The following is proof that I don’t spend EVERY evening drinking a Tom Collins and crocheting in front of the TV. (That was just Friday night.) (I am such an old woman at heart.)
Saturday, I took Rudolf to Balboa Park for a picnic of apples and carrots and cilantro. He washed that down with some grass, a piece of bark, and a leaf I couldn’t identify. I washed it down with water. Rudolf chased a butterfly (so cute it almost broke my heart) and we listened to a mariachi singer, who’s outfit perfectly matched the butterfly’s colors.
Rudolf cleaned himself up after we ate. I mean, we were in public, and he’s a very mannerly little bunny.
We made new friends, especially a boy named Marcus and a little girl named Camile. We soaked up the sunshine and spring breezes, and the sounds of a nearby Shakespeare festival. (Rudolf is a fan of A Midsummer Nights’ Dream, just like me.)
Then, we had a bit of an adventure. Rudolf got his leash wrapped around his little back leg, and it really freaked him out. Have you ever seen a bunny freak out? They try to jump in every direction at the same instant. It’s an explosion of legs and ears and fur. In doing so, he was successful in getting the leash off from around his leg.
And the entire harness off.
See, it’s not that I think Rudolf wants to run away from me. He and I get along because I don’t press my affections on him, I let him come to me, when he wants attention. I don’t pick him up, I wait for him to come to me, and hop in my lap. And because of that trust, he DOES hop in my lap. The harness wasn’t to trap him, I was happy to wander with him in any direction he wanted to go. It was to keep him from, in the event of such a freakout, running so far away that he would get lost, or running straight into the jaws of a dog, because his only experience with them is Luca the cuddle monster. Really, since he was leading me around, and I was using it to make sure I could tag along and keep him safe, you might say that in spirit, I was wearing a leash.
So as Rudolf and I sat on the lawn, contemplating each other, and spectators gathered, I thought to myself, “I hope he WANTS to come home with me.”
I held out some lettuce and scooted closer, trying not to show with my body language that I was poised with my purse in my other hand. I would have preferred to let him hop in of his own accord, but it would only take one loose dog to put him in danger.
I sidled up to him and pet him gently on the nose, then, as quick and gentle as I could, scooped him into my purse. I then picked up the picnic pack and walked quickly back to the car.
As I left that lawn in the park, and passed some horrified faces, it occurred to me what that scene must have looked like to the people strolling by, who stopped only after Rudolf got loose.
They must have seen a wild rabbit on the lawn, and a Bunny Whisperer creeping up. They would have seen a girl creep up, steal a rabbit, shove it in her purse and run off with a picnic basket.
No wonder they looked horrified.
I chuckled about that all the way home.
That afternoon and evening, as Nick and I did all that soul searching and crying and talking, I channeled all my inner turmoil into power-snuggling with Nick, and power-crocheting. Once the scarf measured over six yards long, it occurred to me to stop. And add some fringe.
The next morning, Sunday, Nick and Luca and I went to the El Cajon Grand Prix bike race.
The thing about cycling is that you’d think all that spandex would make it easier to tell the men from the women, but somehow it ………… doesn’t.
We watched several races, drank coffee and got a bit tanner.
I wandered over to the man made mini-lake next to the courthouse, and fed the ducks some stale girl scout cookies. I keep that sort of thing with me at all times, for just such a opportunity.
The last races of the day were the children’s races. They were as funny as you’d expect. No, funnier. Half the kids would get distracted halfway through, or get freaked out by the crowds. Nick bet on the kids with the biggest rims on their bikes, I bet on the kids with the longest streamers on the handlebars. Nick was right three out of the five races, I was right once.
And when we went home, and I thought about not living with my favorite person in the world anymore, and started to cry, I reached for the crazy-scarf I’d crocheted to wipe my eyes. And Nick and I laughed about how when he moves out, he’ll take one end of it, and I’ll keep the other, and like our relationship, it’ll be long enough and strong enough that we’ll be able to tug on it, when we need the other.