When I was young my Dad, a frustrated Nova Scotia farmer, decided to raise rabbits in our backyard. Everyone in the family knew they were being raised for meat except my then-girlfriend (now my wife of 51 years) who unbeknownst to us thought they were being raised as pets, and have given them all cute names. She and I pulled into the driveway one afternoon and Dad and nailed the now-dead rabbits on the fence and was skinning them by slitting the skin and giving it a good pull. He skinned "Poopsie" just as we parked. It took about six months for my girlfriend to forgive him. The rabbit pie was good though.