The Bunny Story

BJ Campbell
Dec 11, 2019 · 3 min read

So I wake up one morning, and my dog is scratching at my back door, which is weird because I thought he slept inside the prior night, but whatever. Dogs. And I go to let him in and he’s covered in dirt and grime and all sorts of curious vegetative matter, and he’s got this rabbit in his mouth. White rabbit. Also covered in dirt and such. And I freak out.

Not because I’m particularly concerned about the well being of rabbits mind you. I’ll shoot one with a pellet gun a couple times a year to keep them out of my garden. Can’t use a .22 because I live in Cobb County and the ordinance says no discharge of firearms within 100 ft of a right of way, which pretty much rules out any firearms discharge in my yard no matter how many white tailed jackrabbits are tearing up my radishes. Those bastards get hungry. So I use a .177 pellet gun instead, which doesn’t count as a firearm because it isn’t propelled by a chemical reaction, despite it being basically the same ballistics as .22 long. I digress.

So my flashback of enacting the Mr. McGregor Jungian archetype ends abruptly when I see the rabbit is a white rabbit, not a brown thing that lives in the woods. My neighbors, you see, they raise these prize, blue ribbon rabbits, that they show at the fair. Which is probably technically illegal in Cobb County because their livestock ordinance won’t let me buy any chickens without getting a site plan stamped by a land surveyor, going before the zoning board of appeals, begging for a chicken, getting their approval, and then going before the board of commissioners the following month, not to mention the hundreds of certified mail letters I would have to issue to every resident within a thousand foot radius to declare my intent to commit the most egregious of East Cobb sins, that of owning a chicken.

And my neighbors never sent me one of those letters, but I’m cool and sorta like rabbits so I never called code enforcement on them or anything. But there’s this rabbit, this blue ribbon white rabbit, in my dog’s mouth, stiff as a brick.

Now I’ve heard that some animals play dead when they’re traumatized and such, so I figured that might have been what was going on here, and even if it wasn’t I didn’t want to take the blame for this dead rabbit, because they might go after my dog, so I did what any red blooded American Cobb County resident would do. I took the rabbit, brought it inside, washed it off, went outside, hosed off my dog, grabbed the rabbit and hopped the fence with it. Found the neighbor’s rabbit cage, which was empty, and slipped it in there, good and quiet like. Figured it’d probably wake up in ten minutes once it shook off the shock.

Then I made it back over the fence, went inside, washed myself off this time, and made a cup of coffee. I’m drinking it on the back porch when I hear a tremendous ruckus in the neighbor’s back yards a few dozen minutes later. Went to the fence to see what was going on. Lady next door tells me, “Oh my God! My children’s rabbit died three days ago, and we buried it, and now it’s BACK IN THE CAGE!”

Posh Tit’s Clam Frap

What does an upper-class avian ponder as he sips his…

BJ Campbell

Written by

Conscientious objector to the culture war. I think a lot. mirror: www.freakoutery.com writer at: www.opensourcedefense.org beggar at: www.patreon.com/bjcampbell

Posh Tit’s Clam Frap

What does an upper-class avian ponder as he sips his blended shellfish beverage? Why, poignant absurdities about politics, culture, and society. This is the direct source to these musings.

BJ Campbell

Written by

Conscientious objector to the culture war. I think a lot. mirror: www.freakoutery.com writer at: www.opensourcedefense.org beggar at: www.patreon.com/bjcampbell

Posh Tit’s Clam Frap

What does an upper-class avian ponder as he sips his blended shellfish beverage? Why, poignant absurdities about politics, culture, and society. This is the direct source to these musings.

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