We get a call from the owner of the house we are living in.

— Guys, go ahead and slaughter the rabbits, and eat them.

— ??? But Uncle Mykola, that’s really too nice of you. We have our military rations.

— Put your rations away! Go ahead and cook up the rabbits! I’m asking you. You’re my guests.

— Well, if you insist. We’ll leave you the rations then.

— It's a deal.

…

We line up.

— Guys, whoever’s ready to kill katsaps, step forward!

Everyone takes a step, to a man.

— Now, who’s ready to kill and skin a rabbit? Step forward!

We all lower our eyes and shuffle our feet. One old man steps out.

— I can! I kept them before the war.

…

They made me do the cooking. Soon my rank of Master Sergeant will include the title «Chef.»

Oleksandr, Kyiv Oblast