Bunny Rabbit Story

 

Here's a story I started. Should I keep going?

Sam awoke to the sweet smell warm smell of carrots wafting directly into his nostrils. He felt the weight of about 20 pounds in the center of his chest. Squinting his eyes open, still feeling sleepy, he was alarmed by the two eyes, black as lumps of coal but shiny and close together, staring him in the face above a pink twitching nose. “Jesus Christ,” he swore, sitting bolt upright and flinging the furry lump across the room with both hands.

He looked at the floor to see if he’d killed it. But no such luck. It hopped about fearlessly, happily, long ears perked and listening, nose quivering, eyes alert.

“Louise,” he screamed. “Your goddamn fucking pet is in here again. I swear to God we’re having a rabbit stew for dinner if you can’t get if you can’t get it under control.”

He looked at the clock. He still had a half an hour to snooze, but knew he’d never get back to sleep and might as well get up. He was due to catch the Blue Sky Airlines flight from Tucson to Boston at eleven.

He sighed and looked across the room. On the armchair by the door was his a single piece of hand luggage, barely under the allowable dimensions. The rabbit sat under the chair, scratching behind its ear with its hind foot and staring at him.

“Damn thing,” he said under his breath. He wouldn’t allow a pet in his home at all if it wasn’t for the kid. The whole fucking house had had to be rabbit-proofed to keep it from gnawing everything in sight. And it wasn’t allowed in the bedroom. But here it was.

He swung his legs onto the floor, yawned, stretched, and stood. He was naked and glanced in the mirror over the dresser, turning sideways to admire his forty-year-old physique. Not bad, he thought. Of course, being in law enforcement, he had to keep in shape, but still . . . . So what was he doing with fat-assed Louise? He dropped this thought as he stepped over to the armchair ready to give the rabbit a good swift kick in its fucking cottontailed ass. But it watched with shiny black eyes as he approached and, sensing danger, hopped under the bed.

He hefted the carry on. It was heavy as hell. He lifted it onto his shoulder. The strap cut int his flesh and the weight already hurt his back, due to an old injury sustained when he’d been on foot patrol years ago.

“Fuck.” He’s furious with his wife for not packing the rolling carry-on instead of this heavy duffle. Why can’t she learn to be a real wife, like the policemen had in the old movies. Kevin Costner’s wife in The Untouchables. Mrs. Elliot Ness. She put that little note in with his lunch that said, “I’m so proud of you”? (Louise would never do that.) The fucking good old days. You could slap them around when they screwed up. If they needed it. And they often needed it. But they shouldn’t need it. His own mother never needed to be slapped around.

A pair of black eyes shined at him from under the bed. Sam noticed, and kicked his foot, but the rabbit dodged him.

Sam said again, “Fuck.”

* * *

From www.katiesrabbithutch.com

Rabbit Mind, Rabbit Memory:

Let’s talk about what goes on inside the minds of our bunny pets.

It’s been said that they have a five-minute short-term memory. If that’s the case, however, how do they recognize the sound of the fridge door opening and come hopping when we prepare their meals or snacks?

The answer is they have both short-term and long-term memory.

They can and do retain information about people, places, and things. Like other animals, they have been, since the dawn of time, controlled by an instinct and desire to survive, and to protect themselves. Otherwise, their cotton tailed ancestors would never have remembered which predators to avoid and how to avoid them, becoming extinct long ago.

So, yes, they can think, remember, and retain data. They can recognize people and other animals. This is especially true when they connect emotional responses with others—pleasure, fear, pain, etc. They can recall who has treated them well—those they should seek out for such things as nibbles—and those who have treated them poorly or made them feel threatened—such as predators or, heaven forbid, mean humans . . . .

* * *

"Recess" A New Flash Fiction Story by Me

 

Recess 

by Tamworth Grice 

“I think they’re trying to poison me,” Joe said. 

“Who,” Matt asked. 

“Somebody. The parents. Somebody.” Joe looked across the playground and sighed. “I don’t know.” 

He stood up from where they were sitting on the end of the bike rack. The rack was filled with boys’ and girls’ bicycles, mostly Schwinns, mostly in good shape. Here in there was one with rust, or a bent basket, or missing fenders. 

But Joe and Matt were in sixth grade and had stopped riding bikes two years ago. 

Matt stood up, too. He had glasses and freckles. He was “husky”—a polite word for a child who overweight. Sometimes the other boys called him “Porky,” but never when Joe was around. 

