Grandpa, a West Virginia Quaker farmer relocated to Southern California in 1900, raised walnuts and poultry on a small suburban farm. Chickens and eggs, turkeys, and rabbits, many rabbits. Our nuclear family ate midday dinner with grandpa and grandma every Sunday throughout my childhood. Half the meals featured fried chicken; the rest were fried rabbit. Pass the ketchup.
I later lived on a chicken-raising commune. My experience with poultry has convinced me that bunnies and chickens are so stupid, and hens so vicious, that they deserve to be eaten. Vegans living on poultry ranches will quickly turn carnivorous. Or they're morons.
Peter Rabbit, pan-fried. Rabbit peter, roasted. Rabbit's foot, glazed. Yummy.