Me (sobbing hysterically): Roya, she's dead!!!
Roya: OmyGod. Who?
Me--more incoherent babbling/sobbing.
Roya: CALM DOWN & TELL ME WHO, DAMMIT!!!
Me: Hunnie Bunnie! I came home and her face was torn off. Please don't be mad at me!
Roya: Is that all? Okay, don't worry about it, we'll take care of it when I get home. Just relax.
& that was the time my old ex-boyfriend's pitbull ripped the face off of my sorority sister's pet rabbit. That day in question, I came home before everyone else and it was raining. I checked the bunny's kitchen cage & it wasn't there so I went into the backyard. The pitbull, Max, came running inside and I went to look for the rabbit. When I finally found her, she was laying in a puddle, sans face and with a broken neck.
No one was to blame. Max probably just wanted to play & didn't understand that he'd killed her. Either way, I couldn't help but feel like this was about to ruin my friendship.
& it almost did.
For one, Roya's complete disinterest in the matter freaked me the fuck out. When she came home that night, I told her I'd put Hunnie in a shoebox and left it on the patio table. I asked her if she wanted me to wait for her to bury it.
"Oh yeah, cool. Yeah, wait for me, I guess. I should be there."
It was the summer of 2007 & it was fucking hot as the devil's balls if he were wearing leather pants. Needless to say, the bunny remains started to cook and congeal in the heat. Not to mention the smell of decay wafting into my living room. [On a side note, it seems like I spend a lot of time writing about smells that have, at one point or another, invaded my living area...]
The bunny remains sat there for about 6 days before I decided to take matters into my own hands and bury Hunnie Bunnie in the back left corner of my backyard. Roya came up to me a week after then and said she was ready to bury Hunnie and if I wanted to help.
"Roya, it's been 13 days since Hunnie died, I had to bury her. She was starting to reak."
"What? You burried her without telling me?"
"Yeah, and you didn't even notice till an entire week later."
And that was among the last times we ever spoke of Hunnie the late Bunny.
The first time my heart was ever broken, a bunny was the cause.
I was in the third grade and my rabbit, Gizmo, kicked the bucket. I had never known anything that died before and I took it really hard; for weeks on end, I spent hours in the shower crying and singing Micheal Jackson's You Are Not Alone.
Gizmo, short for Gizymoto, was the first pet that was ever mine. I got to pick him at the pet store when I was four and name him all by myself (the name came from my favorite movie at the time, Gremlin). My parents bought him for me in Germany and he survived till we moved to Texas five years later. I'm fairly certain he only passed because it was just too fucking hot here by comparison to the cooler weather in Germany and California.
In retrospect, Gizmo was actually kind of a dick. He didn't like to be held, he was always hiding and making me chase him around the back yard, always eating through cables & cords, and once he even bit me and drew blood.
Finally, there is Roger Rabbit.
When we were little, my brother had this Roger Rabbit stuffed animal. I envied him and covetted that animal. Sometimes, when Ray was out skateboarding, I'd go into his room and take Roger Rabbit. Roger Rabbit was the source of a lot of tension in our family for the better part of a decade. As a matter of fact, I only gave Roger Rabbit back with the promise not to take him or ask for him back when my brother got ready to leave for college.
And also, the movie Donnie Darko...I never understood it.