Across the dry grassland plain toward Lincoln they sped, rabbits who’d left their run too late, on a withering Wednesday in February 1932. Searing nor’ wester at their tail, spreading fire as they fled.
The fire was rapid, the area vast. It was a close run thing but all pitched in,
from sale yard, college, farm and town the locals rallied, torn limb of pine, shovel and wet sack in hand.
A lull in the wind sure helped, but hard work won the day and when the fire was finally beaten it was roundly said,“that cold beer had never tasted so good.”
THE SHORT STORY
WELCOME TO THE FLAMING RABBIT
Where along with good food and cheer; we hope you’ll agree
the beer still tastes just as grand!
