Original story (see https://medium.com/@christopher.brew/the-big-hop-60b22914f9d2)

I should’ve known it wasn’t going to work: Jess is the kind of doe who expects a lot of lettuce, and I’m not the kind of buck who’s ever going to be able to give her that. Not like Roger or Big Pete. My sire was a small-time vegetable pusher: swedes and carrots mainly, not the big stuff. Most of what he sold was even legal if you had the money and you knew where to find it. But if you do what he does, you can’t be choosy about the company you keep. So it wasn’t much of a surprise when he fell out with the Big P. over a kohlrabi shipment and had to leave town.

My dam coped as best she could, though it wasn’t easy for her. We were a decent family, and if the bucks she brought back were Zane and Dane and Kane and Paine (never Boris or Donald or Barack or Emmett), and if they never stayed for more than a week, at least they were kind to me and had their own front teeth. Jane, Laine, Flopsy, and Cottontail were good to me too. Decent does, whatever you think of their lifestyle. Everybody in our end of the burrow used to let you be whoever you needed to be. The only rough year was fifth-grade when that damn Mopsy made Mom go organic, hyperlocal, non-binary AND non-Fibonacci. They tried to make my teachers stop calling us Buck or Doe, and use Duck or Boe instead. Quack! Quack! I tell ya. And Mopsy was a biter.

By sophomore year my incisors were coming down nicely. I had a big cheek and a thumper of a back left foot. I may not have had brains but I had a growing body. And an adult nose for fermented vegetables. I volunteered as a burrow guard and liked the touch of authority it gave me — that and the view as all those rumps went down the burrow.

. These days, I’m ex-police, I know how to handle myself, and have my own tuxedo, so I can always get work as a bouncer in some toney fruit and seed bar. That’s what I’m doing when Jess comes in. “Wanna get some celery with me, big boy?” “Sure”. Course, she’s outta my league, big eyes, long legs, jewelry, fur coat, none of them cheap. “I want you to find my husband,” she says. “OK” says I, I’m a sucker for a pretty doe in trouble. That’s how I got to be swimming in a lake, at night, on the run from Big Pete’s squad of demented badgers in night vision goggles. Anyway, long story short, I got caught, bitten, tuberculosis, and vet bills like you wouldn’t believe. Don’t let it happen to you.

I’m not as smart as I think I am, I should’ve known Jessica Rabbit was a Rabbit only by marriage.

GPT4 response to “Extend this” followed by the story

I holed up at Zane’s for a few days, still nursing my wounds from the badger incident. “Jess? Of all does in the forest, Jess?” Zane asked, munching on his favorite beetroot. “She’s trouble. Always has been.” “I just thought I could help her, you know. Give her what she needs. She seemed genuine.” Zane looked at me sympathetically, “Man, you’re a burrow guard, not a private investigator. Your heart’s too big for your own good.” He was right. I had always let my emotions get the better of me, and this time it almost cost me my tail.

While I was recuperating, I got a visit from Laine. “Heard you got mixed up with Jessica Rabbit,” she said with a smirk.

“Yeah. And don’t start with ‘I told you so’.”

She chuckled, “Wouldn’t dream of it. Just wanted to tell you that you might wanna stay away from the bars for a while. Big Pete’s got eyes everywhere.”

We spent hours talking about old times, and it felt good to reminisce. It was clear she had feelings for me, and maybe, I had always had a soft spot for her too.

A few days later, I was out for a stroll, when I bumped into Jane. “I have a message from Jess,” she whispered, nervously looking around. “She says she’s sorry, and that she’s left town for good. You’re safe now.”

Though I never saw Jess again, her shadow loomed over me. From time to time, I’d hear tales of her escapades, each more dangerous and audacious than the last.

Years passed. I grew older, my fur grayer. Eventually, I hung up my bouncer jacket and moved to a quieter burrow. I became the village storyteller, recounting tales of my adventures and near misses. Kids would gather around, their eyes wide, hanging on to every word.

