Jim Bunny Rogers Rabbits www.sunlive.co.nz

It was like a red rag to a bull... well, a rabbit in this case.

Except we rabbits aren't sensitive to red – we are dichromatic, two colour vision, mainly green and blue, but excluding other hues like red. I think that's how we work. We don't see red.

But it didn't stop Jim B seeing red and getting all bloody minded when a reader laid down the gauntlet.

It got my bobtail all twitchy and me all angsty and defensive. Horrible!

'You won't be publishing this, so good day to you sir.”

That was the writer's parting shot. 'You won't be publishing this…”

Why not? I once read ‘every man should periodically be compelled to listen to opinions which are infuriating to him'. So let's get it out there.

That excerpt was part of a letter, sealed and cellotaped, and dropped down the rabbit hole by rural delivery onto the nicely-compacted earthen floor last week.

Bad feeling

Sometimes mail comes down the hole, other times I get it in the neck. 'But neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays the postman from swift completion of their appointed rounds – even to rabbits down rabbit holes.” The ever so slightly amended postman's oath.

The intuitive Doe had a bad feeling about this letter. 'Don't open it,” she pleaded.

Why not? 'It might be contaminated with garlic, vinegar or chilli – stuff we hate. Or, heaven forbid, myxomatosis.”

Don't be silly – Tauranga's not like that.

We're passionate and opinionated but not downright evil, or animal abusers.

Anyhow, I scoffed and opened the letter. The heat in the kitchen soared.

I momentarily considered getting out.

'Dear Bunny…” – a pleasant enough, respectful, opening gambit. But then…

'Your ‘spray' re the conservative unwashed did you no favours,” our correspondent wrote. 'You were clearly interviewing your keyboard.”

The letter was obviously prompted by The Weekend Sun page 2 opinion piece – ‘Naysayer central – kao!' – which suggested that negativity and self-interest may be doing Tauranga a disservice, blocking infrastructure like a new stadium.

But the letter doesn't address the stadium issue, or the substance of the opinion piece. It was more a vitriolic attack on the writer. Mind you, this correspondent wasn't alone.

In the column a former ‘farmer' railed against a stadium. Our correspondent continues – 'The farmer is a group you have been brainwashed to dislike.”

'You didn't say what sort (of farmer). He could have been growing organic. Vegies for ‘greens' like you.”

Yep – I suspect there is a green streak.

But it's not front and foremost.

He goes on …

'Your attitude to farmers dates you at 35, plus or minus five years. You were subject to the anti-farming crap in our schools in that period and you bought into it.”

Bless you

Bless you on that one. Because, while a rabbit in the wild lives about eight years, this ropey, crotchety old buck has clocked up nine times that, plus one or two. So coming up 73. I spent my school holidays working on a farm, learned to drive on a Massey Ferguson, had a role model brother in Young Farmers and worked for a stock and station agency. Our home, albeit a suburban one, was a veritable farmyard – chooks, rabbits, dog, cats, lambs, mice, pet hedgehog and an aviary. And we would go shooting and fishing and harvesting mushrooms. We didn't live on the land but we lived off it.

And I can think of 10.6 billion reasons why I appreciate farmers' contribution to our GDP.

About boats

The correspondent also climbed into me about boats. 'The bit about the boat was pure fantasy. If it (the ex-farmer's boat) weren't worth a million, he wouldn't tell you.” Fair enough. I prefer cricket bats, and don't pretend to understand how personal boaties feel about their boats.

There's a final salvo. 'Your (sic) thank God for commisars (sic) tells me you buy into big govt. And state run everything. Which third world country do you think we should copy?”

Commissars were Soviet communist party officials charged with indoctrinating the public with communist ideology. And do we really have to revisit why the city is in the hands of a quiet, capable, unflappable few at the moment? 'And those oldies playing croquet you find amusing. Socialist countries have few of those facilities.”

Civil discussion

Croquet – a noble game. Part of the great Wimbledon sporting institution – the All England lawn Tennis and Croquet Club.

The question is not whether we should have croquet facilities, but whether it should be played at the domain? It's for discussion.

And then that parting shot, the complimentary close. 'You won't be publishing this, so good day to you sir.”

The Sun has withheld the correspondent's name. Little was to be gained by publishing it. However publishing the substance of the letter demonstrates the role of a community newspaper, to encourage a platform for civil public discourse on matters affecting them. Civil as in any meaning of the word – relating to citizens and their concerns. And courteous and polite. Email:hunter@thesun.co.nz