Sunday, 16 February 2014

Goodnight Bunny



Morning comes, cloudless blue, a trim of river mist: at the garden edge water vapour stripes up like ghostly fence posts. Four rain filled teapots on the pallet table have stood untouched through all the storms, a fact we remark upon almost daily and still seems unfeasible. The phone rings, interrupts this musing on fragility.
Girl's voice blubs, indecipherable: says something like- it's silly I know- the words blur. Sorry honey, her mother says, I can't hear you. Girl says, 'Bunny: Bunny is gone.'
Ian Button Bunny was his full name. Eight years his dwarf life spanned. He lived both indoors and out, often pursued by toddlers. He took everything in a cute yet charismatic stride. He liked the snow, and cuddles; disliked white cabbage. He would give you a look. This last year he had got arthritic.
Should she tell her little daughter, my grown up Girl wonders? She feels silly for crying though she knows it's right. She knows the answer to her question too. Isabella Hamster; Apollo Gerbil; Montague Hamster; Chilli Chinchilla; Tyson Sparkle Bunny; Turnip, Parsnip and Carrot Snail. Lived, loved, taught us stuff: about life and how to let go.
Dog pushes her way through the door, looking for attention. Sun unimpeded in the sky. We go to the beach.




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