Because People Are Rabbits, Too

Because Rabbits Are People, Too

When I’m hiking along the fire road coming down from McAfee’s Knob, I tend to lengthen my stride a bit as Roald Dahl wrote, “…a country man who was used to covering large distances quickly.” The other day was no different. I had made the summit of McAfee’s Knob and begun the long trek back to the parking lot. Since I usually begin the nine-mile round trip (I tend to take a longer route than most) just after dawn, I’m usually almost back before I begin to pass people.

So as I was cruising along the ridge-top fire road the other day, I was startled as I came around a corner by… a rabbit. He was standing in the middle of the road glaring at me from about 25 yards away. Ordinarily, a person would have said, “Awe, look at the lovely little bunny rabbit.” But I knew better. In that moment as I closed the distance between the rabbit and me, the little fellow’s eyes bulged and looked right through me. He suddenly took off in a dead sprint heading right for me. I stopped cold in my tracks. Moving fast, he quickly closed the distance between us before veering away from me at the last possible moment and darting off into the woods.

I thought for sure that the rabbit was going to attack me. But after I thought about it, I realized that no rabbit would have veered away from me unless he was scared of something more powerful than me. So carefully, I started along the trail, and as I passed the spot where the rabbit bolted, I caught a black blur moving quickly and loudly away through the dense brush. So, that rabbit was too afraid to attack me that time.

I don’t like rabbits, or rather, they don’t like me. For as long as I can remember, rabbits have hated me. Well that’s not quite true. Once upon a time, a rabbit did love me, and I loved him. His name was “Whitey,” and he was my pet rabbit when I was five years old. Other than my large stuffed bunny named, “Mr. Bunny,” Whitey was the best friend I had. My brother, Joe, had a black bunny called “Blackie. My brother, Greg, had a brown rabbit named “Brownie.” Our rabbit family was loved and cared for by each of us. My father and Joe had built a comfortable cage under the winesap apple tree next our “barn” (a tool shed). Every day, we’d go out and let the rabbits go free to hang out in the yard under our watchful eyes. Whitey, Blackie, and Brownie would pretty much sit there in the cool backyard grass and wiggle their noses. No doubt they were content and happy. I loved the way Whitey looked, and the way he sat there.

Our rabbit utopia was shattered one morning when we discovered that the cage was tipped over and all four rabbits were gone. We found Brownie dead nearby and fur from the others with a trail of blood leading away from the cages. Sometime during the night, a pack of dogs must have come through and attacked our friends and stole them away for torture and death.

I was shattered. I cried and cried. That’s when I put Mr. Bunny away in the attic and left the world of rabbits for good. But Mr. Bunny didn’t like being in that hot attic. He nibbled his way through the roof, escaped, and began talking about me to his rabbit friends. If there’s one thing I learned about Mr. Bunny, he carried a grudge.

Years later, after I’d grown into a man and had a wife, a family, and a career in teaching, I met “Thumper.” In 1991, Nathanael Greene Elementary School in Stanardsville, Virginia was brand new. I occupied a fourth grade classroom teaching enrichment classes (locally called “Extension”). My friend, Ginger, was a special education teacher just down the hall from me. To help teach her students responsibility, Ginger brought in her pet rabbit, Thumper. Thumper was a round brown rabbit with big eyes and a snarling smile. She would keep him in a cage at night, but during the day, he was free to roam the room. I had never met a litter box-trained rabbit before, but Thumper was faithful to his box. His assuredness allowed him a certain level of freedom not normally given to ordinary pet rabbits. Thumper was a frustrated rabbit though. All day long in the classroom, he would chase a balloon around. When he would catch the balloon, he would immediately try to mount it in a sexual manner. That’s right, Thumper was an aggressive humper. All day long Thumper would spend hours trying to hump those balloons. He was obsessed and determined, but largely unsuccessful.

Early in the mornings, before the kids arrived and when teachers were beginning their daily preparations, Ginger would arrive and let Thumper out of his cage. He loved these times. Thumper would bolt from his cage and then head out the classroom door into the hallway. From there, he’d wander the halls and greet all of the teachers.

For me, however, Thumper had a special greeting. I remember the first time it happened. Thumper was prowling the halls one morning and came to pass by my open classroom door. As he hopped by, he stopped and looked in to my room and seemed to smile. It was a sinister smile if you ask me. Then he turned from his hall business and came through my classroom doorway toward me.

“Hey Thumper, what’s going on buddy?”

He kept smiling as he slowly approached me. His little rabbit nose was twitching furiously. Moments later, he was right at my feet. I looked down and smiled at him and said something like, “So you just wanted to say hi, eh Thumper….”

The next thing I knew, Thumper had attacked my leg with his sharp claws and was digging in to my flesh. Then he pulled his hind legs closer to my leg and began humping my leg while simultaneous digging his razor-sharp teeth into the meat of my lower leg.

I howled in pain and reflexively kicked my leg tossing Thumper some distance away. He rolled and sprang immediately up on all fours and charged me. Again, I kicked him away. Then I bolted from the classroom to go in search of Ginger.

