They called him Rabbit Ears

Bobby did not have big ears. That wasn't it at all. In point of fact, Bobby wasn't very big. Being only seven years old and the shortest of the kids, he was often overlooked until he was missed. Dinner time would come around and Mom would count out the chairs that had bodies in them. Invariably the fifth chair would be empty. "Bobby!" would go out the call from Mom who would then dispatch one of the brothers to find him and bring him in to supper.

One time Franklin, the oldest at fifteen, found Bobby knee-deep in the duck pond searching through the weeds. Bobby claimed that he saw gold shining down in the mud and he just knew he could dig it up and make them all rich.

Another suppertime, Harley - the ten-year old - was sent to find Bobby. It took Harley nearly half an hour and boy was Harley cross by the time he discovered where his little brother was. Mom had fixed apple pie for dessert and that was Harley's favorite and he didn't want to miss out on the warm cinnamon-y goodness on account of his baby brother. He'd found Bobby up in the top rafter of the barn. He only told Mom that he'd found Bobby in the barn, not that he'd found him up on a rafter; that would have given his poor mom a heart palpitation for sure. Mom was always saying that her kids did nothing but give her heart palpitations.

From Bobby's point of view, he couldn't figure out what all the fuss was about. He knew that Mom would never let him starve plus he didn't have a watch - how did he know when it was suppertime? He had way too much exploring to do. There was the barn, which was good for at least two or three summers worth of searching. The farm had a duck pond, a chicken coop, a goat pen, the pasture and the corn fields. Then there were the trees. He had yet to climb even a fraction of them. So much for one small boy to do.

Probably the piece de resistance for Bobby was the bull pen. It just called to him. Problem was, Mom and Dad - and Grandpa - had told him that the bull pen was strictly, and in no uncertain terms, completely and utterly off limits. A no go destination. And, of course, it was the one place Bobby really wanted to explore.

Today was Thursday and for the first time in quite a few days, Bobby was on time for dinner. He was actually in his chair, napkin under his chin, fork in hand and ready to eat. Mom just stared at him.

"Bobby," Mom said.

"Yes Mom," Bobby answered.

"Where have you been?" Mom asked. Her voice had an unusual lift at the top of the question.

"Oh, around," he said. "Just the usual. You know, exploring and looking for cool stuff." Bobby was beginning to get the feeling that he was in for some trouble. That he'd been found out in some way. He thought he'd been so careful.

Mom pushed her dining chair back, stood up and went over to Bobby. She took her hands and placed them on the sides of her little son's head. Slowly she reached with one hand and plucked a marigold flower from the top of his head. A marigold flower! There was only one place on the entire farm where marigolds grew. The bull pen.

Bobby had the grace - and good sense - to blush. "I'm sorry Mom," he said. "I just couldn't help myself. It just called to me!"

Mom sighed. Her heart palpitated. She kissed her little boy on the top of his head, handed him his dinner plate and marched him off to his room. Bobby knew he wouldn't get dessert and that he would get a lecture the next morning.

That night he knelt at the open window of his bedroom, arms crossed on the window sill and breathed in the mysteries of the night air. He could just hear them - the Sirens of adventure calling to him.