Rabbit

The lady I was serving in the shop looked vaguely familiar. "Didn't I see you this morning outside Black Swan Cottage?" I asked. "You were helping to back a car out and I was walking past with my dog."
"You've got a good memory," she said. "Yes, that was me - we had the holiday cottage for last Easter too. I don't remember your face though - I only remember the dog and the rabbit."
On the way up to Radnor's End that morning, Islay had found a rabbit, recently dead on the road. She was very good, and didn't leave the pavement, but she was watching it so intently I half expected it to levitate and come towards her. Fortunately, I was there to do it all for her, so I ran into the road, picked up the still warm bunny, and carried it home for her (well, she's getting old - and if she was given it straight away, she'd just have eaten it straight away. I wanted my breakfast, too.).
So that's how I came to be walking past Black Swan Cottage cradling a dead rabbit in my arms.

When I did give it to Islay, she swaggered round to the back garden to eat it as if she'd caught it herself.