Blood, Sweat and Bunnies

We have a feisty little white rabbit that wears a harness and spends her days tethered to the large maple in the back yard.  Apparently this is an uncommon practice as we’ve had so many of our neighbors comment on it.  The following event that resulted from this seemingly innocent routine is certainly something I didn’t see coming.  Allow me to relate it to you. 

It’s a warm summer evening and I’ve just come inside from working in the garden.  As I’m figuring out what I can make for supper I hear a knock at the front door.  Opening the door I see a frail older man and he’s carrying a black and white bunny. 

“I found this bunny in my yard and I noticed you have a bunny and I thought you might want another to keep yours company.”  He said.  I looked down at the black and white bunny, his legs were hanging in a somewhat limp state and though he certainly did look docile and complacent enough I did not want another rabbit.  In an effort to avoid hurting the man’s feelings I brought up what I felt to be a rather obvious issue.

“Do you know if it’s a male or a female?”  I asked.  It was at this moment my slightly plump, older dachshund who was napping in the sun woke to notice we had a visitor at the front door and though he missed his cue he certainly wasn’t going to miss out on the fun of barking at the Newbie, quite possibly his favorite activity next to napping in the sun. 

As I turned to tell the dog to stop barking (not that it ever works, I basically do it in order to let the visitor know I don’t approve of the dogs behavior and that I wish he would stop) I saw in the corner of my eye the black and white bunny’s eyes bulge and the claws on his back legs unsheeth like wolverines adamantium claws.  Did this little black and white bunny wait to see if the barking dachshund was friendly?  Did he realize we owned a similar bunny that this chubby little dog got along with just perfectly?

No, he did not, instead he chose to windmill the forearms of the hands that held him, shredding the thin delicate skin.  The bunny finally leaped out of his hands and off our step.  Now blood was running down the mans arms and forming pools of dark blood on our front porch.

My husband heard the commotion and asked what happened.  I didn’t know where to begin so I cut to the point.  “There’s a man on our front step and he’s bleeding pretty bad, bring compress bandages.”

“What?  I don’t know where they are?”  This wasn’t the time for my usual retort of how nobody knows where anything is in the house except for me and that this could change if he simply ‘opened his eyes and looked.’  So I skipped this bit and moved onto the next.

“Just bring anything clean and absorbent, hurry.”  I had just realized the black and white bunny had run into the neighbors yard, the neighbors that have two cougar hounds.  Two cougar hounds that spend all their days staring longingly at our bunny.  Our bunny that chooses to stretch out and relax  in the part of the yard that’s nearest the hounds.  Some days she’d spend hours nibbling grass or cleaning her paws and grooming her ears to the backdrop of the dogs crying and reaching their front paws through the chain link fence;  almost able to touch her.

I needed to catch the black and white bunny, or at the very least chase it out of their yard.  The dogs were gone and so were their owners but they could be back at any moment and there were two entrances into the yard.  I decided the best thing to do would be the keep the gates shut and try to catch the rabbit as opposed to chasing it out of the yard.

The rabbit and I did a few brisk laps around the neighbors yard, my husband yelled over the fence that he was taking our visitor to the emergency room.

“Kay!”  I gasped as I did zig zags towards the bunny.  My six year old daughter watched me chase the now Ferrel creature from our own yard, pleading with me to let her come and help.  

“No, you’re not coming over here, stop asking.”  I hissed at my daughter and then cooed at the now cornered bunny, “It’s okay little fella…..”  His chest was heaving and his heart pounding, wide eyed.  He wasn’t convinced.  I crept towards him, as slowly as I could manage until I was finally within an arms reach and he bolted.  I chased after with threats of the ensuing blood bath that would take place if he didn’t calm down and allow me to catch him.  My daughter had carried a ladder over to the fence and hung on the top of it cheering me on. 

