Bunnies 6/18/12

Diego, the mostly white English Angora rabbit, sat idly chewing on the carrot provided him by the silly high pitched female that not only insisted on calling him a bunny, but had also given him the absurd name of Mister Snuggles. It was his usual time for thinking, carrot time. Thinking, perhaps a little brooding. And occasionally, plotting.

He knew that within the long furred casing of his body beat the heart of a true warrior. He could feel the way his blood burned when he thought of being called to action. Why the walking mush brain couldn’t see it, he had no idea.

Oh, how he hated her.

She pinched his face between her ham-hock hands and made ridiculous noises. When she spoke to him, her voice became mushy and ear shattering. It was not the way she talked to others. He’d heard her. Her normal voice was not nearly as unpleasant, but she seemed to mistake his oft offered lip curl as some kind of encouragement.

More than the voice, however, she annoyed him with the insistence of calling him a bunny. He was most certainly no bunny. He was seven and a half pounds of pure bred rabbit. A noble breed, at that, not small at all.

And the ribbons. There were times when Diego wondered if she really realized what it meant to be a male, there were other times when he was sure she’d completely forgotten that he was – in fact – a male. So many ribbons she had for him. So many colors and styles. She put them all over him, too, tying them in various places all through his fur. Which was another problem. He was naturally fluffy, but she had a special way of making it worse. She did something with a device that blew hot air out of it’s snout and it made his poor fur stand on end. Then came the ribbons and bows.

It was a special torment, living with the female. He wanted out. He wanted freedom. He wanted to roam in the vast wilds he could see on the other side of the glass in the window. Such a large – grand, even – field filled with grass and flowers. Just the place for him! She had brought his desire on by taking him out there. But she would never put him down fully. She held on and placed him before things he really wanted to chew on, let him smell it for glorious brief moments before snatching him up again. He felt the freedom briefly and it rolled in his veins. Called to him at night when everything else was silent.

This.

This was what all his plotting centered toward. This is what he mentally steeled himself for.

Escape.

For one day, he would escape the clutches of the ridiculous female and he would be free in that world of strange – but wonderful – smells. Far, far away from bows and ribbons. He would no longer have to bear the name Mister Snuggles, he could, and would, only answer to the true name of his spirit! Diego! Diego would be the one he would be known by! He would find his new home out there in the vast wilds that stretched seemingly endlessly, his kingdom protected by an enormous gray wall! And he would protect it fiercely! He would live on the gifts of nature, bountiful and glorious, and he would be free.

But how to escape the villainous hands of the demented squeaky girl? It was the problem Diego pondered in most of his free time. Especially when chewing on the dastardly tasty carrot she provided daily.

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