When I found her and told her the tale of “Humper’s” attack, she just laughed, and said, “… not Thumper. He wouldn’t hurt a flea.” So I grabbed her and dragged her down to my room just to prove it to her. Thumper, however, was too clever for me. He had already exited my room and was back to wandering the halls with that…smile on his lips.

“Hey baby, “ Ginger said to the evil one. Thom says, you’ve been a naughty boy. At this moment the clever rabbit waddled (he was a bit over-weight) over to Ginger, and she bent over to pet him. I just stood a stared. Where was the aggressive, attack bunny I’d just seen? “ See Thom, Thumper’s a sweet bunny rabbit.” I nodded my head and let the matter go.

Several weeks later, after having avoided Thumper successfully, I turned the corner in the hallway one morning, and came foot to face with Thumper. As usual, he had that smile on his lips. His nose started twitching, and without hesitation, he charged me, growling and clawing at my legs. I gave him a swift boot in the butt and he scampered off to find his balloon.

For the next few years, Thumper humped his balloon at school to his heart’s content until one day when he was busted for snapping at a child’s finger. Ginger was forced to take him home.

So up to this point in my life, rabbits held both a tragic and terrifying place in my mind. From time to time, I’d think of poor Whitey and old Mr. Bunny. Blood smeared those memories though and the evil, smiling Thumper lips would inevitably force their way into my thoughts. I’d shudder.

A few years later, my family and I went to Lynchburg to visit my sister-in-law, Paula and her family. Paula and her husband Jim were in the process of raising four kids in a comfortable ranch house in a tree-lined neighborhood. Jim helped his father at the family’s local hardware and gun store, so he had access to all kinds of toys. So I guess it wasn’t surprising to me at all when Jim told us that they were raising rabbits.

Jim said that they had originally bought a pair of rabbits to breed. These rabbits were quite successful and soon the whole backyard was loaded with rabbits running around their fenced yard. Jim insisted that I come out back to see them, so I obliged. After all, Thumper was a freak. Rabbits were actually quite cute and lovable. I almost believed these thoughts as I kept rehearsing them repeatedly in my mind as we stepped out back.

As I opened the basement door and walked into the backyard, it was like stepping into my worst nightmare. The yard was littered with rabbits, all hopping around. All smiling with big lips. Almost immediately, all of the rabbits stopped hopping and turned their heads to look at me. Jim said, “They really like you.” I wasn’t so sure.

Jim, a master at getting people to do things that they ordinarily wouldn’t do, began to encourage me to pick one up and pet it. I was wary, explaining to Jim my experiences with Thumper and my childhood rabbit horror story. Jim pushed my fears aside and continued the full-court press to get me to pick up one of the evil ones. To prove his point that they were lovable, he grabbed one by the scruff of the neck and then cradled him like a baby, gently stroking his soft, black fur. The rabbit closed his eyes and seemed to be tranquilized. He looked so docile and lovable. Gradually, my fears melted away. I longed to hold one of the cute rabbits.

Following Jim’s lead, I reached down and picked up a friendly looking black and white rabbit that was gradually coming closer to me. Just as Jim did, I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and immediately cradled him. The rabbit seemed okay…at first…but then he started twitching his nose and flashing a fat lip smile. That’s when he began using his hind legs to claw away at my arm. Within seconds, he had gouged me and raked me repeatedly across my unprotected arm. Reflexively, I tossed the evil one away and he landed with a thump on the ground and scampered away.

Pain shot through me, and I began trying to figure out how bad I was wounded. It turns out that the rabbit really got me good. It took a long time for the multiple scratches to heal, and to this day I have scars on my arms. I vowed then to have nothing to do with rabbits again. That was not to be the case, however.

A couple of years later, we were visiting Jim again, and again Jim invited me to visit the rabbits in the backyard. I reminded Jim that rabbits and I didn’t seem to get along, but Jim insisted that that was nonsense. Remember than when Jim insists you do something, it’s very hard to resist. So in true flashback fashion, I stepped into that backyard teeming with hopping bunnies. Immediately, they all cocked their sinister heads around and glared at me. Then several began to charge me. I smoothly moved to the side and walked to the other side of the yard. Immediately, the rabbits turned and smiled at me and began closing in on me, trying to trap me against the backyard metal fence. They closed quickly and before I could move away, one of them charged my leg and began biting me with his vicious rabbit razors. I kicked him away and ran for the fence gate a few yards away and made it through before the next rabbit made it to me.

Until the other day when I was hiking along the fire road, I hadn’t encountered any more rabbits. I go out of my way to avoid them. When I do see them in the distance, I feel their coal eyes fixed on me as their poisonous thoughts are telepathically transmitted to me. My fear keeps me away and serves me well for without a doubt, rabbits want me dead.

Epilogue

Whitey’s remains were never found. Mr. Bunny was actually located buried deep in the attic with a missing eye, a hole in his stomach, and a stiff coat-hanger wire hanging out of his now flopping right ear. Thumper died of cardiac arrest one afternoon while humping a balloon at his home. Jim gave up breeding rabbits when they turned on him and began attacking. The rabbit on McAfee’s Knob fire road that dashed into the woods is still at large.