Bunnies are punks
It pains me to write this because they’re just so darn cute, but the truth can’t be ignored. Bunny rabbits are punks. They are big-eared, furry, taunting jerks. If they were football players, they’d deserve an unsportsmanlike conduct flag, despite the fact they aren’t actual men and don’t play sports. It was hypothetical, you get the point. If they played soccer, they’d need a yellow card. On the playground, they would be the “Na na na boo boo” kid who steals the magic rock, sticks out his tongue, and then sits by the teacher so you can’t smack him, take the rock back, and return to Gladlandia before recess ends and you have to do math.
Let the record show, I harbor no personal animosity toward bunnies, though Monty Python did make me suspicious of the size and nastiness of their teeth. I applaud the Easter Bunny and his noble mission. I have to admit a six foot bunny rabbit makes me a bit uncomfortable, especially given my concern about the size and nastiness of their teeth, but I have, until now, suspended that concern and said, “Go, bunny, go!”
You might be wondering what event has caused my sharp turn. What triggered such a radical change in my bunny viewpoint? No, I was not bitten by their big, nasty teeth. I was not delivered rotten eggs or subjected to their villainous taunts, but my sweet dog Lily wasn’t so lucky. Again for the record, I am allowed to call Lily sweet in this context since it does not involve a garden, garbage eating, kitchen thievery, or anything else my wife suspects is demonic canine possession. I checked, and I’m in the clear. That’s not to say my wife doesn’t laugh at the way the bunnies treat the dog, she does. It just means that in this particular instance, I’m not going to have to sleep on the couch for calling the dog ‘sweet’. I actually feel sorry for Lily this time. You see, Lily has one of those invisible fences. It turns out bunnies are smarter than squirrels. They seem to clearly understand the concepts of diameter, radio waves, and shock collar. They are devious creatures, and I suspect more than ever they have big, nasty teeth. They sit just beyond Lily’s no-go zone and stare at her. Their gaze and intent is purposeful and clearly nefarious. I’m just glad they don’t have fingers or I’d have to tell my daughter to avert her eyes. Lily barks, they sit. She barks louder, they smirk. She growls, they grin like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. What they don’t know is tomorrow I’m going to take the collar off. Let’s just hope their teeth aren’t too big and too nasty. I want my dog to get satisfaction, not stitches and an inferiority complex.
