Bunny Boy and Me

by Nancy Laracy

  My mom, the nurse, jumped right in. “You can handle this, Nance. We can handle this.”

  Of course I could. And I would.

  “On a positive note, Bunny Boy’s a pioneer!” said Dr. Hess. “He’s one of the first rabbits to have the antibiotics beads implanted during a debridement. That’s the lump that you see here.” She pointed to his jaw.

  Dr. Irwin, the surgeon, had also removed some scar tissue from Bunny Boy’s previous surgery and shaved a piece of his jawbone in case the infection had spread into the bone.

  “We’d like to use Bunny Boy’s records for an educational seminar next month with our incoming veterinary residents, if that’s alright with you?” she asked. “Bunny Boy’s records may be used worldwide for research purposes as well. We are a prominent teaching animal hospital.”

  I couldn’t have been prouder of Bunny Boy. In a strange way, it was a triumphant moment for him.

  Another would be when the groundbreaking research he had been a part of would begin to be used on humans.

  I walked out of the hospital feeling like a supply clerk for Doctors Without Borders. Bunny Boy’s “go home” bag was filled with a rainbow selection of elastic bandages, gauze bandages for his paws, and several different medications, each with their separate dosing instructions. Pre-filled penicillin injections. Pain medication. Antibacterial cream. Oral antibiotics. The itemized bill trailed out of the bag. There was also a large box of critical care food—Bunny Boy’s favorite health food. I assumed based on the size of the box that I would be hand-feeding Bunny Boy for a while.

  As Mom pulled out of the parking garage with my car, she looked over at me. Bunny Boy was resting comfortably in my arms, reswaddled. “You wanted a third baby, honey,” she said gently.

  “Yes I did, Mom.”

  Chapter 18

  Bunny Boy’s daily regimen of care became a family affair. It was a special bonding time for the five of us. Our infamous junk drawer, once full of spare keys, miscellaneous office supplies, emery boards, old batteries, thumbtacks, and god knows what else, was now full of neatly organized medical supplies. Julie was in charge of keeping the inventory up to date. When the bandages got low, we went to see our friends at the Franklin Lakes Animal Hospital with Bunny Boy in tow, his hocks wrapped in different colored bandages each visit to keep him and me from getting bored. By the fourth week, Donna, one of the technicians at the hospital, said as she handed us our bag, “I added some fluorescent colors and patterns such as stars or stripes to our weekly supply order.”

  I took great care to keep a sterile environment. Through trial and error, we figured out how to wrap the perfect bandage. Once, we wrapped the bandage too tightly, and within half an hour, Bunny Boy’s toes were so swollen they looked like they would explode. Others were too loose, and our Houdini bunny deftly pried them off in one piece.

  As we approached the holiday season, the variety of color choices for the bandages became a playful issue of contention among the kids and me.

  “Let’s wrap one hock in red and one in green for Christmas,” I suggested in mid-November, violating the house rule that the Christmas season could not begin before the day after Thanksgiving. Chris mumbled something that sounded like, “She’s ridiculous!”

  “I won’t play Christmas music until December 5 instead of Black Friday, if you let me put on the red and green bandages on Bunny Boy,” I told him.

  “It’s a great deal, kids!” exclaimed Ward. “As your attorney, I’m telling you to take the plea bargain.”

  The Christmas season started officially on Thanksgiving at our house and ended on January 6, during the Feast of the Epiphany, otherwise known as “Little Christmas.” Seasonal tunes played around the clock on the radio in the kitchen or in the car while I drove Julie and Chris to their activities. Ward and the children were not fans of Christmas music. It was sheer torture for them to hear Dominick the Donkey clop or Andy Williams whine about not being home for Christmas. Updated Christmas gift lists were the only reason Julie and Chris complied with my request.