Joe was tall and slim. 

Joe looked out at the playground and began walking. 

Matt hesitated, then hurried to catch up, sneakers crunching on the gravel. “Why would your parents want to hurt you?” 

“I don’t know. Forget I said it.” 

At the far end of the playground, in the grass beside the chain-link fence, a group of boys was gathered. Some were standing, some were squatting. All were looking down. 

“Let’s see what they’re doing,” Joe said. 

“Okay.” Matt paused. “But think about it.” He held up his hand to shade his eyes from the noonday sun and gazed at the boys by the fence. “It makes no sense. Why would you even say that?” 

“Because my stomach hurts. All the time. Especially after dinner. Maybe they’re putting something in my food.” He turned his head to look at some girls and boys on the swing sets. “I said I don’t want to talk about it, moron.” 

Matt cringed. 

 Joe sped up his pace. Matt, with shorter legs, walked faster. 

Noticing this, Joe slowed a bit. “Do—do you parents ever fight?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Matt grinned and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “One morning Mom said ‘You put on the coffee,’ and Dad said, ‘No, you put on the coffee,’ and Mom said, “No, you put on the coffee.’ And finally Mom put on the coffee.” 

Joe frowned. “I mean like hitting and shouting and stuff.” 

Matt said, “No,” shaking his head. “Why? Do yours?” 

“No. ’Course not. I just saw it on TV.” 

They were silent until they reached the cluster of boys. On the other side of the fence was a neat row of white houses. The structures all looked alike, except some were mirror images of the others. All had black driveways and garages at the back. 

Joe and Matt craned their necks to see what the boys were watching. 

A praying mantis perched on a small flat stone in the grass, chewing a cricket it had captured. The cricket was still alive and struggled, but the mantis held it firmly. The boys were hushed, staring at it, but Matt broke the silence and whispered, “Cool.” 

The insect turned its wedged-shaped head to look up at him, then went back to devouring its prey. 

Matt pushed his glasses up on his nose again. 

 Joe moved aside and raised his head to look at the houses beyond the fence. He stepped away from the crowd. 

Matt stepped away with him. 

Joe pointed. “Sherry Blake lives there.” 

 Matt nodded. “My sister takes piano lessons from her mother.” 

One of the boys turned and scowled and said, “Shhh.” 

Joe grimaced and turned his back on the boys. Matt did the same. They both stared at the brick school building beyond the swing sets and the bike racks and the children playing tag and hopscotch and jump rope. 

“I’m sorry I called you a moron.” 

 “It’s nothing. Forget about it.” 

 The bell rang to end recess. Joe looked behind him. 

The boys still huddled around the praying mantis didn’t budge, as if oblivious to the sound. 

“Let’s head back.” Joe walked slowly this time, head down, and Matt trudged at his side. 

Everyone but the boys around the mantis was already inside when they reached the rear entrance. 

 Joe stopped and moved his hand to his abdomen. He bent forward a bit and winced. 

Matt peered into his face curiously but without speaking. 

“My stomach hurts,” Joe said, not looking at Matt. He straightened, moved his hand from his stomach, and pressed his palm on the bar that opened the school door. 

He muttered under his breath. “I feel awful.”

--end--

Supportiveness

 

I'm enjoying doing research for my new book.

But actually, it's not new. 

It's a book I began years ago.

Stupidly, I let some unkind words from a mean and unsupportive acquaintance discourage me, and I stopped writing it.

People, don't do this!!! Don't let others discourage you. 

I would even say, don't talk about projects to others, for fear of what they'll say.

Don't talk about your hopes, dreams, and goals, either. Unless you absolutely, positively know the hearer is unconditionally supportive of you. 

I'll keep you posted about the book, but in the meantime, I recommend avoiding unsupportive people.

More importantly, always be supportive of others!

BACK TO BLOGGING--AGAIN! LOL!

 Okay, so about 18 months ago I posted something titled "Back to Blogging" . . . and then didn't go back to blogging. 🤣

Now I will.

After a hiatus, I'm going back to writing and back to blogging.

I'll keep you posted here when I publish a new ebook.

I'm also getting ready to issue my ebooks in print form, so stay tuned for more info about that.

I'm very excited about my plans for moving forward, and I hope to excite you, too, with what I produce. 

My mission with my writing is to be a rainbow 🌈 in everyone's day, whether cloudy, sunny, or in between.

Rainbow in Sedona, where I live.

See you back here . . . soon, this time!

Bye for now!