Education Matters: Living together in perfect harmony

As I reached down to pet him with my rubber gloves on (I was taking no chances with a condition that ugly), he looked up at me with mucous, or as I later reported to my wife, tears, in his eyes, and I suddenly understood his problem. He was lovesick. It was as plain as the lumps on his neck.

But I was alone in my diagnosis.

I therefore took it upon myself to prescribe a cure. In the twilight of a mid-summer evening the pair were reunited. In the half darkness, I figured, Ivory’s chances could only be improved. As it happened, Ebunny still cared for Ivory, bumps and all. After some very brief nose-to-nose preliminaries, the two of them wrestled around the yard and into the darkness of the garage.

Up to this time I had believed bunnies to be entirely mute. Not a peep, not a squeak, not even a grunt had I heard from any of them — ever. You might imagine my surprise then, when there arose from the garage such a squealing and shrieking, accompanied by falling garden tools and nonstop commotion. (I had read in our “All About Bunnies” book that in such moments the buck will either squeal continuously or go about his business quietly and then simply fall to the side of the doe, limp and lifeless. Ivory was a squealer.)

The thing was done. We put them back together and very gradually, Ivory lost his lumps. I was applauded for my insight but only until the next generation arrived. We were back in business again, but this litter would be the last. The parents were taken to the vet and, as I explained mathematically to my oldest daughter, had their multipliers subtracted. (“Getting fixed” made no sense to her.)

The two lovers kept to themselves in their twilight years. For my family, they were exceptionally good pets and a favorite topic of conversation. For each other they were devoted companions, friends and lovers to the end.

DAN KIMBER taught in the Glendale Unified School District for more than 30 years. He may be reached at DKimb8@sbcglobal.net.