every Easter, though, Benner gets some of his bunnies back. "When the kids get tired of the, or when vacation time comes, the rabbits aren't wanted anymore. Every so often someone drops one off at my place again.

He opens the door of a former hen house to reveal cage after cage of plump rabbits lolling on wire and board floors. He spots a huddled bit of silver beneath the cages. "There's that little sonuvagun. A lady gave it to my wife to bring home. Good for nothing; too small for meat, Darn thing is pregnant."

Benner peers behind a half-bale of hay and grunts. "Now she's not. There is her her litter." The babies are pink and hairless, like young mice. The silver rabbit has lined her nest with fur plucked from her breast. For all of his grumbling, when Benner spies another baby a few feet away on the bare floor, he carefully makes a place for it in the nest. "Still alive. Might as well give it a chance." he says under his breath.

He gives the rabbit house a quick one-over. Most of the bunnies need water, he says, picking up a garden watering can. They can overheat quickly in summer. One young doe troubled him with a fever for 3 days. He tried to cool her by dipping her front paws in cold water, to no avail. Finally, he turned her loose in a wire pen outdoors to run in the dewy grass.

She's in here somewhere, he says, opening the pen gate. After a cursory search beneath cages and behind firewood, he gives up. If she's hiding, she must be feeling better.

Benner doesn't normally allow his rabbits to leave their cages. Neighborhood dogs are a constant threat. Two years ago, a pair of German Shepherds got into his rabbit house and killed 19 bunnies. "They were laying all over the floor when I found them. It was quite a sight, he says disgustedly. One of the rabbits was a boarder. It belonged to a man who had paid $65 for it.

He even cares about the wild rabbits that act as though they own the place. While Benner surveys his magnificent garden, fertilized with rich rabbit manure - a tiny brown rabbit hops from beneath a patch of beets. It stares, wrinkling it's nose at Benner as if to say, "Whaddya bother me for?" The man laughs, startling the rabbit. In a few seconds, ;though, it returns,nibbling on a fat beet just a few feet away.

This place is overrun with rabbits, "he says. "Wild,tame,makes no difference. They sure can keep you busy.

Benner says with a snort, "It's mind over matter. That's all it is. My wife's from Cokeburg. that's coal-mining country, out in Western Pennsylvania. When her father was out of work for a time, she lived on rabbit. So that's why she won't eat it today. . . she's just plain sick of it!"

There are those who will not every try "bunny burgers," as rabbit meat has been dubbed recently. Demonstrators protested over the weekend in State College at a conference of Rabbit breeders. Pennsylvania ranks only behind Oregon in production of rabbits with 6,000 breeders raising one million animals a year.

Benner himself has no qualms about rabbit meat. Now 63, he's raised them for more than 50 years. A a boy of six, he bred laboratory guinea pigs on the family farm along Trenton Road, where the Forsythia Gate section of Levittown stands today. He switched to rabbits a few years later, selling New Zealand whites, ???eds, and Flemish Giants, to labs in Princeton and at the University of Pennsylvania.

His family didn't eat rabbits, he says, but only because the ? paid so handsomely there were none to spare. I got $6 a piece ?ound rabbits, he says. "I made more money on them then today. That's a typical price now, but feed costs three time more today!

Benner, a retired steelworker, now has about 70 rabbits. .

Let me see, he says, counting out loud. "There are 11,54, yep. Around 70. Not counting all the young ones. Can't count them all.

Over the years he's mixed breeds in search of the meatier ???ops, whose long ears, dangle like a basset hound's, ?? with Flemish Giants, then crossed with New Zealand Whites. Back and forth go the unorthodox breeding until Benner is no longer surprised when a black rabbit bred with a white yields brown spotted bunnies.

Mixing gives you a bigger rabbit, he says, scratching the peculiarly mottled and ear-drooping result of one such mating. Mix and match. it's the same thing that makes Americans the strongest, healthiest people in the world.

