Not the Wisest Wabbit in the Warren

You know what SHOULD be better than a snake in the yard?

A bunny.

You know what, oddly, ISN’T better than a snake in the yard?

A bunny.

You know why?

The Bub:

Here’s what happened:

This morning I went out to check on the flowers that I planted on the outside of our fence when I saw, right smack in the middle of the flowers, a bunny:

A cute little baby bunny reminiscent of the bunnies I used to get in my yard back in St. Louis when all they had to fear was a fat Chihuahua with a bad heart. The kind of bunny we never get in our yard here because woodland animals far and wide point their paws at our fence and talk in hushed whispers about the squirderer behind the walls.

Unfortunately, this bunny either didn’t get the memo or he is not the wisest wabbit in the warren.

It is interesting to note that "wabbit" is NOT a typo. I’m just a helpless slave to alliteration…but I digress…

The point is, the bunny decided that our yard is eight kinds of awesome and sometime this morning wandered his way inside.

Which I didn’t realize until I opened the door to let The Bub outside.

Luckily, the lawn guy had just mowed so Bubba was intent on running out and rolling in as much dried grass as caninely possible and he didn’t immediately notice the bunny.

Unluckily, the lawn guy had just mowed so Bubba—clearly still miffed that I hadn’t let him out earlier to eat the lawn guy—decided to pretend he couldn’t hear me calling his name and ordering him back into the house.

Seriously, he is turning into the worst lying liar of a dog.

Anyway, that’s when I decided to unpack the big guns and run out to the yard while offering him a treat. And the stupid bunny says to himself "Treat? I could go for a treat.” And hops closer.

Which is when Bubba saw him.

I will now pause and let you imagine all the things that could go horribly wrong with that scenario.

Now try to imagine Bub and I engaged in a little game called “Bunny Ball.” In which Bubba is tearing around the yard after the bunny and I—clearly playing defense—am flinging myself between him and the bunny, screaming his name, cursing and literally physically blocking him at every turn.

How I did this in flip-flops without breaking a leg is a mystery for the ages.

Meanwhile the stupid bunny didn’t realize that he wasn’t just playing ball, he WAS the ball, and instead of looking for a way to escape was scampering around the yard like the dumbest bunny to ever draw breath.

And it was only through the divine intervention of some guardian angel of bunnies that I somehow managed to grab The Bub around the waist and wrestle him in the house.

I went back outside and tried to convince the bunny that he is, in the eyes of big dogs everywhere, food. And he should scurry along for safer pastures.

The bunny was unimpressed.

Then I tried to explain to the bunny that not only was the carrot section of the garden a poor hiding place but also reinforced the worst bunny stereotypes and that in the interest of species sensitivity, he should go somewhere else.

Unfortunately, that particular bunny is incredibly self-involved and could not care less about species stereotypes.

I even went so far as to get the hose and spray the bunny with a little water…I mean, I didn’t put it on jet because it really is a tiny bunny and I didn’t want to practically waterboard it after all the trouble I went to to rescue it from Bubba but come on! Even a little water should have sent any reasonable bunny packing.

Not this bunny.

This stupid bunny decided he had discovered the best bunny bath of all times and is EVEN NOW still in the garden.

And in case you think I’m exaggerating the ridiculous overconfidence of the bunny in question, please note that I have not only sent a picture of the bunny in the garden, I have included a picture of the bunny GROOMING ITSELF even AFTER it was chased all over the yard by the Bub.

So, I had to come in to work, the bunny is still in the garden and Bubba is not speaking to me.

The Dumbest Fight Ever

My in-laws are getting a new guest bed. Which on the surface probably doesn't seem like that big of a deal or  that interesting of a topic,  not even when I add in the other essential bit of information: I am an excellent sleeper.

In fact most people probably think they've already figured out the tie between these two pieces of information and think that this is really the dullest story ever.

That feeling is probably not at all alleviated by the addition of the following information: Opie is a terrible sleeper. He has insomnia, he wakes up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep. Often during these bouts of sleeplessness, he starts conversations with me and I freely respond and take part in these conversations even though I'm not actually awake. Sometimes I don't  wake up at all. Sometimes I wake up about four lines into the conversation and I basically have no idea what is going on at all.

It is a combination of these events that led to a little something I like to call the dumbest fight ever.

Though in my defense I'd just like to say Opie started it.

Here's what happened:

"So, I guess my parents are going to an go ahead and get that bed," Opie said early one morning.

"What bed?" I asked finally waking up.

"For the guestroom."  Then he spoke really slowly and carefully you know, like I was an idiot not like I'd been sleeping for the last five or six  hours "The room you sleep in sometimes?"

It's important to note here that often when one of us is sick or Opie is snoring exceptionally loudly, I go in and sleep in our guestroom.

Which is when I realized that he and his parents had been conspiring behind my back and were replacing my guestbed--a bed I had before we were even married--without so much as asking me.

I should further note that my in-laws are not the type of people who normally go around foisting new furniture upon us but again it was about 4:30 in the morning.

And, if Opie were going to try to pull a fast one, this would be the perfect time to do so as he could legitimately say "We talked about it."

In any case, although I'm slow to wake up, I can be rather quick to anger… Even more so early in the morning.

I think it's safe to say, I was more than a little incensed.

"We're not getting rid of that bed!" I snapped. "That mattress is practically brand-new and I've had that bedroom set forever. I love it so no one is just replacing it."

"I think they already bought the new one," he said obviously confused.

And then I pictured his parents visiting and happily bringing us a new bed and taking down my old bed, the bed that I love and I was quite frankly insane with rage.

Fine, I thought to myself. We'll take the stupid bed and we'll put it up when they visit and take it down when they leave and put my bed back up. And I don't mean we, I mean he.  Opie, OPIE will put together and dismantle beds when his parents visit and he better not say one word about it because this is ALL HIS FAULT!

"Well it's going to be a lot of work for you!" I huffed.

"I even know what you're talking about," he said. "Why are you getting so mad?"

Which, of course, only made me angrier. "Because all of you made this decision without me!" I shouted. "I don't understand how you think can just replace the furniture WITHOUT EVEN ASKING ME!"

"I don't understand why it's any of your business if my parents replaced their guestroom furniture!" He shouted back.

"Wait, what?"

"My parents can replace their furniture if they want," he repeated. "Just because you sleep in that room twice a year doesn't mean you own it."

And thus ended the dumbest argument we've ever had.