1 of 2
In an interview with Ann Coulter in the June issue of Vanity Fair, glitterati journalist George Wayne concludes his banter with the long-legged ogress by suggesting that she get herself a rabbit. Too bad he does not mean the animal.
In a country whose sex shops teem with bunny-shaped toys; whose porn devourers look for the rabbit icon; whose fashion designers dress models in dyed rabbit-fur ponchos and angora sweaters; whose rabbit rescue shelters are flooded with new animals a month or two after Easter, when they are found wandering suburban parks; where women at baby showers fawn over bunny-themed nursery sheets and touch-me books for toddlers made with rabbit fur; where sophisticated restaurants serve lapin and conejo stews—in spite of all these rabbits everywhere, we who live here know next to nothing about the lagomorpha.
So we—most of us—miss out.
Few have had the thrill of watching a bunny do the binky—a supreme tribute from rabbits to their creator, as if to shout, with their whole bodies, "God, life is good!" Have you ever witnessed this spur-of-the-moment dance, in which rabbits leap up, spin in mid-air, and land facing the opposite direction—sometimes several times in a row? And how many of us have received the soft little kisses with which these affectionate and social creatures are happy to groom, comfort, and even, if necessary (as is often in my case), wake up their human companions?
Have you seen the way rabbits, upon hearing the soothing voice of their owner, forget the sixth sense inside their heads that warns them, "Be alert, you are, first and foremost, a prey animal! Don't tease hawks with your white belly!"—and flop over on their side, rolling back their eyes in bliss? How many Playboy bunnies have heard the chatter of a euphoric rabbit's teeth? Who among the lapin stew epicures has put a rabbit in a trance—his belly up and his lip twitching as he frolics in bunny dreamland, all trust and no fear? And how many touch-starved loners have received the consoling warmth of the velveteen body, propped against their backs or legs? How many pet store owners know the chasm that separates rabbits from rodents? Do they pay attention to the remarkably loud thumps rabbits make when scared or angry?
Not many of us, in this country overflowing with bunny kitsch, know what rabbits want.
Those who do are likely to belong to the far-flung community of rabbit-lovers who let these curious creatures run free in their homes. We know they can be litter-trained in under a week and that they're meticulously clean. We know that most outdoor bunnies live about two years, while—if properly taken care of—house rabbits can live ten years or more. We buy lush green timothy hay for them in bulk and feed them dark greens. We cover the electric cords in our homes, knowing that they send irresistible subliminal messages to the bunny brain: "Must bite! Must bite!" At Easter, we (not just the Christians among us) try to distract our friends from buying their children rabbits. We try hard to repress condescension and instead smile and nod when well-meaning people tell us that they, too, had a bunny—adding, sometimes with a slight shadow of reproach, "When I was a child. In a hutch, out in the yard." To us, that's like hearing an owner of a German shepherd say that she never takes the dog out for a walk. No, it's worse than that—rabbits kept outdoors are not only unexercised but also lonely and stressed (this has been scientifically demonstrated), and they often die from either a heart attack or direct assault during a night visit from a predator.
share this page
RSS Feed
