A Cookie/A Bunny
A bunny showed up in my yard about two weeks ago. To be completely accurate, it’s a full-grown rabbit. But to me, all rabbits are bunnies, all dogs are puppies, and all humans under 15 are babies. And to be even more accurate it isn’t my* yard so much as it is my sisterlandlord’s and I pay her rent in order to call it mine. And to be triply accurate I don’t know the sex of the bunny but for the purpose of simplicity I call it a him because language fails us and gender is a construct anyway.
I digress.
So a beautiful black-and-white rabbit appeared in the yard about two weeks ago. He was just sitting there, completely unbothered by the world spinning around him. At the time, I didn’t think anything other than “oh that’s cool,” followed closely by “let me not run him over with my car.”
After a day or two he was still in the yard - still unbothered, still hanging out. He seemed content as he nibbled his way through the yard. Fortunately for him, the yard has more weeds and unmanicured vegetation than a single bunny could eat in a lifetime. A rabbit paradise if you will.
Realizing that our new friend was setting up shop semi-permanently, I got up the the nerve to get close and introduce myself. I crouched low (bunny level) and ever-so-calmly offered the back of my hand. Those giant dark eyes looked up at me with only momentary caution before he went in for a few sniffs. His little rabbit nose twitched side to side, just like a cartoon. He showed moderate curiosity as I carefully started to pet him. Top of the head, back of ears. The usual spots.
A few more days went by and the bunny continued to do bunny things in the yard while my curiosity grew. His coloring, for one, was interesting. Most wild rabbits I’ve seen around Atlanta are a vague brownish but he was distinctly black and white with big clear patches of both. His size and demeanor were fascinating too. Most of the rabbits around residential neighborhoods are relatively small, skittish, and only come out at night. This guy was a honking big rabbit with no fear of humans —
“I think it’s someone’s pet,” my sister offered up. The rabbit had become a recent source of conversation in the house.
“Really?” I questioned, knowing she was probably right.
It made the most sense. His size, coloring, and fearlessness around people all pointed toward “domesticated.” Like a 10 year old child, I was immediately disappointed that I would have to give him up. But then the grown-up part of me realized I was probably keeping this pet bunny from an actual 10 year old who was looking for him.
Later that night, after I fed my friend a few strawberries right out of my hand, my sister went over to our next door neighbor’s to ask about the rabbit. Sure enough, they had bought a black-and-white rabbit about a week earlier. I was the tiniest bit crestfallen as my sister relayed this to me.
“But,” she said, “they don’t want it.”
“What?” I was confused.
As it turns out, the neighbor’s did get a bunny but after awhile realized they weren’t really bunny people. So they let it loose.
Um. Excuse me.
I felt righteous indignation on behalf of a rabbit I just met a few days ago and now considered one of my closest friends. I was pissed. How does someone get a domesticated animal, with little to no skills to fend for themselves, and just release it to the wild? It’s irresponsible. I’m generally neutral towards all animals but even I know that’s wrong. I decided our neighbors were bad people.
My sister pointed out that they’re immigrants and perhaps they have a different cultural understanding around pets and animals. They’ve also given us pupusas which, as it turns out, are my new favorite food. They’re like quesadillas on steroids. I decided our neighbors were good people who made a choice I didn’t agree with and who make delicious pupusas.
So the question remained about what to do with our new friend.
My sister consulted a coworker who is apparently into rabbits which is a thing I didn’t know adults could be into. She suggested a rabbit rescue and gave us the name of a few places. She also said we could bring the rabbit inside but they pretty much shit everywhere and eat everything. So, no, sweet coworker. No amount of righteous indignation justifies having an indoor shit machine. Rabbit rescue it is.
We would just need to find the block of time where we could scoop him up and drive him to the rescue. With our schedules it would be a few more days. Meanwhile my sister and I started calling the rabbit Cookie for absolutely no reason. I kept feeding it strawberries. We put out a water bowl.
As I was petting Cookie I saw an image of him at a rabbit rescue. Some 10-year-old kid joyfully playing with the many second-chance bunnies, their parents reluctantly standing watch. One look at Cookie and that would be it. Cookie would have a home. Off he’d go.
But what does a life as a pet rabbit look like? Long hours in a cage? Eating whatever your human dumps into a bowl? Getting out for a few minutes a day when they’re bored? Never seeing the sun again?
That doesn’t feel right either. Cookie’s current lifestyle involves unlimited vegetation and unlimited roaming. He can go anywhere and do as he pleases. He’s got sunshine and shade cover. Freedom. Bunny paradise. Sure he could get eaten by a coyote at any minute but that’s the case for all of us.
Right now my sisterlandlord and I haven’t conclusively decided what to do with Cookie. Although the fact that he has a name would indicate that we’re probably going to keep him. I’ve been googling outdoor bunny hutches. We’d need something for when it gets cold but allow him freedom to roam. A cage-free life.
And at the end of the day isn’t that what we all want?
Sunshine. Freedom. Not a cage to be found.