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| New Pets |  |
In fact, within weeks of bringing her home from the shelter seven years ago, I was sure we had made a mistake. Bunnies are supposed to be fluffy little fuzzballs who hop around and eat carrots. My daughter had christened her “Cookie” in hopes that the new pet would be cute. However, this one was a fur-covered pit bull with a real attitude. In trying to clean her cage, she would wait until I had my hands full of stained newspapers and other crud and then would launch herself at my unprotected arm with teeth bared and claws unsheathed. Now, I know she had been found as a stray with 11 other rabbits where some idiot had dumped them in the local forest. Her eyes were a little weird because of a possible stroke caused by that stress but that didn’t justify her hostility toward me. My vet, bless her heart, thought it might be “female” troubles that could be fixed through fixing, if you know what I mean. It helped. Kind of. And we reached a truce. And she kind of grew on me. As you walked by her cage, she would smoosh her face with a full body thrust through the wires so you could scritch her face. “PET ME, NOW” she would scream in bunny language and well, who could resist such a ladylike request? We took her out of her cage to hop around the entryway where she and Freddie, the indoor cat, became “friends” more or less. Basically, Cookie put him in his place and Freddie agreed to stay there. My daughter would take her outside and place her inside an area enclosed by a portable fence. The neighborhood kids would come by to see her but someone always had to stand watch because of loose dogs and hungry hawks. Then, we discovered we could take her in the backyard where she could roam more freely in the fenced dog yard. Eventually, she put the dogs in their place, too, and I would sit out there with her on hawk-watch. It got to be a daily outing and weather rarely stopped us as we both came to look enjoy it too much to let a little inclement weather stop us. Occasionally she would hop up to me in my beach chair and lean her face forward so I could scritch it, making her flatten her body out in ecstasy. Then, once soothed, she would hop away to munch on another pine needle or to stare down a dog or two. We moved her cage into the living room so she could see the Christmas tree but we left her there because she enjoyed looking out the window at the backyard critters. Doves, chickadees, nuthatches, juncos, woodpeckers, quails and jays freeload off of us along with a myriad of squirrels. There were a few times when a passing hawk thought Meals on Wheels had delivered in the form of a plump black and white bunny but would find, much to his or her surprise, there was an invisible force field, otherwise known as a glass window, protecting the potential snack. Cookie was never intimidated by these pseudo-attacks. In fact, if it was at all possible, I’m pretty sure she smirked. Even though there was snow on the ground, it had been a while since she had been out so I took her outside and she hopped the entire yard. It was like she didn’t want to miss a spot and it was all I could do to keep up with her. She explored under every bush and ran full out with the full-body kick in mid-air every once in a while. It was a good day. But it was her last. The next morning, I could tell something was wrong. I picked her up and noticed I had to cradle her as she couldn’t hold her head up on her own. I called in the family to say good-bye as I could tell she didn’t have long. Twenty minutes later, she died in my arms. My son found the one area of our yard that hadn’t frozen over and carefully dug her grave deep so she would not be disturbed. It’s a sunny spot and I have sat there with her since. I never realized such an ornery little critter could break my heart so completely. The local shelter benefited from donated supplies but we had a bag of open food left over. Knowing we have wild rabbits in the area, I poured it out near the front door. It disappeared quickly. I also found some extra produce that would have gone to Cookie but instead, I put it in the same place and it, too, was soon gone. Thinking Cookie had sent me a wild bunny to care for; I soon started buying extra apples, her favorite, and set those out, too. Christmas decorations went up in our yard and it gave the area a little extra light. One night as I was walking by the laundry room window, I looked out trying to spot my nighttime rabbit. It wasn’t a rabbit. It was a family of deer. There was a mama, fawn and, what I’m guessing is last year’s baby and they were busily munching the apples. Like Cookie, they tolerate me, and when I go out to refurnish their supply of food, they simply step back and wait until I go back inside. They even look up at me while I peek from the laundry room window as if to say, “How about some pizza next time?” So, Cookie; rest in peace. And thanks for the new pets.
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