Sometimes, I miss my bunnies - especially the babies. There can be nothing more adorable than an angora at 5 or 6 weeks of age. But so it goes.
Earlier this year, I was often dreaming about abandoned and dead bunnies, ones I had forgotten to feed or water, and sometimes there were also chickens involved. My therapist believes that most dreams are about the dreamer, and she asked me what I had been neglecting in my real life. The answer was me.
I also had dreams about my mother, still alive but with cancer. Everyone knew she had cancer, but nobody talked about it. My therapist asked me to define cancer, and I replied that it was a tumor growing out of control. And what was out of control in my life? My drinking.
Once I had the reason for the dreams, I didn't have them again. Not once.
But to return to bunnies for a moment, I have one now, named Bunny Boo Boo thanks to Sweetie. She is one of those throw away pets, an Easter present that grew up. On the plus side, she came with a nice big cage. She looks a lot like a small version of Heizen; a white and brown rex. She very much has her own personality: hating to be picked up or held but happy with ear rubs and carrots. When the weather is nice, she has run of the back porch.
|Bunny Boo Boo and Millie|
Back when I had lost my first few pounds, I took my frightening measurements - 48-46-49. Yesterday, I again took tape measure in hand - 42-39-43. Yeah, me! I need new clothes!
Lastly, I saw my neck surgeon for the last time, I hope, today and even though the wound has not quite healed, it soon would be, like in a week or thereabouts. So, yes, I got the scar back in my fencing days; I was putting in some barbed wire…..(Or, as they say in southern Indiana, Bob Wahr.)