Bunny Life In The Yard

By FRANK LINGO

I was taking the compost out back when a bunny rabbit ran out from a hedge. It stopped and waited in the middle of the yard.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve living in our yard,” I remarked.

“Why?” asked the bunny. “It’s a nice, safe yard.”

“Because my dogs could tear your head off,” I replied.

“You have dogs?” said the rabbit. “Well, I guess I better be careful when you let them out.”

“They’re OUTSIDE dogs! They’re out all the time.

“Oh, that’s cruel of you,” said the bunny. “Don’t you even care about them being out in the cold?”

“They have fur coats just like you,” I said. “But we let them in the garage when it’s extremely cold.”

“Wow, that’s mighty right of you,” cracked the little varmint.

“They’re fine,” I said. “It’s natural for dogs to be outside, just like rabbits. And it’s natural for them to catch you and eat you up.”

“Yeah, I’m trembling,” scoffed the bunny. “Why should they chase me? Don’t you keep ‘em fat and happy on that canned gunk?”

“Uh, actually, I buy big bags of cheap dog food. And they only get fed once a day.”

“What a horrible human you are!” said the rabbit. “Those dogs should run away from all your animal abuse.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d have free run of the yard.”

“Waddya think I got now? Those mutts don’t bother me.”

“So they’ve never even chased you,” I asked.

“Aww, I don’t remember, maybe once or twice. I’ve heard them ranting like crazy in the night. What are they barking at anyway?”

“Coyotes,” I said. “They live in the woods and come around at night. You should be grateful the dogs bark like that because those coyotes really would eat you up.”

“OK, you got a point,” said the bunny. “But, you know, I have other things to do besides worry about possible predators.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Makin’ whoopee, mostly. I have a duty to keep up the rabbit reproduction rate.”

“Yeah, reproduction,” I said. “That’s what always motivates me to make whoopee, too.”

“Well, we gotta keep up our population, what with you humans running us over all the time.”

“We try not to, but you guys run back and forth like crazy in the road, so it’s hard to avoid hitting you. Why do you do that?”

“It’s terrifying. There’s this humongous hunk of junk hurtling at us and we panic. Just imagine Tyrannasaurus Rex chasing after you.”

“You know about dinosaurs?” I asked.

“We hear stories passed down from our elders.”

“Rabbits got stories?”

“What, you think humans are the only species that talks and remembers?” asked the rabbit.

“Tell me one of your stories,” I said.

“Well, there’s the story of creation, have you heard that one?” asked the rabbit.

“Some versions,” I replied.

In the beginning was the Great Rabbit, it is written...”

“Wait,” I interrupted, “where is it written?”

“I don’t know,” said the bunny, “that’s just something we say to make it sound official. Anyway the Great Rabbit in the Sky, who is the Father of the Universe, one day decided that there should be other creatures to share the sacred treasure of making whoopee. So he raised his lucky rabbit foot and waved it ceremoniously across the world, and all of a sudden a multitude of species sprouted up all over the place. And then pretty soon they were all making whoopee like crazy and begetting babies. And it was good.”

“So. according to your story,” I said, “the whole universe was created just so everybody could have sex and make babies?”

“You got a better story?” asked the rabbit.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. You’re not a rational animal,” I said.

“Glad I’m not an irrational animal like you,” replied the rabbit.

“You are a survivor, I’ll grant you,” I said. “In crowded cities and spacious suburbs, rabbits flourish. How do you manage?”

“Our needs are simple. We eat the vegetation around us, we sleep in the bushes and we make whoopee a lot.”

“Yes, but what kind of life is that?” I asked.

Just then another rabbit ran across the yard.

“Wow, that bunny’s cute, gotta run,” said the rabbit. “Oh, and it’s the good life,” he laughed, heading off in hot pursuit to the honeymoon hedge.

Frank Lingo, based in Lawrence, Kansas, is a former columnist for the Kansas City Star and author of the novel “Earth Vote.” Email: lingofrank@gmail.com.

From The Progressive Populist, March 1, 2022


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