Well, friends, I will hereby supply the last chapter to this tale...
Our best estimate is that the bloke shot about a 103, give or take a few shots, and that is with pars on #6, #7, #16 and #18.
Unless he was asking us to take pictures of him and the rabbit, or the other statements I have already mentioned, he did not say 3-4 sentences the entire way around. Again, I stress, not in a mean or ill-spirited fashion, but rather in a trance-like, disconnected, self-absorbed sense.
He was from Toronto originally, but Los Angeles most directly. As to where he went, we know not, as he vanished as strangely as he had come, and he had not returned to the pro shop in the 15 minutes after the completion of the round...no cart, no clubs, no rabbit...
Before I proceed, I must say that I am most sincere in my respect for all animals that are pets--sometimes I wish we treated our children as well as we treat our pets!--but everything must have its place in life, and I'm not sure Pebble Beach was the place for this rabbit...
For I have withheld one key element of the tale, for which I apologize, as in the Hollywood tradition of story-telling, there is indeed a kicker, a mystery, a zinger if you will in the last reel... I beg forgiveness, as I have been overtly manipulative..
Unfortunately, it has been more in the tradition of "The Sixth Sense" or "Sophie's Choice" or, heaven-forbid, "Thelma and Louise" than in the more-traditional happy ending...
I spent the first few holes wondering why the rabbit wouldn't simply hop away--not that it couldn't be re-captured, but the smell of the fresh air, the textures of the grasses, etc--wouldn't that stir up some primal instinct for freedom in the poor creature?
Sadly, the rabbit would be unable to flee. It had a tumor that occupied over 50% of its posterior half, and treatments had failed to improve its condition. Eventhough it was on anti-inflammatories, clearly its movements were labored. In all sincerity, the player told us that "Peewee wanted to see Pebble Beach before he passed away."
The afternoon was strange in more ways than I can ever count, and I spent some of the afternoon feeling awful about the more mean-spirited thoughts that had crossed my mind from time to time. Perhaps in some sense, I had been manipulated too, and I think it could be argued that it was blatantly unfair for someone to assume that the other players playing in the group would be OK with this whole sequence of events.
Nevertheless, in the setting sun on the 18th tee at Pebble Beach, as I was holding the videocamera taping the man with his rabbit, I am not too proud to admit that I had to fight back a great big lump in my throat, and maybe even a few tears...
As to where the man and the rabbit disappeared to, well I hope it might be the best 19th (rabbit) hole either one of them could imagine...
Peter