We were in the process of moving into our desert house last week. Unpacking boxes. . . endlessly. Feeling excited and feeling pissed because that’s what moving is.
“Get out of here! Go away!! Scat!” Looking out the window I saw him, hightailing it out of the neighbor’s yard. He was three times bigger than your fuzzy Peter Rabbit style bunny and had a hop like a rabbit long jumper.
“Come here, quick!” I yelled across the house. Elliot came running, as if he didn’t have a bad back, probably afraid that I had dropped a box on my foot or, worse yet, on the dog. “Look at that! What the hell is that?”
“Jeez, that rabbit needs a saddle!” he said.
We decided that this handsome, lanky, lean critter was a Jackrabbit. Obviously, he had been grazing on the neighbor’s potted flowers and was caught, red pawed, in the act. I immediately loved him for his raw chutzpah.
Each day over the last week I kept an eye out for him, catching a glimpse every now and then. It never occurred to me that there might be more than one giant rabbit. Instead, I chose (and have continued) to imagine that there’s one special “Jack” roaming in the scrub outside my back door.
Yesterday afternoon Jack was back. Preoccupied with his search for nibbles, he didn’t hear me whisper (actually plead) “Please just stay!,” while I ran for my camera. By the time I got back, Jack had made his way several yards down the path and was busy munching beneath one of the lacy desert trees, which bring shade to the arroyo.
Unfazed, he sat and had his lunch. I watched, keeping a respectful distance, aware that Jack had worked hard to find this restaurant. I felt like a lucky paparazzo and, oddly, he reminded me of Madonna. . .slightly austere, with a haughty vibe and great muscle tone.
I am a scientific thinker, but I’m also deeply sentimental, and I willingly float down rivers of mystery and wonder. I believe that animals invite us into their world and, when they do and when we accept the invitation, we are likely to experience something rare, nearly mystical.
I have told Jack not to plan on eating my flowers. But I have silently let him know, in pure rabbit talk, that I am happy to provide lettuce. . .if he’ll accept my invitation.
