The street we live on, Flamingo Drive, should be renamed Rabbit Run. There are a gajillon bunnies on our short little avenue. Every morning when we ride to school, little bunnies pop out of every bush and hole. Adorable. Just like this fella. SQUEE!
Except. These rabbits have a habit. Of almost dying! They are a touch suicidal. They run in front of my car. They hear the car and run towards it. Confused.
I, of course, brake when I see any movement. I only go around 15-20 miles an hour because there are some dumb bunnies. I grew up in the country, so I know what it’s like driving around squirrels, rabbits and deer. Once I brake, their spell is broken and they run in the other direction.
Run, bunny! Run!
I watch for bunnies and the Ghosts of Venice (I call them). Old people who drift in and out of the fog. I don’t want any innocent, yet careless, creature’s life in my hands. With the bunnies, I would fear retribution from the multitudes.
Thankfully, I am a cautious driver, always on the alert. 10 and 2, always focused, and keeping an eye on those bunny bushes.
NOT ON MY WATCH, Bun!