Went to a party last night at the VFW to celebrate Scottie T turning 50. Scott is our across-the-street neighbor and he really is the best neighbor in the world. I have never known him to be anything other that a friend and a gentleman, and that is high praise in this world. Yes, maybe he drinks and has drunk too much over the years. However, let me share a little story with you.
Back in 1974, Scott was a senior in high school and a very good basketball player on the school team. (I understand that he was a good player from the git-go in first grade.) In January of that year, a new kid came to the school named Dennis. He was a freshman, and he played basketball, too. He told me last night that Scottie T befriended him and helped him on the court and off, and even though he doesn't live around here anymore, he came last night to be with his friend. (Sounds like a story from cable tv, don't it? Or an After School Special?)
That year, the South Central Rebels won the sectional championship against the big city team, much to the surprise of everyone except the Rebels and their supporters. Scott, Eddie, Dennis, John and others gained immortal fame in Boone Township for that win and they are still revered, 32 years on. (Everyone sing Glory Days.)
I thought it was a great story that Dennis told me because it confirmed that everyone likes Scottie T. I know that Sweetie and I do.
In other news, my friend Helena Handbasket has asked for a story to confirm that bunnies have more than just a brain stem. I told her that they must have a bit of a brain because they can be deceitful, malicious and clever. Sometimes all at once.
I know that they sulk because Fuzzarelly's brother, FuzzyBob, is mad about something (or depressed) because he turns his back on me when I fill his feeder and water bottle. I figger it is depression. I got him from Jean when she went out of the bunny-raising business a few months ago, and his housing is no different now than then. I can only assume he is sad for the move and misses her.
Then there is the story of Larry. He must have been a pet turned loose, and he took to hanging around the garage of Sweetie's workmate, Larry. He was captured and brought to me, the crazy bunny lady.) He was beautiful! He loved me so much and hated Sweetie, trying to bite him at every opportunity. Actually, he would try to bite any man that came around, even the police. That was actually rather funny because as the officer was returning to his vehicle, Larry jumped off the porch and was after him like a shot. When I hollered, "Larry, NO!!" the policeman turned around in an alarmed way.
Much hilarity ensued.
Larry was my special bunny at that time and received special attention. He loved getting in my lap of a morning, whilst I sat on the porch. He'd love and love and love on me. Then Sweetie would come out and Larry would go berserk. Another Male! Attack! Attack! It was funny really, even though he did bite Sweetie on more than one occasion. He bit Scottie once, too! He did not like having another male anywhere near me and would chase them down the sidewalk and out of the yard.
When Larry came into my life, I had no information at all about his history and age. So I hoped he was just old and tired when he took off one night and didn't come home. We found him the next morning, dead in the field next door, but positioned like he had died running. Maybe a bad heart. I'm hoping.
Sweetie and I still miss him, even after more than a year. Even Lamar told me, "I miss that rabbit you had. Larry he was. Bit me once. He was something."
Yes he was.
And lastly, our own little Murgatroyd has this thing about pissing on the couch. (Which is ruined now because of him. But still, I try to modify his behavior.) I have been trying to break him of this little habit, and I have curtailed it somewhat. But no matter how scrupulous I am about caging him when I leave the house, he still awaits the opportunity, when I am absent, to get up there and wizz. Won't do it when I'm around anymore. But let me leave the front living room for two minutes and I return to find pooties and a wet spot on the couch - his love note to me, I guess.