There's a teacher at my school who was searching for someone willing to take in a rabbit. It seems that one of her friends or neighbors has this bunny that they can no longer care for (owners are older, and all the children are now gone off to college) and wanted to place with someone who'd care for it. My class was anxious to be the recipients of the bunny, so we let the teacher involved know that we wanted to take him. The go-between told us that she planned on taking the bunny to the vet for a full check-up and a nail clipping before bringing him in to us. The kids are waiting, not quite so patiently.
Offspring has been asked to bunny-sit over the long holidays, and agreed with alacrity. She has asked me daily if the bunny has arrived or not. I'm sorry to report each time to her that so far, the answer is "no." Hopefully, we'll see the rabbit soon, or she'll implode.
Her anxiousness over when the bunny will arrive reminds me of a story from when she was small. Offspring's PreK teacher had two bunnies in her classroom, and the kids were totally enamored with them. Offspring used to regale me with stories of what the bunnies were up to. She was especially fond of BlackBunny, who had been purchased on a class trip to a farm. BlackBunny was a teeny little thing when she was acquired, and the kids delighted in holding her. Everyone fought for the privilege of feeding cute little BlackBunny.
In the late fall of that school year, we took a trip to Disney World. Normally, we wouldn't pull Offspring out of school for such a trip, but we'd made the reservations a year in advance, and well before she was accepted into the PreK program, and we could not cancel at that late stage of the game. When we got down to Disney World, we had a great time, and Offspring forgot all about school. We went merrily on our way through our vacation, until we came to the Magic Kingdom, and the "Pirates of the Caribbean" ride. As we're setting off in the boat, Offspring's expression turns dark, and she turns to us with tears shimmering in her eyes.
"Mama," she says, "will BlackBunny be okay?" I wondered why she'd bring up BlackBunny at that particular moment, so I told her that I was sure she was fine. Dealing with the odd connections and leaps from the train-of-thought that was a then four-year-old Offspring, I was used to non sequiturs, but the tears bothered me. I looked down at her, and said, "Why are you worried about BlackBunny?" She looked back up at me, those big blue eyes just swimming in unshed tears, and said, "The pirates."
Pirates? Like pirates on this ride? "Honey, what about the pirates?" She looked very solemn as she said, "The song says 'we kidnap the rabbits and don't give a hoot.' I don't WANT them to kidnap Black Bunny!"
I had to stifle a laugh, because it was so stinking cute, but we assured her that BlackBunny was okay, safe at home. Now, every time I hear "Yo, Ho, A Pirate's Life for Me", I can't help but think of bloodthirsty pirates, making off with chests full of gold and bunnies.