When we lived on Pineapple Street, I had a white rabbit unoriginally named Powderpuff. Like most rabbits he had absolutely no personality, but he was mine and I loved him. Our next door neighbor was an elderly man who saw rabbits as good for only one thing, which was stew. I didn't know that detail when he offered to buy my rabbit for fifty cents. That was a huge amount of money to me, and I was sorely tempted. He persisted in his offers, finally reaching the unheard of price of one dollar, and I succumbed. I could always visit him, I rationalized. I took the dollar and handed Powderpuff over to him.
Immediately I had seller's remorse. I knew I had messed up and was afraid to tell my parents, especially in front of the company who had come for dinner. But at last the tears came and I wailed, "I sold Powderpuff and I didn't want to!" My father knew immediately that the neighbor didn't want a cute, fluffy pet, and so he walked over and after negotiations, returned with my bunny.
This was my first understanding of the teaching that the love of money is the root of all evil. It was definitely the root of the near demise of Powderpuff.
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