Member-only story
Sylvie’s Lair.
My wife’s bonding exercise with a Sylvilagus floridanus.
“I based my lips on Roger Rabbit.” Amanda Lepore
We have a rabbit living in our bushes, one of the Eastern Cottontails, better known in Latin circles as Sylvilagus floridanus. We call her “Sylvie” for short since we don’t want to confuse her — or my wife, for that matter. Winona has never taken to Latin, claiming every word seems to end in “s.” Sylvie hasn’t taken to Latin because it sounds like I’m hissing.
Anyway, the point is, Winona wants a relationship with Sylvie, something I’ve told her isn’t going to happen. “Wild is wild,” I say as my wife heads out to the bushes, taking Sylvie two wrinkled carrots. They were destined for the compost. Winona hates wrinkled vegetables the way early cultures hated leprosy. Our compost is the equivalent of Kalaupapa Island in Hawaii.
Winona hates wrinkled vegetables the way early cultures hated leprosy.
Turns out, though, Sylvie isn’t crazy about wrinkled vegetables, either. Both carrots have been left abandoned in what Winona call’s “Sylvie’s Lair.” As I’ve told my wife, rabbits are eternal wanderers. Typically, their nests are nothing more than shallow depressions in the earth with a bit of fur.
