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So there was this rabbit. And one day, this rabbit - I think his name was Jacky; Jacky O'Hare (on his father's side, I believe) - got up, looked out of the window of his little bachelor warren and saw that it was an absolutely perfect Spring day. The sun shone brightly and the sky was rich and blue, dotted only here and there by the occasional drifting herd of softly flocculent white clouds. It was too lovely to resist, so Jacky pulled on his favourite little jacket (blue, of course) and set off for a bit of a walk, carefully closing the door after himself.

Well, it was a lovely day for a walk. "What a lovely day for a walk," said Jacky to himself. (See, I told you it was a lovely day for a walk.) He headed across the fields where he lived, not hurrying at all, and eventually he came to the side of the local canal. There being no bridge convenient he couldn't get to the other side, and, not wanting to turn back yet, he picked a direction and went in it. On and on he walked through that bright Spring morning, taking the very soft and pleasant air as he did so. But as he went on a ways he started to get hungry, and he realised that in his excitement to get out of the door he'd forgotten to nibble on any breakfast. "Still," he reminded himself, "where there's a canal there's bound to be an old pub somewhere along the way, and if I hurry I'll get there just in time for it to open."

So he put his best hindpaw forward, picking up the pace just a little. Soon, just as he had hoped, around the bend of the canal and in the nook of a small hill nestled a cosy-looking pub built of local stone. From the chimney curled a thin trail of smoke, which only caused Jacky to increase his pace still further.

He arrived at the pub to find the door standing open in ready welcome, so he went inside, glanced around as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, and then hopped lithely over to the bar and up onto a stool. "Good morning," he called out as the barman was nowhere to be seen.

A moment later, a kindly-looking fellow with big mutton-chop whiskers appeared from a door behind the bar. "Oh, good morning, sir," quoth the hostel-keeper, "I didn't hear you come in. Sorry about that. What can I get for you today?" (If he noticed at all that he was talking to a rabbit, he was obviously far too polite to say anything about it.)

"Well, I'd like a pint of beer, I think," Jacky began, "and, actually, now I think about it I'm pretty hungry. I didn't eat breakfast before I left the warren."

"Oh, dear, sir," said the barman as he polished and tidied a couple of glasses. "That's not a good idea. Most important meal of the day, breakfast. But anyway, I'm afraid the cook's not in yet, sir: we only usually do bar food at lunchtime."

"That's all right. What do you have?"

"Nothing fancy, I'm afraid, sir, just a couple of toasted sandwiches - toasties, I calls 'em. I can do you a, er, a cheese toasty, a ham toasty or a tomato toasty. What would you like?"

Jacky thought for a moment. "Hmm. Well... I think I'll have, erm... I'll have a tomato toasty and that pint of beer, if you don't mind."

"Certainly, sir. Just give a minute to get the thing started and I'll be back and pulling you a pint in a jiffy."

It didn't take too long, which was a good thing as Jacky's stomach was already growling in annoyance. The 'just a tomato toasty' turned out in fact to be the most delicious rosemary and basil bruschetta, toasted to perfection and served with seasoned tomatoes, olives and sprinkled with sea salt. The beer, far from overwhelming the food, complemented it perfectly and before Jacky knew what he was doing both the food and the drink were gone. He belched softly, looked up to see the barman smiling at him and blushed to the tips of his long, pointed ears.

"Guess you really was hungry, sir," said the barman, coming over to clear up.

"I suppose I was!" replied Jacky, grinning. "And, actually, I still am... Could I try your ham toasty, and another pint of beer?"

"Be right with you, sir."

In not much longer than the first time arrived the ham toasty, which was several slices of obviously home-cooked ham nestling in two halves of a fresh baguette spread with butter and rounded out with a luscious salad and seasoned with good, strong English mustard. Although he'd already eaten, the second toasty and the accompanying beer vanished almost as quickly as the first, and soon Jacky leaned against the bar, feeling much, much better.

"Enjoyed that one, sir?"

"Oh, it was delicious," replied the rabbit, "absolutely delicious. That ham... who makes it for you?"

"That would be the lady wife, sir. She does all that kind of thing for us here."

"Well, she does a fantastic job." Jacky paused, covering his belch with a petite little pawhand, and then shook his head. Though he had eaten what for him was a big meal, he still found he had a "corner", and, curiosity getting the better of him, he looked over bashfully and said, "You know, this is pure greed, and I really shouldn't, but... may I have a cheese toasty and another pint, please?"

"My pleasure, sir."

And out it came, a few minutes later, three slabs of thickly cut fresh white bread, liberally and majestically topped with a thick coating of mature Cheddar, Lancashire and Cheshire cheeses, with a few lashings of Gruyère and Parmesan for extra zing, beneath which bubbled some of the best chutney (also obviously home-made) which Jacky had ever tasted in his life. This toasty took some getting down, together with its accompanying pint, and it was nearly half an hour after he'd begun it when the young rabbit finally swallowed the last corner and chased it down with the remains of his beer. His head was comfortably fuzzy, and his stomach ached a little from the quantity of food he'd consumed. But what lovely food, he said with a grin.

