The remnants of his bunny life surround meI turn, and think I see his little form
But then the ache inside makes me remember
That what I see are shadows, that he's gone.
The remnants of his bunny life surround me
I turn, and think I see his little form
But then the ache inside makes me remember
That what I see are shadows, that he's gone.
I hear him in the crackling of the birdseed
When sparrows feed outside his window bed,
I see him in the shaft of morning sunlight
Where he'd stretch out, while I would kiss his head.
His fur was softer than the softest velvet,
The sweetest spot was just behind his ears;
I'd nuzzle in, and breathe his bunny fragrance,
And whisper how I'd love him through the years.
He came to me from one who didn't want him
He bit and scratched, aggressive out of fear;
But here he found no need for his defenses,
And gave his trust -- a gift that I held dear.
He had a little bunny wife named Dinky,
He'd kiss her face, and snuggle by her side,
They lived, six years, devoted to each other,
Then suddenly one day his Dinky died.
He'd hover near her corner, as if waiting,
He'd look around when I would say her name;
Eventually he learned to live without her,
But life for him was never quite the same.
His very favorite way to spend the morning
Was chomping off the bristles from my broom;
He left it half the size it was last summer,
I use it now to sweep his empty room.
I clean up all his little bunny traces,
And find things that I didn't know were there,
A few stray poops, a tiny piece of celery,
A hidden corner dusted with his hair.
How *did* that little poop get on the table?
And how'd that hay get underneath the rug?
He taught me well that neatness was just silly;
I traded keeping house for keeping Doug.
He always knew exactly what he wanted,
And if I crossed him, he would hold a grudge,
But then, when he was ready, he'd forgive me,
His nose would tap my ankle: nudge-nudge-nudge.
As he grew old his little body failed him,
He bore his pain with dignity and grace;
I often wondered whether I could manage
Half as well, if I were in his place.
And now I've lost him, yet each day I find him
In baseboards gnawed, upholstery ripped and torn;
When he was here, I though of it as damage
But now its Doug, not damage, that I mourn.
We buried Douggie in a summer garden,
Right next to where his little Dinky lies,
And on his grave we planted baby lettuce,
And read a poem through our teary eyes.
I really hope that there's a bunny heaven
Cause if there is, I know that's where he'll be;
He was the sweetest, bravest little rabbit
I hope he'll save a place up there for me.
Copyright 1996 Mary E. Cotter. Reprinted with permission