A Huntin’ We Will Go…

November 22, 2019 at 12:14 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

Remember this cartoon? I’ll wait five minutes while you watch.

Patience is a virtue when hunting.

I got a text from Foxy the other night, at midnight.

Why was he sending me pictures of soda? Then I saw the brown lump. “Is that a rat?” I texted back?

“No. It’s a rabbit.”

“That’s a first.”

I never say never anymore. I especially never say I’ve seen it all, because I’m proven wrong within the hour. So when I heard about the rabbit, I was surprised, but not too much. The burning question: How in the fuck did a little bunny rabbit wander into a downtown convenience store in the middle of a week night? Let the hypothesis begin!

My theories: A homeless person found a bunny in a park somewhere, thought it would make a cool pet and tucked it into a warm pocket. It wandered away when the well-meaning junkie finally fell asleep after his eight-day meth binge wore off, and bunny needed a warm spot. Ooh, store!

Or, was it a prop from some suburban kid’s ComiCon outfit, and the bunny escaped while the kid was playing with his phone?

Foxy had a third, less politically correct theory: It had escaped from the Chinese restaurant next door.

Who the fuck has a rabbit downtown? They don’t live in the park. Pitbulls and predators would see to that. We’re still debating his origins.

I figured when Eva heard about it, she’d call an exterminator. “I set a trap,” she said.

I had visions of her satisfying her bloodlust. “A spring trap?”


The look on my face must have been priceless. I envisioned a rat trap, loud and painful but not nearly enough to do the job quickly. I was about to try talking her out of it when she laughed, “What? You think I’m gonna kill the little fucker?” She pointed to the back of the store. She’d set up a milk crate at a tilt, with its edge resting on an energy drink. “If he bumps it a little, it’ll catch him inside.”

I was skeptical, but WTF. I went a bit closer, and saw a carrot busted into three, and a fan of lettuce leaves inside the milk crate. “Oh, how nice! You made him a salad bar.” If it had been a rat, we’d be surrounded by the National Guard.

About 6 PM, a Clean and Safe officer asked to use our restroom. Anyone with a gun is welcome back there, and I waved him on. He came back quickly. “Do you know you have a rabbit back there?’

We surrounded the aisles, Foxy with a box and broom on one aisle, cop on the far side and me in the middle. I videotaped, in case the killer rabbit attacked and we had to shoot it. “Killer rabbit!” But no. He just sat there, by the cooler next to Eva’s office, checking us out.

I tried to grab a carrot and get closer, but he hopped back behind the wall. I rolled the carrot to him, and left a bit of water in a low-rider paper cup. He won’t starve.

I kept an eye out all night. Foxy randomly checked behind coolers, nothing. I hope he doesn’t turn into rabbit jerky.

As my shift was ending, I was coming out of the office and checked the “trap.” What the fuu..?

The rabbit was sitting in Eva’s trap, finishing the last of the lettuce. Not a scrap of salad left. I walked as gently as possible, hoping to nudge the energy drink bottle enough to spring the box down. But Mister Rabbit was having none of that. He peeled out like a cartoon rabbit, back feet spinning on the waxed floor before he gained traction and skedaddled back under the CBD cooler. See ya!

We’ve had a lot of temporary store mascots. Stewly the pigeon, who lasted ten days before being rescued by Steel Rod. The three-inch cockroach that could crawl through a hole the size of a grain of rice? Set free, back in the sewer where he belongs. Praying mantis, check. Having a rabbit is upping our game.

So I have decided to name him, which will most certainly doom him when management gets wind.

Ladies and gentlemen, introducing Hoss N. Pfeiffer, rabbit esquire. I’d post a better picture, but he’s still kinda shy.

I texted updates to Eva, expecting to hear that she’d called Orkin or some other merchant of death.


“I brought him two bowls and some food.”

“We better hope and pray he’s a he.”


Welcome to downtown, Hoss.

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