We were sitting on the deck of Gib’s cottage when we saw the sweet little bunny hopping by. Gib was thrilled…”my bunny” she said in a sweet and happy voice.
Her bunny…Gib’s bunny…she was thrilled beyond thrilled to finally see her happy little bunny hopping by. Like my friend…reflecting such a pleasant life. Ears perked to the sky…listening intently to the world of wonder around her…whiskers rapidly moving…sensing…knowing…feeling everything in her space.
We watched the little brown fur ball until it lightly hopped into the woods to meet up with its family…hang out with a few friends…do what bunnies do. All was right with the world. Gib smiled.
Suddenly the commotion in the woods made us turn our heads. Right before our eyes, a hawk dropped from the sky…grabbing the once happy ball of fur.
Gib screamed.
Then all was quiet.
We sat there for a moment and I looked at her and very, very, very quietly said “sorry about your bunny”.
Then she called me a bad name. And we poured another glass of wine to toast another day.
Oh my. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes there, but it sounds like you handled it marvelously, despite the bad word. I like how the story ends with a glass of wine. The right way to end some moments, eh?