Last week was a reaffirmation week. For 10 months, since last April, I consumed the flesh of a creature on no more occasions than the fingers on my hand.

On one occasion, I ate flesh at a Rendezvous, a fur-trade re-enactment. That was a difficult thing not to pursue at such an event. I felt queer afterward. Then had I, this last week, a craving for a spicy-chicken sandwich made by a most youthful ginger girl. During my consumption of the beastly fowl, I thought it bland and tasteless; therefore, I remain today a vegetarian. I noticed afterward that my skin smelled slightly different. My thoughts on the subject of the consumption of flesh presently will be revealed. A creature that plays shall be not consumed. Therefore, a mammal, a class of creature unique as man in the art of play, deserves best by man. And so, the rest etc. etc.

On the topic of mammals, also this week prior, I was vacating the Brass Rail after some amount of socializing. That night, it snowed an inch or so.

By the time I left the pub, the ground was covered. I crossed Main Street west on 11th and, at the southwest corner of the sidewalk, I made witness to a little thing hopping along the storefronts. I stopped abruptly and the wee thing changed its path hopping from the corner of Bildschon Haus towards my person. I found it to be a mouse, just an ordinary variety of brown field or house mouse. Without changing directions, it hopped onto my boot and looked at me. Then I with a tip of the hat and a "Well met, sir!" the creature continued on its path toward Baby Bildschon and, from there, I know not to where the fellow travelled. I was of no inebriated state, though there could be some debate about that given my solitary testimony.

I knew decidedly by this time that my chicken ingestion prior was absent my scent. For this wee creature understood I met it no certainty of harm.

There was once a time when I hated and was disgusted by such a creature, but on this occasion, I reaffirmed my convictions toward protecting, above all things and especially, mammals, this wee fellow included. Further, I realized my prejudices that existed for the wee mammals became absolutely vacant at the very moment one greeted me on the streets of Hays.

In the heat of the year 2009, I found myself another wee companion, a quaint little rabbit. I must confess my affinity for the rabbit, my favorite animal since my youthful age of 2. Though I knew the creature for only a day, his brother erstwhile killed by chickens, I sought to rescue him and save him from his sibling's fate. I fed him milk, and squeaked at him by pursing my lips on my front teeth, there which I communicated with him. He returned his compliments by a lick.

This creature was no larger than the mouse companion I met months later yet a week ago now. The fact remaining that those vicious chickens killed one of my most favored companions meant that eventually I would return a favor to one of their brethren. I have had my revenge upon these chickens for the last time. My heart satiated for a slain rabbit, never again shall I feast on flesh of any sort, no foul fowl of any kind.

Yet I digress from the topic of my reaffirmation. The rabbit is a forgotten and lowly creature by man. I now posit that this creature is as welcome a companion as the canine or feline. He acts more curious than a cat and more noble than a dog. His territory he knows well and guards. His escapades are normally docile and he speaks with no harsh tongues or slaps with vengeance and claw. The bunny rabbit has no greater foul smell than those of the others.

For one such as I can recognize the owner of former creatures most readily by the scent present upon garments and handshakes.

There, too, I can taste the odor in the air of one who consumes flesh. And greatest of all points, he eats nearly the same as I eat. And so I refer you, if you have found interest, the House Rabbit Society for extra scholarly gratification of what I honor "Nabbits."

And so it comes to the final event of my now affirmative stance within one week. I visited the Soup'R Bowl. There I made witness to the syllogisms of the Humane Society of the High Plains and the congregation available who might also listen to their proselytizing. This gave me hope that there might be those many in the multitude of masses who might still care a small amount for their mammalian brethren locked away seeking adoption.

My affinity also for cheese leads to my thinking of all soups briefly tasted by my person, the Potato Chowder, which made nary a billing in an article by this publication, as the tastiest of all. Please sir, may I have some more?

Adam Conkey, an Edmond native living in Hays, is the son of a Kansas farmer and a graduate of Fort Hays State University.