Some very irresponsible bunny parents decided to nest just on the inside of our fence-repeatedly. They did this in spite of the two vigorous dogs that came out to inspect every inch of the yard several times a day. They did this MORE THAN ONCE. I mean...I can't say for sure that this was the same bunny pair but it seems like they needed some kind of bunny graffiti...don't build your house here! It is not safe. Is there a department of social services for bunnies? if there were...these parents were the poster children for it.
Our dogs liked to chase balls. On more than one occasion, I held my hand out to receive the ball and instead had a dead baby bunny dropped into my hand. Or what was left of the bunny. This is the stuff of nightmares. My sweet predators would look at me expectantly...waiting for me to come over in a fit of wiggling joy. They expected laughter and joy and lots and lots of treats.
What they got was something much different. I would go from reached out hand to an immediate yelping scream of panic followed by ranting, cleaning things, sometimes crying or gagging. Their expressions of loving confusion would turn immediately outward to try and figure out what was disturbing me so badly. Run to the fence and bark. Look up in the trees for squirrel patrols on the offense. Someone I love is under attack! Let me solve this problem right now!
Never once did they connect my reaction to the gift that they had just given. In their minds, nothing could be finer than a dead bunny in the hand. Except maybe two.
The fact that this event happened more than once says something about my sanity I think.
Why did I keep holding out my hand to take the gift? How many times did I get something wonderful in that hand? Slobbery, yes. I mean...I never actually got anything in that transaction that I would have personally wanted to put in my own mouth. But usually the gift was something that gave my sweet friends immense joy and satisfaction. I throw the ball, they go get it and bring it back. Happiness expanded! So, I played my part and did what they expected to feel like life was ordered correctly. Until I couldn't.
When you get something given to you with exactly the same joy, exactly the same enthusiasm and look down to find something utterly terrifying...what then? Does it diminish your love for that friend? Does it call into question all of your own likes, dislikes, happiness and motivation? Even if it doesn't do that the first time...eventually, you begin to question whether taking gifts from that friend is a good idea without checking them out first (preferrably from a distance). And you can often be reminded...at completely unexpected times....of that time they gave you the dead bunny. Even if they never give you one again.
In this life of changes, I am learning to recognize all sorts of 'Dead Bunnies'. There are tons of dead bunnies floating around my life.
I, in fact, have a very strong ability to tolerate piles of dead bunnies.
As long as I don't look at them too closely.
As long as I don't focus on where I want to go with my heart or my life.
As long as I ignore my own value.
what's so awful about a dead bunny (metaphorically speaking?)
Well....I think it's so awful because it's something beautiful, warm, and sweet...that has been destroyed and twisted.
I don't want dead bunnies.
I want live bunnies.
That bring real joy when you hold them.
Not remind you of all the joy you could have if you were good enough.