  The holidays flew by, bringing their usual joy, excitement and stress. By the time Little Christmas came around, even I was tired of hearing Christmas music and looking at the holiday clutter. And Ward was tired of taking the trash out to the garage. We had accumulated enough medical waste to fill our own barge, but it was worth all the effort to see Bunny Boy’s jaw and hocks heal wonderfully and for the abscesses to be gone. Now, we could only just pray and rely on modern veterinary medicine. It had been sad to see Bunny Boy grounded for a few weeks, though it didn’t seem to bother him at all. Watching him popcorn and leap up onto the sofa again was a welcome sight. Much to Dr. Hess’s surprise, Bunny Boy returned to eating his food pellets three days after the surgery. Strangely, however, he showed no interest in grazing on hay as the weeks passed. We soon discovered that his jaw had been misaligned from the surgery. That, combined with his misaligned teeth, made it impossible for him to eat hay, which would cause another host of problems. Bunny Boy would need to have his front teeth—top and bottom—trimmed every two weeks for the remainder of his life and his molars trimmed twice a year.

  The remainder of the winter was kind to us. We had very little snow, intermittent bursts of 50° weather, and plenty of sunshine. By some small miracle, I was also able to put off starting methotrexate or Enbrel yet again when a last-ditch titration of steroids helped to stabilize me. I felt like I had dodged a bullet.

  • • •

  Life was passing by too quickly, and my children were growing up in front of my eyes.

  Julie was enjoying communicating with her friends on Facebook and dancing in her bedroom while listening to music on her iPod until the wee hours of the night. Sometimes softly, sometimes not so softly. On work nights, Ward would lower the boom. “You dance, you die.” Chris had grown over three inches and was in fantastic shape from rigorous workouts at the gym with his father. He moved like a panther and rebounded like Kobe Bryant. But he had some stiff competition—Bunny Boy. Our adorable rabbit could binky almost four feet into the air—and he was still gaining yardage. I called him the flying miracle bunny. Bunny Boy’s incredible resilience, happy-go-lucky spirit, and will to survive were infectious. He had brought such happiness to our home. But Chris still believed there was more in store for Bunny Boy.

  It was a clear, cool spring day. The wall of fuchsia and white azaleas on the corner of the property was at peak growth, fragrant and colorful. The petals from the cherry trees had formed a soft pink and white blanket along the front porch. On windy days, the petals swirled across the grass like feathers.

  Chris came barreling through the front door looking for Bunny Boy. Loudly, he announced that the new neighbor diagonally across the street, whom I had yet to meet, had a two-year-old girl and two bunnies. Like a Stepford Wife, I had hoped to bring over my versions of the classic Jell-O mold and Lee Bailey’s decadent chocolate brownies once the moving truck unloaded, but for various reasons I had yet to welcome the new neighbors. Chris insisted we bring Bunny Boy right over.

  With a look of mischief in his eyes, Chris nudged Bunny Boy awake. “Bunny Boy can have play dates, Mom! They have a huge outdoor playground!”

  The idea of showing off Bunny Boy to another bunny owner excited me, though Chris and I were not on the same page regarding unleashing Bunny Boy into an outdoor playground.

  Bunny Boy, who had just napped, started racing around like a contestant in the Indy 500. Julie ran down the stairs; she had overheard the phrase “two-year-old” and was thinking immediately about the babysitting opportunity. Julie had recently become our second little entrepreneur. She took full advantage of her love for young children and had spent the previous summer working as a day camp counselor, teaching seven-year-olds tennis in the evenings, while babysitting on weekends. Suddenly, she had disposable income.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said exuberantly, surprising Chris. “Maybe I can become their babysitter.”

  We rang t
he neighbor’s bell. No one answered. Chris brought us around to the backyard, where we quickly found Ivy, the owner, sitting in a white wooden rocking chair reading The Hungry Caterpillar to her daughter, Ivanna. Ivy was tall, her straight chestnut-brown hair cropped just below her ears. She had large, round blue eyes. Ivanna had luscious brown curls, blue eyes like her mother, and a toothless smile.

  I kept the introductions brief, emphasizing the babysitter card. Bunny Boy was nestled in Julie’s right arm with his belly facing forward in what I liked to call the “Titanic” position, because he reminded me of Rose as she waited to be sketched by Jack. Ivanna reached over and touched Bunny Boy’s head ever so gently.

  “Wook. Boo boo.”

  “Yes, it’s a bunny,”’ said Ivy, translating for her daughter. “We could never carry our bunnies that way, Nancy,” she remarked, as if envious of the way Julie was holding Bunny Boy.

