ABU, THE BYGONE BUNNY

Click here to return to the main menu.

Nothing to really lighten up a humor column like a death in the family, huh?

I know what you’re saying: "Humor column? Have you read this lately, Mike?"

But your opinions aside, my wife and I are coping with the loss of a member of our family, although I will let you know that our family does consist of numerous animals. You see, our rabbit, Abu, has gone to the Great Big Hutch in the Sky.

As many of you know, Abu was my step-rabbit. He was given to my wife by an ex-boyfriend who doesn’t even have the decency to occasionally call, such as on birthdays, or even send an occasional check to help out with college, clothing, and cedar shavings.

So I took Abu on as my own pet. He was a good rabbit. Well, he was a rabbit. He sat in a cage and ate and slept. And, when I let him have free range of the garage, he would paint beautiful portraits of first ladies. OK, he just kind of sat there, but had he been so inclined to slap some paint on a canvas, he was free to do so.

Abu was getting up there in years, but it was still a shock when I came out for work one morning and saw that he had passed on. Abu was the first pet that my wife could claim as her own. It was the first pet she had full responsibility for, and had a special bond to Abu. After all, the two had lived together since college. They had lived in Alabama, Georgia, Florida and now South Carolina, which is probably three more states than most rabbits live in.

I knew that it was going to be difficult to tell my wife that her little ‘Bu had gone. (For the record, I called him "Boo," which may sound exactly the same, but made me feel a little better than calling anything "‘Bu." Sorry, but I have issues.) My wife was getting ready for work when I went into the bathroom.

"Honey," I said, expressing the Atticus Finch-like compassion, "Abu died."

In retrospect, I didn’t really sugarcoat it, huh? I guess I could have gone into an elaborate backstory of how hard this was, and maybe had my bottom lip quiver a little as I explained to her how he was a good rabbit and he would be happier now. But that’s all I had at the time -- "Abu died."

My wife was understandably upset. Through her tears, she asked me what we should do with him. I explained to her that I had taken care of everything. Now, I will provide for you a transcript of the conversation that followed and see why I am somewhat ashamed of my actions:

HER: Wh-wh-what did you do with him?

ME: I took care of him, honey.

HER: B-b-but what did you do with him?

ME: I put him in a trash bag.

HER: You what?

ME: And I put him in the garbage can.

HER: You what?

About that time, we heard the familiar clangs of the garbage truck turning onto our street as it did every Thursday morning. Pulling herself together, my wife said, in a tone that can only be described as sharp, "Go get him. Now. Before the garbage man gets to our house."

So there I was, tearing through the house, two dogs who knew something was up hot on my heels, in a race to the garbage can. As I was tearing through the living room, several things occurred to me: (1) it probably was kind of insensitive to simply throw him in the garbage (2) if I didn’t get to the garbage can first, my wife would have me digging through the back of a garbage truck looking for her deceased rabbit. Needless to say, I picked up the pace.

I did manage to get to the garbage can in time. However, once there, I realized that I had no clue as to where to put a rabbit. (No, he wouldn’t fit down the toilet. This wasn’t a goldfish, people.) My wife said that I needed to give Abu a proper burial. Quite frankly I still don’t know what that means. But I figured I would try my best.

I knew that I couldn’t bury him in the backyard especially with two dogs, as I think the trauma of losing a pet is enough without having to relive it later in the day when a different pet retrieves it for you.

There is a small patch of woods behind my house, so I decided that his final resting place would be there. It was still fairly early, and I was still in a bathrobe. So, I’m sure my neighbors were somewhat curious when they saw me scaling my back fence while wearing a bathrobe, toting a shovel and carrying a plastic bag that contained an object roughly comparable to the size of a human head.

Fortunately, no one called the authorities. (Some neighborhood watch, huh?) Abu was properly buried (I guess) and is now free to live out his afterlife in the grassy meadows of rabbit heaven. My wife misses Abu, but she understands that this is a part of the chain of life. Well, all except for the garbage part.