Can’t believe I lost the rabbit. Should have forced him into his hutch instead of letting him play in the snow. More than 18 inches fell here the other night. Finally dug out and felt sorry for the critter. He refused to go into the enclosed wooden section of his hutch and sat hunched over in the wired cage, taking in the wind, snow and the cold all through the no-let-up stormy night. I was so grateful just to see that he survived, I did not want to impose any more punishment on him the next morning when I opened the cage door to feed him.
He jumped right out of his cage, healthy as can be. Next, he hopped along the path my son had just dug out. The path led from the rabbit’s cage to the hardened ground near a tree and then to the nearby covered three-person swing, a hammock, and the rabbit’s favorite overhead covering, a chaise lounge. All left out in our patio to winter over.
Let him run, let him slide, let him enjoy the snow, I thought. We kept him in his hutch all last year, afraid he would get out, run away and that we would never see him again. This year, we let him out of his cage for a few hours a day, allowing him to roam the yard along with the other critters we “adopted” this past spring. The rabbit, of whom I call “Cwazy Wabbit,” is now part of our outdoor family. Our outdoor “animal” family. They include a rooster, two chickens, and a white chick of an as-of-yet undetermined gender. Not to mention the squirrels and wild birds. They seem to enjoy each other’s company; well, at least I see them existing together, tolerating each other, allowing space for the other to stretch out and live its life in relative peace.
I last saw Cwazy “hiding” beneath his cage, in a little nook he carved out of the snow. Left him and spent several hours doing chores first outside and then inside the house. Returned to the snow outdoors, put the chickens in their “coop,” a half-built shed at the top of a hill in our back yard, and approached the rabbit hutch.
“Cwazy” I call out. Then I whistle. Loudly. The type of whistle you hear at ball games and always gets your attention. I use it on my spouse and kid. Spouse hates it, says I’m treating her like a dog. My son is envious, wishes he can make such a cool noise. Some day, my good son, some day you’ll find your own calling, your own whistle.
“Come here, you Cwazy Wabbit,” I shout a little louder.