  “He’s an indoor bunny who thinks he’s my baby,” I explained.

  We decided to move to the front gardens instead, since the elaborate playpen in the backyard was temporarily off limits as it had recently been sprayed with lawn chemicals. Chris was heartily disappointed. Ivy opened the hutch, retrieved Isabella and Scout, and walked us around to the front gardens. The gardens at the front of the house, I already knew, were spectacular. I admired them almost every day. The previous owner had planted and maintained a perennial garden that was the envy of the entire neighborhood. She was the only neighbor with full sunlight on her yard from dawn until dusk.

  The sun was blazing that afternoon. The stars must have been in alignment. I was feeling particularly energetic and almost pain-free from two steroid shots the doctor had injected into my lower back three days before, a new treatment we were trying intermittently to control my pain. I plopped Bunny Boy down in the middle of the bulbous fuchsia peonies. The scent of the flowers was dreamy. Julie watched out of the corner of her eye while she swung Ivanna around on the grass, not wasting any time securing her next babysitting job.

  Bunny Boy sniffed the different leaves and wispy flowers, gently nibbling at their tips. Then he started digging at the roots of the plants, tossing dirt up into the air. A butterfly fluttered close, almost touching his tail. He settled back on his haunches and gazed at the butterfly, whose wings were the color of a sunflower. Bunny Boy’s satin fur glistened in the sunlight; his whiskers fluttered like the butterfly. Our prince looked radiant.

  Then, he noticed Ivy’s bunnies. Scout, a black Lionhead with a classic, light, fluffy mane and short ears, had taken a liking to Chris. Isabella, with charcoal-gray fur and white on one side of her face, was striking. Bunny Boy kicked up his hind legs and binkied in Isabella’s direction, landing in front of her with a bounce. Then he did the cutest thing and pranced by her, the way he had the first time he used his litter pan successfully. I think he was flirting. He changed direction and gamboled into the air, getting a huge amount of air time, and landed in front of her a second time, stopping to stare into her deep green eyes. I thought of Thumper from the movie Bambi, who was always bouncing and ending up somewhere he didn’t belong.

  We all watched the budding romance as it unfolded. Bunny Boy sniffed the white side of Isabella’s face and her hind legs. Isabella flipped her body sharply, as if initially rejecting his advances, but landing such that once again they were face to face. I thought it was intriguing that Scout, the male rabbit, showed no interest in Bunny Boy. Bunny Boy and Isabella nudged each other’s faces for a few moments, as if introducing themselves. Then they began to frolic in the grass, almost skimming across the tops of the soft green blades. They chased each other around flowers and binkied in and out of the trees until they collapsed from exhaustion. They nestled together, bodies almost attached, and groomed each other delicately like two bunnies falling in love. As difficult as it was for me to admit, I had never seen Bunny Boy so happy.

  When we finally walked home, schoolwork was the last thing on the children’s minds. We were too busy chattering about our next visit to the new neighbors. Bunny Boy had a rabbit playmate now, and Julie had sparked up a friendship with Ivy and Ivanna that would turn out to be a lucrative financial arrangement. And Chris had clearly met his match in Scout.

  • • •

  It was an emotional time for me. A month later, Julie graduated middle school, and Chris graduated fifth grade a few days after. At Julie’s graduation, I reached for Ward’s hand as I sat looking up at the podium, thinking, Where had the years gone? The sandboxes and swings? The daytrips to the local farm or petting zoo? Julie walked up proudly for her diploma, wearing her rainbow-sherbet-pastel-colored gown and an updo fit for a princess. Chris’s ceremony was small but no less significant. We were all so proud. And so was Bunny Boy. There had been a few not-so-serious discussions as to whether or not we could bring him to the actual graduations! Finally, Julie, who always prided herself on being different, was confirmed Julianne Marie “St. Cloud” Laracy at the end of June, despite her earlier objections to partake in the sacrament of confirmation.

  Mid-summer, Bunny Boy’s fairy tale romance came to an abrupt end. A coyote had killed a darling puppy while she was out in her yard. It was tragic; just the thought of it made me shudder. I knew it wasn’t safe to allow Bunny Boy outside any longer.

