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