A think, deeply tanned man, Benner is given to mixing personal with practical advice. Of the latter, he says the gestation period for rabbits is 31 days. Benner can produce 4 1/2 pound rabbits in eight weeks with plenty of good feed. A 5 pound live rabbit dresses out to about 2 3/4 pounds of all-white meat. Only eight to 12 percent is bone, compared with a chicken's 40 to 45 percents.

The hind legs and back are the meatiest parts, he says. Benner sells rabbits for $1 a pound live-weight, which means the meat costs buyers a little less than 2 a pound.

At those prices, it's hard to make money, Benner says. One hundred pounds of commercial rabbit pellets costs $12.90. During breeding seasons, he uses 100 pounds every 2 1/2 days. The American Rabbit Breeders Association figures it costs 42 cents a pound, live weight, to feed a rabbit to slaughter age. That does not, however, include the costs of electricity for the rabbit house or gas to transport the rabbits to livestock auctions.

Benner keeps none of his rabbits more than 3 1/2 years, he explains, because even occasional breeding burns them out. He staples charts to the cages of females to show when they were mated with one of his five bucks. Otherwise I'd never know who was due when, He says. Litters normally average seven to ten babies, though 11 or more are not uncommon. It's possible to get five to eight litters a year per doe, but Benner says such heavy breeding makes them old, fast.

Not all of his bunnies are destined to become Italian Rabbit Cacciatore or Oven - Fried Rabbit, however. At Easter, Benner does a good business selling pets. He charges $5 for small rabbits, culls from meat breeding. He gets $10 for even smaller rabbits, raised from his special stock of cuddly-looking dwarfs. He keeps four cages of the small, bright - eyed bunnies in his garage. He would never consider showing them, as do many breeders. Got no use for ribbons, he says disdainfully.

This past Easter he sold only 21 rabbits, a poor showing compared with his usual 75 to 100. Benner blames the economy. People aren't even considering pets anymore. They don't need another mouth to feed. "last year he sold every one of his available 82 pet rabbits before the holiday rolled around, and had to take down his battered sign. "Rabbits for Sale".

In the aftermath of every Easter, though, Benner gets some of his bunnies back. "When the kids get tired of the, or when vacation time comes, the rabbits aren't wanted anymore. Every so often someone drops one off at my place again.

He opens the door of a former hen house to reveal cage after cage of plump rabbits lolling on wire and board floors. He spots a huddled bit of silver beneath the cages. "There's that little sonuvagun. A lady gave it to my wife to bring home. Good for nothing; too small for meat, Darn thing is pregnant."

Benner peers behind a half-bale of hay and grunts. "Now she's not. There is her her litter." The babies are pink and hairless, like young mice. The silver rabbit has lined her nest with fur plucked from her breast. For all of his grumbling, when Benner spies another baby a few feet away on the bare floor, he carefully makes a place for it in the nest. "Still alive. Might as well give it a chance." he says under his breath.

He gives the rabbit house a quick one-over. Most of the bunnies need water, he says, picking up a garden watering can. They can overheat quickly in summer. One young doe troubled him with a fever for 3 days. He tried to cool her by dipping her front paws in cold water, to no avail. Finally, he turned her loose in a wire pen outdoors to run in the dewy grass.

She's in here somewhere, he says, opening the pen gate. After a cursory search beneath cages and behind firewood, he gives up. If she's hiding, she must be feeling better.

Benner doesn't normally allow his rabbits to leave their cages. Neighborhood dogs are a constant threat. Two years ago, a pair of German Shepherds got into his rabbit house and killed 19 bunnies. "They were laying all over the floor when I found them. It was quite a sight, he says disgustedly. One of the rabbits was a boarder. It belonged to a man who had paid $65 for it.

He even cares about the wild rabbits that act as though they own the place. While Benner surveys his magnificent garden, fertilized with rich rabbit manure - a tiny brown rabbit hops from beneath a patch of beets. It stares, wrinkling it's nose at Benner as if to say, "Whaddya bother me for?" The man laughs, startling the rabbit. In a few seconds, ;though, it returns,nibbling on a fat beet just a few feet away.

This place is overrun with rabbits, "he says. "Wild,tame,makes no difference. They sure can keep you busy.

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