By Tracy Beckerman
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No sooner did I get the last vegetable planted in the garden than the first sign of trouble appeared.
“Look, Mom,” exclaimed my daughter, pointing to the far side of the backyard. “It’s a cute little bunny.” I whipped my head around and stared at the hopping ball of fluff. I didn’t think it was cute at all. As far as I was concerned, the only thing scarier than a cute little bunny were toys that said, “Some Assembly Required.”
“Oh noooo,” I moaned.
“What’s wrong?” my daughter asked.
“Where there is one cute little bunny, more will follow,” I explained, “and there is nothing cute little bunnies like more than cute little vegetable gardens.”
As if on cue, the cute little bunny hopped away and another bunny appeared in its place. But this one was not a cute little bunny. This was a big bunny. A very, very big bunny. It was the biggest bunny I have ever seen in the ‘burbs.
“I don’t think that’s Peter Cottontail,” I declared. “That one looks more like Arnold Schwarzenbunny. And he is definitely the Terminator of Tomatoes.”
My daughter narrowed her eyes at the monster bunny.
“How do you think he got so big?” she asked.
“He probably lives on a steady diet of suburban vegetables and small children,” I responded.
Assessing the danger to our garden on a scale of 1 (being a butterfly) to 10 (being a platoon of ravenous moose), I decided this monster bunny was at least a 20. I ran into the yard and shouted at the rabbit to scare him away, but he didn’t budge. Why should he? He knew he could take me.
I returned to the garden to confer with my daughter.
“OK, here’s the deal,” I began. “I’m pretty sure Arnold Schwarzenbunny is from the future. I think he’s from a time when gigantic rabbits take over the world and consume all the tomatoes and carrots on this planet. I don’t think we will be able to stop him unless we send Michael J. Fox back to the future to reset the space-time continuum.”
My daughter stared at me.
“Of course the other explanation is that he’s actually a kangaroo,” I suggested.
“He also could just be a ridiculously big rabbit,” said my daughter.
I paused. “In that case, I’m not really sure what to do.”
As we pondered the plight of our vegetable garden at the hands (paws) of Arnold Schwarzenbunny, my son arrived home and came out to greet us. But as he opened the back door, the dog came bursting out, immediately spotted the rabbit and ran full throttle across the yard to put the bunny out of business.
Sensing that the dog was more trouble than my tomatoes were worth, the rabbit decided not to split hares and dove under the fence into the safety of the neighbor’s yard.
“I guess that takes care of Arnold Schwarzenbunny,” said my daughter.
“Don’t be so sure,” I replied. “Did you hear what he said before he left?”
“I’ll be back.”
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Lost in Suburbia: A Tail of 2 Bunnies
By Tracy Beckerman