I returned from church this morning to find a white envelope with my name printed on it outside my backdoor.
Feltault Bunny Care
Thanks for taking care of our bunny while we are out. Here is the Schedule:
Browns: Fri 3/28 – Thursday 4/3
Sarah Jones: Thursday evening 4/3
Megan Jones: Friday and Saturday evening
Browns are going to take the whole cage over to their house to play with.
The key to our house is […].
Basic Bunny Care Checklist:
1. food in food dish (those little pellets)
2. handful of hay per day
3. She can eat any green good (not including peppers) if you want to throw in a little treat.
4. check water
5. clean litter box.
6. check paper in cage, if dirty, have someone hold bunny and pull out paper on bottom and replace with fresh paper.
7. if you hold her watch her, she likes to escape and is very hard to catch. Also bunnies don’t have depth perception so don’t let her hop out of you arms
Thanks for taking care of the Bunny!
No one ever mentioned a word of this rabbit business to me—I guess they just signed me up. I am very worried that I shall forget about tending to the bunny rabbit altogether. I guess I’ll have to put this someplace conspicuous. I had a bunny as a child—an auburn coloured one named Michael. It ran away. I’d like to think it became decivilised and survived like London’s Buck, though it is probably just wishful thinking. Owls probably preyed upon the little Runaway Bunny. I searched for my Runaway Bunny, but to no avail.
Bryan Woolf, my sister’s boyfriend, stopped by after his megachurch (same church the rest of my family attends) let out, saying he was hungry. My family and he normally have lunch at our house every Sunday—Bryan and I were both familyless. We made sandwiches, read the Sunday paper, and talked about Harry Potter, the advertising campaigns of various clothing stores, and, oddly, the absurdity of WWF. He then went back to college to study.
I went for a walk around the lake to feed the ducks and seagulls. I came upon a man and his two Great Danes that were also on a bright spring walk. He appeared to be about fifty, black, had on a mackintosh, and possessed a voice akin to James Earl Jones’—I’m not kidding. His voice was absolutely charming. I said hello to his dogs and, as we walked side by side, we discussed how the lack of snow this year really did a number on the economy, and he told me something of the history of Grass Lake—he has lived along its shores for nineteen years; the people he bought the house from told him that the lake had been there for as long as they could remember. Some summers, he told me, when there is not much rain, the lake’s water level decreases and the DNR funnels in more water from—somewhere or other. As we walked along he introduced me to a band of old ladies that were walking the lake. About ten minutes into our walk an old lady called to him from her front porch. Hello, Mrs. F—, he bellowed. Thank you for making me that loaf of bread the other day. It was delicious! Finally we reached a divergence in the road, and I, I took the road less traveled and went into the woods. He bid me goodbye and told me to say hello to him if I came across him again. My name is Ike!, he bellowed.
The ducks were slow in coming today and consequently the seagulls got all my bread. They flew around me in huge, engulfing flocks.
I went back home and started in on Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying and realised that I actually hadn’t read it before—it was The Sound and the Fury. Fell asleep in the arm chair and woke up two hours later.
Ever have those dreams in which you’re not…anyone particular, but just a silent, omnipresent observer? You have no identity? Or ever, in your dreams, do you read books and poems that don’t exist in real life? You have no idea how many books and poems my subconscious has authored whilst I slept. It is frightening. Anyway, both cases happened to me during my afternoon sleep. I woke up not knowing where I was, who I was, when it was, what I was supposed to be doing, if it was okay to be sleeping. Thankfully, it all came back after five seconds of staring blankly around the room. I am becoming very wary that Sinister Amnesia is trying to attack me while I sleep. One day I will wake up identityless, a blank piece of white paper, The Girl Who Wasn’t There. What if this happens everyday to hundreds of people, and we just never hear about it because they are unaware that they’ve got Amnesia? Seriously, people lose their minds everyday.
I think I’m paranoid. Sleep is somewhat scary when you think about it. No one’s at the Wheel. The mind wanders, drifts, and conjures the most absurd scenarios and places.
It finally came to me that I was to meet Bryan at his college, Northwestern, for dinner and then to go catch the Storyhill show. We stopped by his dorm room and I said hello to his roommate Adam who had fallen through the ice four times that afternoon, smelled like lake, and couldn’t feel his fingers. Strange boy. No idea why he was walking out on the ice in late March. For kicks? We went and ate dinner in the café and reminisced about our old highschool days at Bethany. I asked him if how Greek was going and if he had picked a seminary yet.
–No, he said. I’m waiting til I’m a senior to decide and break it to my parents. They want me to go Lutheran and will be disappointed when I don’t.
–You could always go presbyterian, I said, sneakily smiling, as I’ve been trying to convert him from non-denominational/EV Free to presbyterian for years. You can explain to your rents that Luther and Calvin were brothers in arms. If you say that it might go over better.
The Storyhill (formerly Chris and Johnny) show was absolutely phenom. I’ve been a fan ever since one of my roommates freshman year introduced me to Echoes. Think a modern day Simon and Garfunkel from Montana. One of the best shows I’ve ever caught. I challenge anyone in Blogland to purchase Echoes. If you don’t like it, I’ll buy it from you. It’s well worth your money.