"Well, sir," said Jacky as he slid from the barstool and reached into his pocket for his wallet, "that was... that was utterly delicious. Thank you." He dropped a couple of twenties on the bar top and turned to head out.

"Glad you enjoyed it, sir," replied the barman. "Mind how you go now."

Jacky nodded brightly, and gave a jaunty wave and belched again, contentedly. He was just about to reach out to push open the door when he froze where he stood, gave a little whimper --- and dropped down on the ground.

The barman dashed out from behind the bar, tea-towel still slung over his shoulder. There in front of him lay the nice bunny rabbit, still and quiet as anything. Cautiously, the barman leaned down and gave Jacky's still body an experimental prod with one finger. Nothing. Nothing at all. The whiskers were utterly still, and there wasn't the slightest sign of breath.

"Oh, heavens," said the barman to himself. "Oh, the poor little fella. The poor, poor little fella." At the sound of a car pulling into the car park he glanced up for a moment, then reached down, gathered up Jacky's still little form and carried him tenderly out into the shade of a tree in the back garden before returning to deal with the lunchtime crowd.

After he'd closed the pub following lunch and had washed and tidied up, he went out into the garden again. There lay the rabbit, just as he'd left him, his little blue jacket tugged up a little around his slender body. The barman's first thought was --- No, he told himself sternly, he was a nice fellow, and I can't just make him into a pie: that's not right. I'll do the right thing by him. So he went and got a spade and there, on the other side of the tree, looking out across the fields, he dug a little grave and lowered Jacky's body into it carefully. He wasn't a religious man, but he didn't think that mattered, so he said a few quiet words of prayer and had a moment of silence before delicately filling the grave and replacing the turf. I'll get a little stone made, he thought to himself, but for now this will have to do. And then he put a small round piece of granite to mark the spot, went and washed off his spade and got ready for the evening.

The following evening - it might have been a Friday - the pub was in full swing. There was a full bar, people were laughing and joking, drinks were flowing, darts were flying with various degrees of expertise and generally a fun time was being had by all. About halfway through the evening the front door opened and in came a ghostly rabbit, walking - or maybe drifting; it's hard to tell - across the room in the direction of the bar. Well, there was pandemonium, screaming, panic, flailing and a mass exodus from the pub via the front and back doors --- all, that is, except for the barman, who was stuck behind the bar and couldn't have got out even if he'd wanted to - and he did. He couldn't do anything except stand there watching the ghost of Jacky O'Hare move to a bar stool, pull itself up onto it and settle down comfortably, just like he'd done the day before.

The ghost looked over at him. "Good evening," it said in a sepulchral, distant kind of tone, though pretty friendly, like.

"Guh... guh... g-g-g-good evening, s-s-sir," stammered the barman after taking a moment to remember what his larynx was for and how it worked. "Uh... eh... wh-what would you l-l-l-like?"

"I'll have a pint of beer, please."

The ghost continued to regard the barman with a look of infinite patience as the terrified man shuffled over to the glass rack, picked up a pint in trembling hands and slowly, carefully pulled the ale into it and set it down in front of the rabbit. Jacky's ghost considered for a moment, reached out and lifted the glass, put it to its ethereal lips and began to drink; mysteriously, the ale vanished, just as it would normally have done.

"Ahh," said the ghost, "that's better. Another one, please."

"Y-y-yes, sir." The barman, still scared, was back on familiar ground, now, serving for a customer, though the customer was dead and the beer going to a place he couldn't even begin to imagine. He kept looking over at the phantom rabbit, his eyebrows furrowing in thought and consternation.

After his second pint, Jacky's ghost said in the same otherworldly tones, "I hate to seem rude, but is something wrong? You keep looking at me as though you've seen a ghost."

"Uh... well... well... you are... you are a ghost."

"Yes, I suppose there is that," it conceded.

"But... well... yesterday..."

"What about it?"

"Well... I hate to ask, but... why did you come back here? I mean, I treated you proper, I gave you a decent burial, I didn't turn you into pie or nothin'!"

Jacky's ghost looked up at him and shrugged. "Why wouldn't I come back? I like the beer."

This seemed to confound the barkeep for a few seconds, then he shrugged as well. "Well, okay... but... Well... I'm sorry if this is a rude question to ask a ghost --- I've never had a ghost in my bar before - well, not so's anyone'd notice, but --- well... what... what was wrong? What happened? Was there something wrong with the food?"

An emphatic shake of the ghost's head sent its long ears flopping about. "No! No, the food was delicious. Best I've ever had."

"So what was it?!" The barman's voice broke in consternation. "Please, I'm sorry, but I have to know! What did you die of?"

The ghost of Jacky O'Hare looked up at the barman. "Oh, that." A moment passed, and then he shrugged once and said simply, "Mixing my toasties."