WE'D been through so much together, us and the rabbits. . . The original Jasmine dying after just a few weeks; a substitute Jasmine being found to mend broken hearts; painful memories flooding back as I took Aladdin to have his manhood severed in the interests of family planning; celebrating Aladdin's victory in the 'cutest bunny in show' competition at the village fete, even though he was the only rabbit entered.

But suddenly things were looking bleak. The novelty had worn off for the kids. Jasmine and Aladdin had gone from being pampered pets to boring bunnies, and Mum - as mums tend to do - had lost patience. She was sick of being the one who ended up having to clean them out, feed them, and let them out into the run. The ultimatums started to come thick and fast.

"Either you lot start taking a bit more care of the rabbits or they're going," she'd cried on several occasions (although no one really believed her).

Naturally, it wasn't just directed at the kids. The warnings were loud enough for me to hear too, so I was moved to suggest a possible way forward.

Why not send the rabbits away on holiday for a couple of weeks to see how much they were missed? If they were missed, it might be a big enough jolt to make the kids realise their responsibilities. If they weren't missed, the holiday would be extended into a permanent move out of our lives. And so it came to be that I drove substitute Jasmine and original Aladdin back to Bunny Burrows rabbit sanctuary at Richmond in a straw-filled cardboard box. I was convinced they wouldn't be coming back. Aladdin's eyes caught mine as I stroked him goodbye - we share a common bond that only those whose most delicate parts have been addressed by the surgical blade can understand.

It has to be recorded that the kids didn't miss the rabbits one bit. Children are fickle creatures and the ghastly stars of the new World Wrestling Federation PlayStation game had become much more exciting.

Mum, on the other hand, missed them terribly. They'd only been gone two days when she started wondering if they should come back. By day three, she'd made up her mind that they belonged back with us. By day four, she'd gone out and bought them a smart new hutch. By day five, I'd been despatched to Richmond to bring them home.

I can take pride in the fact that the holiday produced the desired effect. It made Mum realise that cleaning, cuddling, and feeding the rabbits was always going to be down to her.

She just needed a little bit of help coming to terms with it. . .

THE THINGS THEY SAY

This column has often reflected on the dangers of children listening to adult conversations. The Dad At Large roadshow rolled along to the Eaglescliffe 33 Club recently and this was a story told by president Margery Britton... A three-year-old girl from a very nice home was being taught how to save up to open a bank account.

Builders were working at the house at the time and the little girl got to know them by helping her mum serve them tea and biscuits. Occasionally, they would donate five pences to her savings so she found it profitable to hang around and listen to their conversations. Finally she saved up enough and her mum took her to the building society to open her bank account.

"At this rate, you'll be able to open another bank account soon," gushed the cashier.

"Not if the f****** glaziers don't hurry up and get here on time," she replied.