My family has always had…well…rather unique pets.
No, I don’t meant exotic animals but the usual dogs, cats,
and birds.
And then there was Phil’s rabbit. Easter usually brings
it to mind when I see stories about folks buying chickens,
ducklings and bunnies for children.
Phil is the youngest of us three kids and I was 17 years
old when he was born. At some point or another when he was
around 6 or 7 he wanted a bunny. I’m not sure if my folks bought
it or if I did. At any rate, Dad converted an old dog house into
a rabbit hutch by placing it under the shade of one of the weeping
willows along the driveway and then putting a chicken wire pen
around it.
My contribution was making it possible for Phil to walk his
rabbit. I went to the local pet store and bought a small harness
that was meant for a small dog or cat and a leash. You must
understand that by this time I was out of high school as was my
sister and there was no danger of kidding from schoolmates about
seeing our brother walking his rabbit across the front lawn as the
school bus pulled up to let us off in the afternoon.
The rabbit (whose name sadly I forget) wasn’t too thrilled
about the walking part but seemed to enjoy eating the dandelions
it found on the front lawn.
A bit later I went off to a summer job as a camp counselor but
returned home in June for my parent’s 25th Wedding anniversary.
At some point or another I wandered over to look in on the rabbit.
He seemed very relaxed just inside the door of the doghouse.
In fact he looked very, very relaxed.
I went looking for Phil. “The rabbit’s sleeping.” he told me.
I went looking for Dad. “The rabbit’s sleeping, Dad.”
The burial took place sometime after all the guests left for the
night.
We only had one other rabbit after that some years later and that
one escaped before it could… er…sleep.
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