The Bunny
From the Pendergrass Library
Among the many domesticated animals that have lived at our ranch/asylum there’s currently a wild rabbit residing here as well; or as everyone else in the house describes him - a bunny.
The word bunny gives the impression this long-legged rodent is soft and cute, innocent and sweet. What comes to mind with a bunny is a gentle wide-eyed soul whose only intention is to provide love and kindness. Bunnies enjoy being held, their delicate fur stroked by adoring fans. The buck-toothed monster that lives beneath the hay barn is no bunny.
Through the years Misfit Mares has been home to horses, sheep, guinea pigs, domestic rabbits, dogs, a cat, and a goose. Also having lived along the perimeter of the farm have been deer, muskrats, a few weasels, foxes, turkeys, and coyotes. In a nutshell, I’ve had to deal with all of these animals in one way or another, and they’ve all cost me varying degrees of money.
I’ve also been bitten by many of these animals. I’ve felt the pain of horses and dogs sinking their teeth into my flesh many times. But I’ve also been attacked by at least two muskrats and one loon. Needless to say I tend to be somewhat wary around all animals, including bunnies.
Back when the snows began blanketing our property this winter it became obvious that this long-eared devil had moved in. He keeps a little hole cleaned out near the hay barn, evidently spending his sleep time burrowed down underneath that building. His tracks litter the yard in the mornings, and I can see where he travels along the paths I’ve made down to the garage and around the property. He’s everywhere.
Out in front of our house we have two giant bridal wreath bushes. My wife and I planted these bushes nearly a decade ago; we’ve tended to them religiously through the years, watering their delicate roots in the heat of summer, taking care of their needs. In return the bridal wreaths have flourished, their tiny white blosoms accentuating the quaintness of our property, providing our place a sense of calm and quiet.
It goes without saying the bunny sees the bridal wreaths as something of a refrigerator, a place to feed in the snow. Bridal wreath bark and twigs are strewn around the yarn as if a rabbit tornado has blown through. He does not care that it has taken so long to get these invited bushes to maturity, or that I have no time to be messing with new bridal wreaths should we actually have a spring and summer this year.
But I digress. My real issue with the bunny is my up close and personal encounters with him, of which there have been a few.
I rise every morning at 5 a.m., half asleep and blurry eyed. I put on the necessary clothes it takes to survive subzero temperatures outside, make my way to the hay barn and begin my morning horse chores. A key to a successful horse feeding at this time of the morning/night is to never become fully awake, you know, because if you think about it too much you’d go insane. It’s every day. At 5 a.m. In the cold.
Anyhow, the hay barn is a little shed, about 10-feet by 10-feet. And it’s full of hay, and grain, and a gazillion empty grain bags that have accumulated through the years. There’s a soft light in there that throws shadows toward the back, making the entire place sort of eerie.
More than once this winter, as I’ve tended to my obligations in the barn, not fully aware of what’s going on, the bunny has come darting out from some hidden corner, careening between my legs to safety at speeds only a rabbit can attain, giving me heart attacks and further adding to the tremors I already suffer from. Once, and I kid you not, the bunny was inside a grain bag and his hurry to escape caused the bag to actually bounce about in midair, as if compelled to do so by some outside alien power. I couldn’t actually see the bunny and the bag appeared to be alive, and I thought I was dead.
In closing, I enjoy most animals, somewhat, and I give each a healthy respect of fear. It keeps me alive.
I’m not ashamed to say, I’m afraid of bunnies
Darrell Pendergrass lives in Grand View.