Chasing the white rabbit

My wife has this twisted way of making me endure bizarre situations from time to time. And most of the time, she is not home when these instances occur, almost as if she planned it that way all along.

For instance, one time after she flipped off the breakers in the house, due to a power surge, she “forgot” to flip the breaker back on for the grinder pump outside. There is nothing in the world like dancing around your bathroom, shouting obscenities, while trying to not step in a lake of poo-water where your floor once was. And, although there is nothing quite like that, I would not recommend it. My wife got quite the kick out of my peril, however.

Moving on, I recently went through another test of endurance due to my wife and children going out of town to Lafayette, La. to see her aunt. With the house to myself, it was a time designated to watching football until my eyes melted and then maybe sleeping for a full eight hours for a change without my son or daughter kicking me in the head during the night. This was going to be paradise, right?

Wrong.

Unable to sleep at around 2 a.m. Sunday morning (probably due to the fact that my body does not know how to deal with absolute silence anymore); I stepped outside on my front porch in my boxers to see how cold it was. And what did I see? Our pet rabbit, which my daughter has named Max after a character on “Max and Ruby,” one of her favorite cartoon programs which drives me nuts on a regular basis, out of his cage and loose in the dog yard.

One of the first thoughts that came to my twisted, Grinch-like mind was to just release our basset hounds and let the survival of the fittest take its toll just as it has been doing for the past 3 zillion years, or the past 5 billion years, or for the past 100,000 years. (It all depends on which rock scientists are currently analyzing, I suppose.)

But then my heart grew three sizes that day, as I knew I would not be able to deal with the guilt if I had to look at the tears on my daughter’s face while I explained that Max was in Heaven now, probably in several mangled pieces. So, I walked over to get Max and put him back in his cage.

Now, I don’t know how proficient you are at catching rabbits, but I can tell you this: I suck at it. As I walked up to him, I started saying things like “Here Maxy, Maxy, Maxy! Time to go to sleep. Here boy!” Well, I found out real quick that rabbits are nothing like dogs, as Max just kept hopping away, looking straight ahead with a dead stare while contemplating his best route for escape.

Just when I had him cornered against the fence, thinking the whole ordeal was over, Max did a jump/flip-twirl move like he was fighting Agent Smith in “The Matrix” and in a flash was on the other side of the yard. In the cold air, you could visibly see the steam coming from my ears as I stomped back in the house and grabbed a clothes basket.

Armed with the basket, I made my second attempt to bring Max back to his safe confines away from owls, raccoons, and badgers. But Max, too stupid to realize I was trying to save his life, was not about to make this easy. Luckily, no one was driving by that early in the morning to see me running around the yard in my boxer shorts, clothes basket in my outstretched arms, chasing a white, fluffy blur back and forth.

At some point the frustration of knowing I was not getting the rest I had planned on getting set in, which ended up with me hurling the basket in Max’s direction. It didn’t faze him in the least. “Fine,” I yelled at him. “I hope you die!” I made my way back to the front porch to sit down and catch my breath. Meanwhile, Max hopped happily along munching on grass, probably chuckling under his breath and thinking what a great story he would have to tell the possums that come up in our yard every now and then.

After finally convincing myself that I was smarter than Max, I was able to sneak up on him and trap him under the basket, making my third attempt successful. After placing Max back in his cage I saw the reason why he had gotten out. There was no latch on the cage! My wife had wrapped a blanket around it and left, totally “forgetting” to inform me that the cage could just plop open with the slightest bump of Max moving around within its wired boundaries.

When I told my wife about my incident on the phone the next day, she just laughed hysterically. “I can just see you running around the yard in your underwear!” she said, between gales of guffaws that were no doubt bringing tears to her eyes. But, thinking about it, I just had to laugh myself. At least I know that I am still able to make my wife smile.

I’m just glad that this time it didn’t have to involve poo-water.