Little Bunny Foo Foo

It was Easter 1979.  The kids down the road were raising rabbits to sell, and they talked me into buying one for my little sister, Julie.

In the days immediately following Easter, she would excitedly rush home from elementary school to play with the baby bunny.  The way she treated that animal would have you believe that all she ever wanted in the whole world was a baby bunny.

There were daily bunny tea parties, bunny dress-up galas, bunny parades, and hare balls (rimshot).

Two weeks later, the rabbit became ill.  Julie didn't seem to notice, but it became progressively worse.  The bunny was dying.  My dad asked me to take care of the bunny the next day, before Julie came home from school.  

Now, my interpretation of "take care of the bunny" differed a little from Dad's, who apparently once belonged to the Mafia.  When I took the little ball of fur outside behind the barn, I just couldn't bring myself to "take care of the bunny."  Instead, I put it in a large wooden box behind the saddle house, promising myself I would return to bury it after it died.

But I forgot.

I did, however, tell Julie that the baby bunny missed its mommy, and the mommy bunny came to pick it up while she was at school. Although she was understandably upset, she bought the story.

Problem solved.  (Except for that part about remembering to bury the bunny.)

Three months later, Julie invited me outside for a little game of hide-and-seek.  I began to count to twenty, while she ran off to hide behind... the saddle house.

Before I reached "twenty," I heard the high-pitched scream.

I have seen third-world cultures on the Discovery Channel in which the natives adhere to the practice of wailing when someone dies.  I have seen hundreds of scary movies with shrieking girls, screaming zombies and screeching monsters.  I even had my phone ring in my ear one time (with the volume on high) when I thought I pressed the "answer" button.

But nothing compared to the sound I heard that day.

I took off at full speed toward the saddle house.  Julie came running at full speed from behind the saddle house.  The first thought that came to my mind was, "Gee, I didn't know first-graders could run so fast."  She blew right past me, making her way to the house and the comfort of Mom.  And Dad.

My life flashed before my eyes.  It was Golden Rule Number One in our home that when Dad told you to do something, you did it.  No excuses.  Golden Rule Number Two was that you just didn't upset his baby girl.

I checked the wooden box behind the saddle house.  Yup.  Dead bunny bones.  Julie had found them and put two-and-two together.

Since Easter 1979, I have referred to this day as The Day Julie Learned About Death.

My father was not pleased with me, but I think he knew the sorrow (and terror) I caused my little sister was punishment enough.

On the upside, though, I think the experience taught me some valuable lessons that I've tried to apply to my life:

• Do what you say you're going to do.  Proverbs 11:3 says, “The integrity of the honest keeps them on track....”  Following through, I think, is one of the earmarks of integrity.  If you think you gotten off track somewhere along the line, check your integrity.
• Think through the repercussions of your actions.  Proverbs 14:15 says, “A simple man believes anything, but a prudent man gives thought to his steps.”  Most people I know who’ve gotten into hot water generally didn’t think things through before they acted.  Most of us would do well to look twice before we leap.
• Never dress up a bunny in cute little costumes.  It’s probably in the Bible somewhere -- I just can’t find it.

Blessings -

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