On chilly nights, Laine would sit beside me, her warm fur comforting against my side, reminding me of the life I almost lost, the friends I gained, and the lessons I learned along the way. But most importantly, that sometimes the most dangerous adventures are the ones that lead us to discover who we truly are.

How did GPT4 do?

It’s coherent, and connects to the story.
It’s seething with cliche. Some of the right style. Some of the wrong. Life is no fairytale at the wrong end of the burrow.
Zane and Dane and Paine and Kane and Laine and Jane are narrator’s Mom’s friends, not his, so introducing them as potential romantic interest is kinda icky. But hey, ya know, rabbits, and Fibonacci, so who can tell.
The “moral” of the extended story, such as it is, is trite and obnoxiously heart-warming. Do better, GPT4!
Absoutely not. The narrator (Wayne) ran a mile when they called him a storyteller, and has no interest in discovering who he really is. He’s the barman at Shady Hazel’s, definitely still at the wrong end of the burrow. It’s not quiet, even less so when he’s playing bass and sax with his Bunny Seger tribute band.

Human machine collaboration.

So I said:

That’s a bit too trite and heartwarming. Try again please

And GPT4 responded with a much better effort, which I love.

Alright, let’s take a different approach:

After that harrowing incident, things went downhill pretty fast. My reputation took a hit in the forest’s underground. I wasn’t seen as the reliable bouncer anymore, but rather the buck who got played by Jessica Rabbit. I tried getting work in other bars, but they wouldn’t hire me. The whispers became shouts and the pointing never seemed to stop. In this world, reputation was everything. Lose that, and you’re done.

Desperate for some cash, I started working in the seedy side of the forest. Doing jobs for the very animals I once kept at bay. My conscience was heavy, but so was the weight of my empty stomach.

Laine tried reaching out to me. Said she could offer me some work, but I knew it would be charity. My pride wouldn’t allow it. Jane, she kept her distance. Perhaps she felt guilty about the message she delivered, or maybe she was scared of getting involved further. It was a tangled web, and everyone was trying to avoid getting caught.

One evening, as I wandered around the outskirts of the burrow, I ran into Mopsy. She wasn’t the same doe I remembered from fifth-grade. Her fur was matted, her eyes sunken, and she had a twitch in her leg. The forest had been harsh on her, and she had faced her share of battles.

She told me about a new underground casino run by Big Pete. It was the latest talk of the forest. High stakes, and a game for only those who dared. Mopsy said it could be my ticket back to respect, or at least a way to settle scores.

With nothing left to lose, I decided to take the risk. The casino was everything Mopsy had described - vibrant, loud, and the scent of danger in the air. I took to the card tables, with every intention to win big or lose it all.

As the night wore on, I found myself face-to-face with none other than Big Pete. He smirked, “Fancy seeing you here.”

The cards were dealt, and with every round, the stakes got higher. By sunrise, I had not only reclaimed my respect but had Big Pete indebted to me. But with power came enemies, and I knew I had just made one too many.

The forest had changed me. The young buck, once naive and eager to help, was now a master manipulator, skilled at the art of survival. I had become a legend in the underground world, but at what cost?

Laine tried to reconnect, but I kept her at arm’s length, for her safety. I had climbed too deep into the forest’s underworld, and there was no turning back. My story wasn’t about redemption; it was a tale of survival, ambition, and the blurred lines between right and wrong.

How did I do?

The last paragraph of mine, about the badgers could do with a fix. I’ll ask GPT4…
A few rounds of collaboration got to the following That’s how I ended up swimming in a lake, deep into the night, trying to shake Big Pete’s badger brigade off my tail. Rumor had it they'd trained under old Barn Owl Benny, giving them eyes sharper than any in the meadow after sunset. Long story short, I was cornered, got a few nips and bites, and soon came down with that pesky forest fever. Those vet bills? Enough to make any buck think twice about his choices. Don't let it happen to you.