My Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

So I know that I stole the title from a children’s book that I read to my kids when they were little. But after the day I had, I couldn’t think of anything else.

Sonora was my daughter’s rabbit. She had bought her on a whim and loved the fact that the bunny kept her company in her small college apartment. She was white, fluffy, and sort of mean. I soon realized that my daughter knows me too well.

When my daughter was heading off to study abroad she admitted that she had a problem concerning the rabbit. I received a phone call one day and she explained that she couldn’t get anyone to watch Sonora while she was away so she was just going to sell her on Craig’s List. Outraged, I immediately reminded her that our family did not sell pets on the Internet and that we would care for the rabbit. She knew I would have that reaction.

We dropped our daughter off at the airport to launch her study abroad adventure and our rabbit responsibilities commenced.

We moved to the country about three months before and I was excited to have what I considered a farm animal. My husband and I ventured to the Feed and Fuel store on Main Street to purchase the necessary food, rabbit treats, and hay. I soon discovered that Sonora loved to hop around outside so we would leave her in the yard and she would nestle under a small bush and enjoy the warm sun on her back. Catching her became quite a challenge when it was time to get her back in the cage – but who could blame her?

One weekend in mid-September we were excited to host our nephew and his girlfriend for a few days. Early Sunday morning I let Sonora out to roam and we made coffee for our guests. The weather was beautiful so we decided to take a long walk and I headed out in the yard to catch the rabbit. She was nowhere to be found. I gathered the troops and we all started looking and calling for Sonora (I don’t think she knew her name – but somehow it seemed to make sense at the time). After about 10 minutes of searching, my husband pointed down the road to the two little girls next door. They were carrying Sonora back up to our house. I shouted down to them “Hey, how did ya catch her?” As the words were still hanging in the air, I realized that Sonora wasn’t moving as she lay in the oldest child’s arms. I strolled down the road to meet them and one of the girls stared at me with a stunned look and said that they had found the rabbit in our yard. I looked down and Sonora was limp. The girl continued by explaining that they had taken the rabbit home to their mom and it had died in her arms. Their mom then told them to take the rabbit back to me.

Whoa. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond other than the fact that I couldn’t believe that any mother would instruct her child to bring a dead rabbit back to the neighbor’s house. So I gently took the lifeless rabbit into my arms and looked up the hill to my bewildered husband and guests and announced that Sonora was dead. We all stood around and evaluated if the rabbit was actually dead by moving her limp body and calling her name (Again, the name calling wasn’t helpful but what the hell did we know – we were city folk). My husband reminded me that we now lived in the country and things like this happen all the time. We gently placed her in a bag and decided to go on our walk.

Of course we spent the better part of our stroll discussing how the rabbit must have died. Did it have a heart attack in our yard when another animal approached? Did the girls take it back to their house and let it play in their yard with the other animals? Ironically, the girls next door had a rabbit as well but we all agreed that Sonora was more of a Paris Hilton sort of bunny than a country rabbit and hanging with country animals would have indeed been dangerous. We also had to make a pact that no one would tell my daughter. I figured that since she was living in Europe for the semester that we would wait to tell her until she arrived back home. No need to share news that would make her sad so far away.

Our walk took us about two miles away from our house. In the midst of our conversation I swatted what I thought was a fly and caught it in my hand. Unfortunately, the fly was actually a bee and it stung my finger. I know that I have a low tolerance for pain, but it really, really hurt. I felt a little faint as my husband instructed me on the proper method of caring for a bee sting. I disagreed and just squeezed my fingers as hard as I could – cutting off all blood circulation to my hand and brain – but it seemed to curb the sting. I tried not to cry when I realized that I was going to have to walk the two miles back home. I grumbled that I was OK and that we just needed to continue. Everyone had a suggestion for how to stop the pain – which just got irritating after a while. What seemed like a two hour sojourn, we arrived back home and I iced the finger and my hand for another hour.

Clearly by this time my husband started feeling sorry for me. The rabbit under my care was dead, I had to strategize on what and when to tell my daughter, and my finger was swollen with a damn bee sting. He announced that we could go to the Feed and Fuel store to see if there were any rabbits for sale. We agreed that we wouldn’t purchase one that day, but that I could hold the baby rabbits to make me feel better. I agreed that was a good idea – we really should never rush into a pet decision but I needed something to lift my spirits.

The Feed and Fuel store had a limited number of rabbits but we quickly found ourselves holding two very cute black and brown baby bunnies. As we were holding them I kept scratching an itch that had been bothering me for the past 30 minutes or so. I asked my husband if there was anything on my cheek and he sheepishly looked up at me trying not to make eye contact. Actually, he said “Yea, I’ve been watching it for about 20 minutes and it seems to be getting bigger and bigger!” I think he was afraid I was going to explode. “It looks like you might have been bitten by a spider.” He quickly tried to move the conversation back to the cute baby bunnies but to no avail. “Are you kidding me?” I shouted as I could feel my eye start to swell shut. “Uh, no,” he responded and then gingerly signed to sales girl to help us put the bunnies back in their cage as he quickly ushered me out the door and back to the car.

Well, I eventually survived. We told our daughter about the fate of Sonora when we visited her in Spain and we bought two new rabbits (one for me and one for our daughter) that never wander outside on their own. Now I’m just waiting to get some chickens.