Snowy Bunnies

At the edge of the village lived two solitary old people: Grandpa Vasily, who could, on occasion, be obstinate enough to get the village all roiled up, and his wife, Grandma Dusya. Yevdokeya, which was the name in her passport, was as staid as could be in her ways and took things as they came. So they were well suited to share a home together. They were pensioners at last, and the village council had started giving them free firewood. You’d think all was well, right? Footloose and fancy free? No, not a bit of it.

For Grandma and Grandpa had a secret sorrow. Grandma Dusya blamed it all on the war, on getting frozen to the bone while she was digging trenches, and that was all it took. Grandpa Vasily blamed it on the war too, the same war. Maybe they’d poisoned him with the fruit drink he’d been issued. People said they’d put something in the fruit drink so the soldiers wouldn’t go chasing the broads when they should be concentrating on their military assignments.

Long story short, Vasily and Dusya had tried and tried, but God had never sent them any children. In time, they’d gotten used to living alone, until one day, Grandpa Vasily happened on a little pamphlet that someone had tossed. It had it all: the how and the who and the what to ask for. As in how to bring in a good harvest, stop a leg from hurting, hush the geese, or have a successful lambing... Everything needful was covered there. So Vasily started asking, on the quiet, to be granted some sort of offspring, even just an itty-bitty one.