Of bunnies and dust bunnies

Last weekend, I was attending the Oregon Flock and Fiber Festival. My entire ambition for the day consisted of meeting a few on-line friends in real life and to stay within my very restricted yarn/fiber budget. But, I hadn't counted on the fateful meeting that was about to occur.

While we wandered through the animal barn, I was mentally stocking my fantasy fiber farm. In very short order, the dairy goats that already occupied that mythical place were going to have to be segregated from the pygora goats that absolutely had to be added to the farm. I rejected the notion of sheep, despite my abiding love affair with wool. Buzzed right passed the alpacas and llamas. I obviously like the idea of them better than the reality of them.

Then we came to the bunnies. Their intrinsic cuteness vibrated through the entire area. Children and adults both were more animated in the bunny section. I oooo-ed over the lop-ears. I ahhhhh-ed over the angoras. And I almost escaped, ready to buy yarn, when the very nice lady said, "The little one is free." Within 30 seconds, she had opened the cage and I was holding this little runt of a rabbit that they were calling by the insulting name of "Hamster". I heard the tale of his being number eleven in the litter and kicked out by his mom, then being adopted by another mother and raised by a girl in 4-H. I was sunk. In nothing flat, he had let me know that his real name was Rupert.

I threw on the coaster brake long enough to wander around the festival a bit longer and even eat lunch. But, despite a lot of very desirable fiber on offer, I was on a bunny mission. So, I peeled off and went to collect Rupert.

Bear in mind, I had no notion as I got up that morning that I needed or even wanted a rabbit. I had never even contemplated a rabbit in my life. So it was a bit surprising to find that my weekend had quickly become bunny-centered. A cage, bedding, food, toys; all had to be procured. The apartment suddenly became un-bunny-friendly and had to be tackled. As the week progressed, cleaning up after Rupert led to increased cleaning everywhere. Now the evenings include the joy of watching a 9-week old bunny bound around the living room, skidding on the hardwood floors.

So, what might it mean that this little rabbit has found me? I'd been wanting a pet for over a year but I'd never considered a rabbit. I was fairly certain that I wanted a parrot. Is it true, I wonder, that people, animals or events come into our lives for a reason? It feels like it may be true. But those reasons could be anywhere on the spectrum from hellish to sublime. Whether Rupert will turn into a lesson in further responsibility or undiluted joy, I do not know. I suspect it might be both.