Ed's Bunny

Ok, so I like animals. I was one of those kids who was raised on nature shows. Nature, Wild America, National Geographic, you name it, loved it. One reason ME and I click so well is that she was so similarly formed in that respect.

At any rate, over the past couple of years, I'd gotten into my mind that someday it would be nice to have a rabbit. I don't want one that just sits in a cage, eats food, poops out little pellets, eats the pellets, etc. I want a cuddly bunny, a floppy-eared, down-soft, Hazel or Fiver type bunny that will sit in my lap, maybe burrow under my arm, and just be all around cute. After all, I reasoned, aren't bunnies just warm, pliable, compliant, safe and quiet. Aren't they about the closest we can get in a pet to some sort of stuffed animal. Sure, they hop around, but they don't seem squirmy, don't seem contrary, seem like they'd just be happy to sit quietly and be petted.



Enter Ed's bunny. We went over to Ed's house a few months back and lo and behold, I discover he's got one of them cute buggers. It's holed up on the laundry room, with its cage and some boxes for it to hide in. Ed lets me in after I, giddy with childish glee, ask if I can see it. Ed gives me some pellets to feed to it, telling me it's a bit shy (naturally, of course) and that I can lure it out of hiding with the snacks.

I peek into a crevice between two boxes and there is, sitting and watching me. I hold out my hand with nothing in it, to see if I can simply coax it out sans bribe. It wiggles its nose, sniffing. No take. Ok, so I put down some pellets. Out moves the bunny bus, a large, sausage shaped, rather ugly (I must confess) rabbit, with scrunched face and wee beady eyes. It eats the pellets and stays out for a bit, looking at me. I hold out my hand again, to see if it will be comfortable with me, it sniffs the air and backs away, able to tell I've got no food. So I repeat the food lure.

Ok, it's a bit odd looking, rather brutish, but, hey, its a frickin' bunny; it's still fuzzy and cuddly. I just gotta pet it. I just need to scratch it behind the ears, or rub its soft pelt. So I move my hand towards the top of its head, making those cooing and chuffling noises some of us are prone to do around little fuzzy things. Gradually my hand get near its head, having moved slowly to avoid startling it. It watches me, sniffing. When my hand is about two inches from its head, up it lunges, teeth bared, with a loud bark. If you've ever watched nature shows on monkeys and have heard a baboon bark, think that but of course not as loud. A short burst, a gutteral, grunting, Ewok-ish exhalation; a mini roar.



I jump back, withdrawing my hand just in time. Good God! What the hell just happened? Adrenaline pumping, I leave the laundry room a changed man.

I'm traumatized, my world has been turned upside down. Do I really want a bunny? Can it be that there are other bunnies out there with this rage? Are they not all quiet, subdued, warm and safe? How will I know? How can I cuddle in peace and security? I don't know if I will ever get a bunny at this rate.