“Go get me a blanket that I can throw over him so I won’t hurt him when I catch him.”  I told her, knowing the task would give me a few moments of peace from her encouragement.  She came back right away with my beautiful chenille throw, the only non washable, mostly for decorative purposes blanket I owned, and she chucked it over the fence onto the very dirty ground.  I sighed, I was drenched in sweat.  The rabbit had wedged itself in behind the barbeque and I was cooing at it.  I’d fit nicely in the category of people that only run if something is chasing them, how ironic that I’m only running because I’m chasing something.

Eventually a passerby noticed my dilemma and came to my aid and together we were able to catch the now exhausted little rabbit.  I put him in our rabbit cage with fresh water and a dish of pellets then spent the next twenty minutes washing the blood off our front step.  I certainly hadn’t seen this chain of events coming but  by skipping dinner and running around the neighbors yard for an hour and a half I must’ve burned a few calories, this was about the only positive thing I could take from what I’d just experienced, not to mention I now had an epic story of blood, sweat and bunny’s to share with the girls at work. 

“How did your evening go?”  I’d ask.  “My evening?  Well…

(The older gentleman was alright, they used some sort of medical tape on his wounds and they healed nicely.)

Mistaken Identity and the Bean Burrito

  Nine times out of ten when I make a new acquaintance that person will tell me that I look exactly like someone they know.  They ask me a few times if I’m related to the person they’re thinking of, I assure them I’m not and they reluctantly let the issue rest.  (Please keep this in mind in order to better understand the following sequence of events.)

  This weird little story begins one afternoon at work when I decided that instead of going home for lunch, like I usually did, I would treat myself to lunch at a nearby restaurant.  The decor is horrendous, wall to wall carpet from the seventies, low dingy ceiling tiles and clutter everywhere, but the food was always delicious.  

  I walked up to the counter to place my order.

“I’ll have the lamb souvlaki with a side salad.” 

“You don’t like the souvlaki, you like the bean burrito.”  She told me.  I was pretty sure I’d never ordered the bean burrito as I basically hate burritos and will only eat them when forced out of politeness but I had no wish to be rude to the girl.

“Really?  I think I like the souvlaki.”  I insisted.

“No, you hate the souvlaki, you like the burrito.”  And I saw her write down, ‘burrito’ on her little slip of paper.  I thought to myself, ‘I guess I’m having a burrito for lunch, didn’t see that coming.’ and sat down at a table by the window and picked up one of the many National Geographic magazines that were piled throughout the restaurant.

   I was by now engrossed in an article on the effects of carbon on our Oceans when my burrito was put down on the table in front of me in a loud and angry fashion.  I looked up and the young woman had her arms folded across her chest and she was scowling at me.

“You aren’t even going to say hello to me?” 

“Hello….” I said, smiling in what I imagine to be a slightly frightened fashion. This girl was complex, like an onion with all it’s layers.  I looked down at my burrito, it was just as unappealing as I’d imagined it would be.

“You don’t remember me?”  She hissed.  I was frantic to remember this person, but she didn’t look even remotely familiar.

“I’m really sorry, I’m so bad with faces.”  This was not a lie, I really am horrible at remembering faces.

“After everything we’ve been through, and I gave you a cat.”  She was near yelling now.

“Oh…. I have not had a cat since I was in elementary school.  I’m allergic to cats.” 

“Tracy?”  She asked me.

“No, sorry, not my name.”  It was beginning to make sense now.  The woman at the table next to me had apparently been listening, and since she knew me she leaned over and said, “Her name is definitely not Tracy, not even close.”

   The poor girl turned bright pink, turned and literally ran to hide in the kitchen.  The woman at the table next to me looked over at me and raised her brows, I raised my brows back and tried to eat my bean burrito.

You begin to worry about how you’re perceived by others when……

   After successfully helping a customer at the flower shop he hands you his card and tells you to feel free and call him anytime you need.  Upon closer inspection  you see that this man is, in fact, a shrink.