It all began back in June at my brother’s barbecue. There were baby bunnies and my grandkids fell in love. “Nope,” their parent’s said, “No baby bunnies at our house.” So of course I caved and said, “Okay, they can live with me but you two have to take care of them.”
And so I became foster grandma to two adorable balls of fur, Skittles and Mint. They were gentle little creatures, they apparently came from a local pot dealer who uses rabbits to get rid of the excess leaves. (Don’t ask, I don’t understand it either.) They were certainly mellow rabbits, whatever the reason.
Knowing the reputation rabbits have for reproduction, I had my brother in law and my son give the little creatures a humiliating gynecological exam and was assured by both experts that we had two little girl rabbits. Thank heaven for small miracles.
The bunnies grew and soon became a major neighborhood attraction. Apparently most parents won’t foster bunnies. So I was the local kid’s hero, and I basked in it.
Fast forward to an idyllic July summer evening in this small town, sprinklers going, excited chatter from the bunny lovers in the garden, watching Skittles and Mint chomp down clover in the wire pen I bought at great expense from Pets R Us, from a fast talking salesman who assured me rabbits couldn’t get out of it. Ha! But that’s another story.
And then it happened. Skittles jumped on Mint, who, I might add, is still an adolescent, and engaged in HIGHLY INNAPROPRIATE BEHAVIOUR. In full view of six or eight little kids. Screams and gags and some tears ensued. These aren’t sophisticated farm kids, who get an early education in animal reproduction. These are townies, and television notwithstanding, haven’t viewed sexual activity up close and personal.
Some of the parents feel their children have been scarred for life. I’ve had several phone calls from irate mothers who hadn’t planned on having THE TALK with their kids until they were a little older, and now, thanks to me and my bunny porn, are being forced into it.
My grandson, bless him, thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. (Don’t you love a guy with a sense of humor?) My granddaughter, on the other hand, was disgusted, horrified and outraged. Skittles happens to be her rabbit, and she thought she was a girl bunny, and how could any rabbit of hers act like that?
It beats me. I agreed with her that Skittles is probably a bunophile and needs intensive counseling.
So what’s the message here for a romance writer? Certainly romances include sex, but unless one writes erotica, the sex is always with commitment, and usually (unless you’re going for the hidden baby plot,) the hero uses protection. None of which occurred in the wire pen in the garden.
I feel I’m at fault for not visiting the vet last week the way I’d planned to. I should have outlined the bunny story more thoroughly and not relied on faulty research. My brother in law and my son need a crash OB-GYN course.
And if worse comes to worse, does anyone know the gestation period for bunny babies? And please, do you know anyone who might want a few cuddly, soft, adorable little girl bunnies? Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. First ten responders get a free bag of carrots and a copy of one of my (responsible) romances.