galinfla
Well-Known Member
"Watermelon rind in cage this morning. The carrot is afraid of me. I have seen its true face."
There were tons of chickens at the farm swap that morning. I was disheartened, because I'd just learned that a city ordinance prevents me from having chickens at my house. I had them as a kid, and they were such a fun pet. Fresh eggs would have been a real treat.
My daughter and I went from table to truck, checking out produce and petting various animals. We got fresh pork rinds to crunch on while I talked about hydroponics with a gentleman whose youtube videos I 'd watched. We continued walking, and suddenly, she stopped.
There was this hay filled trailer with a half dozen bouncing critters in it. A Mexican family stood on the outside, the mother looking hopeful. A little girl cradled a grey and white ball of fur in her arms. My daughter was peering in at the fluffiest little ball of white with black polka dots. Her eyes did that thing, where they get really big and shiny, and I heard her, "Awwww! Mommmmmy..."
We had pets: Rats. They're small, low maintenance, friendly, and intelligent. Rats, however, do not cuddle and snuggle. They scamper and scurry. They play with your hair and get tangled up behind your neck. They're too small to let out of the cage without concern that they'll get injured or lost. We adore our rats, but my daughter practically swooned at the idea of snuggling her face into this puffball.
A half hour later, I was paying the relieved lady for the ball of fluff. "His name is Lucky," they said. Apparently, the litter had been large... too large for the mother, whom they described as small. "He was the only one who lived."
I just nodded and asked how big he would get. I like animals, really. The story was, indeed, neat. It's just that pets are a lot of work, and at the ancient age of ten, my kid was likely to forget to take care of her little friend sometimes. You know. Memory is the first thing to go and all of that. They pointed to a black and white speckled rabbit. "That's the daddy. Mommy is smaller than he is. Lucky will be small."
Lucky was in the trailer, snuggling with his father. I was informed that Mommy was at home, making more bunnies. I watched them a minute. They seemed very attached to each other. I didn't know a thing about rabbits, but I knew that rats can get depressed if you have just the one. I could hear myself shouting, "No way!" in my head as I paid for Lucky's father.
I compromised with the voice by saying that my kid was mostly into Lucky. This other one was just kind of along for the ride. If he turned out to be too much work, I'd sell him. I was told his name was a Spanish word that meant "fluffy" or "soft", or some such thing. On the way home, I struggled in vain to remember the name. My kid and I came up with all sorts of things that sounded similar, but not quite right. I only knew it was a word that reminded me of "Chalupa".
During the long drive home, the voice urged me to get rid of Chalupa. "Chalupa" sounded too ridiculous to me, so he just became, "That Other One". When I got home, I went to Craigslist. Some local person was looking for a rabbit. I sent an email describing his good qualities and offered to sell him.
The cage was set up in the bedroom. The following morning, the smell of boy rabbit pee had filled the room like some tangible thing, pushing me out of the doorway. "Sweetie, I don't think we can keep either one of these rabbits." I was ready to give them and the cage away, right then... but the kid was looking very sad.
Compromise. I told her that we would give the rabbits a week during which we'd try very hard to get this odor thing handled. If we couldn't do it, they had to go.
Later that day, I was checking on their water bowl. Chalupa- Lafucha- That Other One rushed over to me and put a paw on my arm. He turned and tilted his head so he could look me in the eye. Casting Voodoo spells in bunny language, no doubt. As we made eye contact, I realized the spots on one side of his face were almost an exact mirror image of the other side of his face. The name, "Rorschach" clicked into place.
Not Rorschach, the ink blot test psychiatrists use. That would have been easier for me to forget. Easier for me to dismiss later. No. This rabbit became my idea of the bunny form of Walter Kovacs- a character from a graphic novel turned movie. I even started imagining him with a little bunny fedora.
"Darn it!" I actually muttered this out loud. My kid looked up. "He has a name. How can I get rid of him now?"
There were tons of chickens at the farm swap that morning. I was disheartened, because I'd just learned that a city ordinance prevents me from having chickens at my house. I had them as a kid, and they were such a fun pet. Fresh eggs would have been a real treat.
My daughter and I went from table to truck, checking out produce and petting various animals. We got fresh pork rinds to crunch on while I talked about hydroponics with a gentleman whose youtube videos I 'd watched. We continued walking, and suddenly, she stopped.
There was this hay filled trailer with a half dozen bouncing critters in it. A Mexican family stood on the outside, the mother looking hopeful. A little girl cradled a grey and white ball of fur in her arms. My daughter was peering in at the fluffiest little ball of white with black polka dots. Her eyes did that thing, where they get really big and shiny, and I heard her, "Awwww! Mommmmmy..."
We had pets: Rats. They're small, low maintenance, friendly, and intelligent. Rats, however, do not cuddle and snuggle. They scamper and scurry. They play with your hair and get tangled up behind your neck. They're too small to let out of the cage without concern that they'll get injured or lost. We adore our rats, but my daughter practically swooned at the idea of snuggling her face into this puffball.
A half hour later, I was paying the relieved lady for the ball of fluff. "His name is Lucky," they said. Apparently, the litter had been large... too large for the mother, whom they described as small. "He was the only one who lived."
I just nodded and asked how big he would get. I like animals, really. The story was, indeed, neat. It's just that pets are a lot of work, and at the ancient age of ten, my kid was likely to forget to take care of her little friend sometimes. You know. Memory is the first thing to go and all of that. They pointed to a black and white speckled rabbit. "That's the daddy. Mommy is smaller than he is. Lucky will be small."
Lucky was in the trailer, snuggling with his father. I was informed that Mommy was at home, making more bunnies. I watched them a minute. They seemed very attached to each other. I didn't know a thing about rabbits, but I knew that rats can get depressed if you have just the one. I could hear myself shouting, "No way!" in my head as I paid for Lucky's father.
I compromised with the voice by saying that my kid was mostly into Lucky. This other one was just kind of along for the ride. If he turned out to be too much work, I'd sell him. I was told his name was a Spanish word that meant "fluffy" or "soft", or some such thing. On the way home, I struggled in vain to remember the name. My kid and I came up with all sorts of things that sounded similar, but not quite right. I only knew it was a word that reminded me of "Chalupa".
During the long drive home, the voice urged me to get rid of Chalupa. "Chalupa" sounded too ridiculous to me, so he just became, "That Other One". When I got home, I went to Craigslist. Some local person was looking for a rabbit. I sent an email describing his good qualities and offered to sell him.
The cage was set up in the bedroom. The following morning, the smell of boy rabbit pee had filled the room like some tangible thing, pushing me out of the doorway. "Sweetie, I don't think we can keep either one of these rabbits." I was ready to give them and the cage away, right then... but the kid was looking very sad.
Compromise. I told her that we would give the rabbits a week during which we'd try very hard to get this odor thing handled. If we couldn't do it, they had to go.
Later that day, I was checking on their water bowl. Chalupa- Lafucha- That Other One rushed over to me and put a paw on my arm. He turned and tilted his head so he could look me in the eye. Casting Voodoo spells in bunny language, no doubt. As we made eye contact, I realized the spots on one side of his face were almost an exact mirror image of the other side of his face. The name, "Rorschach" clicked into place.
Not Rorschach, the ink blot test psychiatrists use. That would have been easier for me to forget. Easier for me to dismiss later. No. This rabbit became my idea of the bunny form of Walter Kovacs- a character from a graphic novel turned movie. I even started imagining him with a little bunny fedora.
"Darn it!" I actually muttered this out loud. My kid looked up. "He has a name. How can I get rid of him now?"
