To say we started off on the wrong foot--the bunny and I--is a gross understatement. It was a year ago, more-or-less, that I first met her. And I didn't even find out "it" was a she until several months later--not that it would have made any difference. I did not like her from the get-go.
It wasn't a formal introduction. Bunny quietly appeared one late afternoon in my side garden, hopping merrily along as though she belonged. I had never seen her before and had no idea where home was for the little white creature with black ears. I thought she had strayed and fully expected she would return to wherever she came from. After all, cats do that, don't they?
New neighbors moved into the house next door about the same time the long-eared mammal appeared. I'm not the sharpest pencil in the box a lot of the time, but I did deduce (after a period of time) that bunny must be a family pet.Time passed and war began. It wasn't between international nations or as injurious and widespread as that. I was the one openly at war--with the bunny. And her owners.
From the beginning, my communication with them has consisted of sending an electronic message along with a picture of said bunny munching away in my back yard garden. The message was never very kind or pleasant.
Initially I told them she and my strawberries would not be able to co-exist; they needed to contain her. I informed them rabbits should be housed in a cage well off the ground, as they are able to either chew or dig their way out. The owners tried other methods, and...they don't work. This past week bunny has, once again, ventured through the fence and settled in. My garden is heaven on earth for a bunny.
A friend loaned me a live bait trap, and I was able to snare her several times. However, the situation is similar to "bail reform" in some large cities where those who commit crimes are arrested, not charged, and walk out the same door they came in. It's the "revolving door syndrome," and it applies to small creatures as well.
Anger and frustration over the roving rabbit was readily directed at its owners. My war stance conflicted with the scripture "Love thy neighbor as thyself." Surely that doesn't apply to neighbors who own an obnoxious animal they are unable to keep caged. I conveniently boxed them up and put them on a shelf with a large label, that of "bad neighbors."
I did not want to associate with "those people next door" or even acknowledge their presence. A friendship and relationship was not a consideration. I wasn't outwardly unkind. I just avoided them and thought terrible, awful thoughts about them. After all, it is their responsibility to keep their pet fenced in. It is not my responsibility to have to protect my precious garden from it!
Sigh.
Several days ago I heard the sound of a fledgling pianist, practicing. I sent a message: "Do I hear a piano next door?" Given my recent track record of complaints, I suspected Winnie, the recipient of my displeasure, might be on guard. "Yes," she responded. I went on to explain the reason I was asking is because I play the piano too. I was told the family has twin 10-year-old girls. One is taking piano lessons, the other violin lessons.
The proud mother shared a video of Yoyo playing the piano for an online concert. And this is where a miracle happened. I told her after the holidays I would like for Yoyo to come play my piano and Zoey to play the violin for me. She was thrilled over the invitation.
The recalcitrant little bunny will probably continue
her ways. She will likely persist in wandering away from
home. I'll have to figure out how to live with her.
The miracle is that my heart and my mind has changed. People matter. I espouse that often. I also espouse putting my money where my mouth is. I have done neither of those two things. I have been guilty of thinking only of myself and of not practicing what I preach.
We cannot change ourselves. But we can be changed. And for me, a bunny and a piano had the lead roles in bringing that about.