Rascal the Rabbit: 9/15/09 - 9/5/10

I'm sure many of you are already aware that our bunny, Rascal, has gone to God.  He's met his maker.  He's doing the big binky jumps in the sky. 

He had a good life.  That is...until he got eaten.  By something.  We're not sure exactly what got him.  But guessing by the...um...remains that were found at the crime scene, it could have been anything from a common house cat to a polar bear.

Thank God the murder took place when the girls and I were up North, visiting my folks.  Tom, on the other hand, groggily walked out back that morning, to sit down and enjoy his morning cup of Joe.  Nothing would prepare him for what he was about to witness. 

Midnight came bounding up to greet him, like usual.  But no Rascal.  Hmmmmm....Tom thought.  Where IS that other bun?  Much to Tom's dismay, shortly thereafter, he discovered the body.  Or should I say, parts of the body, strewn across the backyard.   I'm telling you right now, there is just some shit that husband's are supposed to handle, because there is NO way I would have handled that situation without screaming.

So Tom delivers the devastating news to me.  And it is then my turn, to pass it on to our offspring.  Well, my M.O. with stuff like this is simply, "Just do it.  No time's a good time, so bite the bullet, and get it over with."

Surprisingly, every one of the girls took the news better than I expected.  I mean, sure, there were sniffly noses, teary eyes, and the occasional, long drawn out moan, pleading, "WHYYYYY RASCAL?  WHYYY YOU?!"  But for the most part, I thought I had the hard job...you know, being the Bearer of Bad Tidings, so to speak.  Is that even a phrase, or did I just make that up? 

Anyways, little did I realize that on our way home, Tom would be grilled on the cell phone for information regarding this horrific homicide.  It was like, CSI, Who Killed Rascal the Rabbit?  The conversation that followed went like this:

Abigail:  "Daddy, how do you know for sure that Rascal is dead?

Tom:  "Well honey, I found a feather and a little bit of blood.  I think an owl got him."

Abigail:  "Maybe he's still alive Daddy.  Maybe he's injured and hiding under the shed."

REALITY:  Tom found Rascal in pieces.  All over the yard.  Decapitated, head severed and partially consumed.  There's NO way you tell that to your kid.

Emma:  "Daddy, were Rascal's eyes open or closed?"  (Note, at this point, I'm trying not to crash the car, while I think, Poor Tom!)

Tom:  "They were closed sweetie.  He died peacefully."

REALITY:  Which eye are you referring to?  Because both of them were eaten out of his skull. 

Up until this point, I gave my husband 5 stars.  I mean, he was deflecting.  He was thinking on his toes.  He was consoling the girls, without giving out too much info.  Lastly, the cell is handed to Isabella, Rascal's rightful owner.

Isabella:  "Daddy, did you bury Rascal?"

Tom:  "No, honey, I picked up what was left, and threw him into the garbage."

Isabella:  "You THREW him into the GARBAGE?!!!  WHYYYY Rascal?  WHYYYYY YOU?!!!"

I mean, we were sooo close.  And then he had to be honest.  Shit, tell her, you gave Rascal a Viking burial, out at sea, with a little wood raft set adrift, enraptured by flames.  ANYthing, but the garbage can.  The truth is so overrated sometimes. 

Midnight is currently back in her bunny hutch.  She will be let out only with supervision.   But honestly, I have to say, those rabbits had a good run for about 3 months.  Eating our yard.  Lazing in the sun.  Doing the binky jumps.  Rascal didn't live a long life.  But he certainly had one helluva party while he was here.