Evil psycho killer bunny

One evening last winter, Phoenix was looking out the living room window and pitching a fit. He was bouncing up and down with his front paws on the sill. His hackles were up. His tail was stiff. His ears were crossing (that’s never good). He was making snarly little yodeling noises. He was having an absolute Malinois meltdown.

I was afeared to look out the window. The way he was carrying on, Freddy Kruger, Jason and any number of Steven King’s demons might be staring back at me.

I put a hand on Phoenix’s withers. He was vibrating. Between snarly yodels, he smashed his nose to the window glass and showed his teeth. The next step was spontaneous combustion.

I looked out the window.

The snow had drifted almost up to the base of the window. There, perched atop the drift, sitting silently in the winter moonlight was . . .

. . . a furry little bunny. Just sitting there. Wiggling its nose. Not knowing it was separated from Malinois doom by only inches.

Thus began Phoenix’s rabbit obsession.

It’s worse than his cat obsession. Which is saying quite a lot.

The cat obsession is getting somewhat better due to Winnie The Cat’s move into the machine shed by the house for the winter and Phoenix’s near daily cat therapy sessions. More on that later.

So here comes Christmas and Liz gives Phoenix one of those Skineez toys, the kind without any stuffing. It's a rabbit.


Darling. Or not.

It looks kind of stoned.

I suppose if you spent a lot of time dangling out of Malinois jaws you might look so good either.

Phoenix loves his bunny. The bunny is an excellent indoor exercise program since simply the sight of it causes spinning, bouncing, leaping and tooth clacking. Humans should wear protective gear when Phoenix and bunny are united. It might be safer just to leave the house.

The Squeaky Ball From Hell is in the box next to the bunny. The box is atop the fridge.

It's all good.