What’s on my mind? Once more, with feeling: Let’s hear it for the rabbits of our island village!
It’s Spring - their favorite season - celebrated not only through their (F-word to follow) fecundity, but by the spring in their step. Like the swallows of Capistrano, the rabbits return each year. In fur coats. Not feathers.
Now you see ’em, now you don’t. There goes one! Bouncing idiotically across gardens, jumping out from every bush in a doltish game of peek-a-boo, leaping in front of dazed seniors with the cheek to show them their bum (the rabbits, not the seniors) ... There goes another!
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| The largest of three bunnies in our garden. |
It’s Spring - their favorite season - celebrated not only through their (F-word to follow) fecundity, but by the spring in their step. Like the swallows of Capistrano, the rabbits return each year. In fur coats. Not feathers.
Now you see ’em, now you don’t. There goes one! Bouncing idiotically across gardens, jumping out from every bush in a doltish game of peek-a-boo, leaping in front of dazed seniors with the cheek to show them their bum (the rabbits, not the seniors) ... There goes another!
Foolish, impudent morons that they are, the rabbits of this village-that-pretends-to-be-a town have the effrontery to chew tulip shoots and anything else that looks tasty while waiting for the carrots, lettuce, beet tops, and other delectables that are their preferred main course.
(Our neighbor, Mrs. H, passes along this easy household tip to keep rabbits from your garden: Spread a trail of rabbit pellets from the edge of your garden into a nearby park: “That should do it!” she says. Thank you, Mrs. H! We look forward to more of your handy hints at some future time.)
(Our neighbor, Mrs. H, passes along this easy household tip to keep rabbits from your garden: Spread a trail of rabbit pellets from the edge of your garden into a nearby park: “That should do it!” she says. Thank you, Mrs. H! We look forward to more of your handy hints at some future time.)
They’re fierce little things, these rabbits. I wouldn’t want to corner one: My stubby fingers look too much like carrots.
There was the infamous year an island grade-school class decided to sell bunnies as a fundraiser. Unbeknownst to their teacher, the conniving older kids had somehow corralled and penned a passel of wild rabbits, which they sold to the sweetly innocent children of the lower grades.
When the innocents sought a cuddle, the newly unpenned biters sank vicious, rabbitty incisors into tender young flesh. The wails of small children erupted throughout the village. It was as close to a scandal as our community gets.
Wounds were bound; money was refunded; rabbits were released to do what rabbits do (which is to say, engage in the F-word and sack private gardens). Peace eventually returned to the village, but the rabbits have been uppity ever since, so much so that one of them is running for mayor.
If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, I always say. And yes, you may steal that phrase.
In the spirit of bite-free fundraising, I propose a WEAR YOUR RABBIT EARS TO WORK DAY. How about a BUNNY BOUNCE country dance, or a RABBIT ROMP seniors’ sex emporium? (I already know what you’re going to say. Stifle.)
I can envision men’s T-shirts reading BUNNY POWER! and women’s T-shirts with BOUNCE! across the chest.
© Nicole Parton, 2019
