At 9, old enough to know that the Easter Bunny was no real than Santa Claus or government assistance, my sister picked up on the prank right away. My brother, being only 6 or so, was not yet so enlightened. Thus my announcement set forth a horrified shriek of combined grief, disbelief and terror. To that extent, the prank was successful, HOWEVER...
My mother didn't take too kindly to being awakened by a howling kid. Once she sorted out the facts of the matter she responded in typical motherly fashion, consoling my brother, whipping my ass with a willow switch, and then dressing the rabbit to fry up for supper.
For quite a few years I maintained the tradition of an annual Easter morning rabbit hunt. I'm not particularly inclined to head afield with a .22 rifle this morning, but should Mr. Rabbit decide to upset the dog yard and hop through the yard, I will have no problem maintaining this irreverent albeit delicious tradition. Besides, baked young rabbit fits into my diet much better than do chocolate eggs and jelly beans.