  “Bunny Boy will just have to snuggle with you on your bed, Nance,” said Ward. “And he can dream of Isabella.” He winked.

  “Or, we can get him his own bunny playmate,” Chris chimed in without a moment’s hesitation. Pretending not to hear him, I started folding a load of laundry. In his typical, well-thought-out manner, Chris started quoting statistics from published studies on the Internet about the advantages of bunnies cohabitating. And there were many. I listened and nodded in acknowledgment and kept folding clothes. He began helping with his own T-shirts, desperate and determined to keep me engaged.

  “Mom, you aren’t taking this seriously. Bunny Boy needs and wants a playmate.”

  Neither Ward nor I wanted another bunny.

  “Let’s talk to your father,” I suggested, hoping to settle the matter once and for all.

  Ward was in the middle of a phone conversation with his brother, Gregory.

  “It’s still cheaper than college tuition,” I heard Ward say, to which Gregory replied, “Just make a pot of stew!” His voice was loud enough for me to hear.

  I shrieked playfully and gave Ward a dirty look. I had gotten the gist of what they were talking about even before I’d heard Gregory’s last comment. I could see Ward’s lawyer mind working overtime on his reply.

  “I was just telling Gregory about Bunny Boy’s surgery, Nance. Specifically, how much it cost.”

  In a fake huff, I scooped up Bunny Boy and placed him on Ward’s lap. “Just make a pot of stew!” I repeated.

  “Come on, Nance. It was all a big joke. Gregory knows how much Bunny Boy means to all of us. But most people don’t realize what wonderful pets bunnies can make!” I could tell he also wanted to say, “expensive pets.”

  Ward decided to come clean. “I told him Bunny Boy was your third child. And that his medical bills were still a lot cheaper than four years of college.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I may have mentioned how you tell Bunny Boy you love him more than life itself …” he trailed off.

  Chris and I burst into laughter. We ran over and gave Ward and Bunny Boy a big hug. “We love you, Bunny Boy,” I said, giving him noogies. “And I love you too, honey,” I said sneakily to Ward.

  Chapter 19

  At a time when I felt my teenaged Julie naturally slipping away, suddenly we had a new common bond that brought us closer.

  High school was due to start in only six weeks, and Julie had an announcement.

  “Mom, I’d like to try out for the high school tennis team.” She said it with the conviction of someone who had played years of tennis, not someone who only played socially on Friday afternoons during middle school. Our suburban town of Franklin Lakes was
one of the top three competitive tennis towns in New Jersey. Most children started swinging a racket by the age of three, many times on the courts built in their own backyards. Tennis lessons might just as well have been part of the school curriculum. But Ward and I thought Julie must be kidding.

  In second grade, Julie had given up basketball and soccer, and we thought—at least at the time—that she didn’t have the fire in her belly to compete. “Oh no, I can’t take the ball away from her,” she told her basketball coach, casting a look of great empathy toward her opponent. “She’ll get too upset.” Another time, she sat on the soccer field during a game and chatted it up with a girlfriend while the ball was in play on the other end of the field. “Honey, get back in the game,” I mouthed, waving my hands, trying to get her attention. As parents of the millennial generation, we hadn’t dared discourage our little muffin from trying any sport, lest we damage her self-esteem.

  And so Julie’s most recent change of heart took us by pleasant surprise. Just five weeks of intense lessons at our tennis club and the right attitude turned up a hidden star. Our five-foot-tall, one-hundred-pound daughter, quickly nicknamed “The Wall” or “Down-the-Line Laracy” by her team, played junior varsity tennis as a freshman in a very competitive district, challenging the most seasoned players, even those with twice her height and girth. She would stroll onto the court with an air of confidence I would have killed for.

  Julie would start each match with a winning smile and a very weak handshake.

  “Good luck,” she would say, barely audible, instilling a false of sense of confidence in her opponents, though not intentional. To their shock, usually within a half hour, they would come running to the fence breathless and frustrated, saying to their coach, “What do I do now? She hits everything back.”

  Julie rendered her opponents exhausted. Her strategy early in the season was simply to wear down her opponents. Needless to say, we were all enjoying the rebirth of Julie’s athletic career. Her dynamic tennis matches became the highlight of the fall, which also included Chris’s soccer season.