If you’ll recall from this story and its conclusion my sister and I used to have pet bunnies. My bunny, Buttons, was demon from the fiery pits of hell who I still miss in a strange, masochistic way. My sister’s bunny, Snuggles, was a delight.
Snuggles lived up to her name in every possible way. She was affectionate and curious, and loved to be with my sister. She was honestly a lovely pet and it was devastating when she passed away both to my sister and I who had formed an incredible emotional attachment to Snuggles, and to my parents who had spent an obscene amount of money in vet bills immediately before she died.
See, a few weeks before she died, Snuggles had broken her pelvis climbing back into her cage (there was a third party involved in this, though I won’t name names. I will however go so far as to guarantee that it was through NO fault of anyone in my immediate family.). After taking her to the vet we brought her back home to live in the house to recuperate. Julia doted on Snuggles taking such good care of her, she was truly amazing. We all thought Snuggles was better and with the vets approval she was brought back outside only to die almost immediately after.
Having broken (is fractured the same as broken?) my own pelvis, I can honestly say I understand why that bunny gave up. It’s not a pleasant experience. Though, at the risk of sounding insensitive, it would have been nice if she had done it before tricking us into thinking she’d recovered. That wasn’t cool.
Still, Snuggles died long before her time and we had a beautiful burial for her in the back yard.
Not long after Snuggles passed my family got a dog, Belle. Belle was magnificent with a soft spot for my sister. Everyone was happy and things were well in the Porter household.
Then one fine summer day, Julia went down into the family room where she noticed Belle on the couch happily chewing on something.
“What’s that, Belle?” Julia asked, innocently taking a seat next to Belle and scratching the puppy’s head affectionately. Belle looked up, tongue lagging out with a doggy smile spread across her face. And Julia, well, Julia screamed.
And screamed some more.
Belle had been chewing on dear Snuggle’s decomposing skull.
Julia was naturally traumatized. Imagine seeing your dearly beloved pet’s skull being eaten by your new best friend? (I can imagine it, hence my fear of Zombies.) Even now, more than 20 years later, Julia still hates this story.
Me? I love this story. I don’t know why and I’m sure if I actually analyzed it I’d be disturbed, but there was just something about this entire situation that I found (and still find) hilarious. Whether it was my sister screaming, or Belle running away startled by the screaming and leaving Julia alone on the couch with a rotten head. I don’t know what it is. I have retold the story many times over the years and have never made it all the way through without laughing. Even now, writing it, I am laughing.
Sorry, Julia. But it was a little funny.
Disclaimer: Dear Reader, I hope my enjoyment of this traumatizing event in my sister’s life doesn’t cause you to think any less of me. Though, if it does, I’m not too worried. I suppose you had to be there.