Nicole Birdsong
English 101
1/27/14
Essay 1
Hopping into Action On this warm, spring Florida day, the sun came streaming in through the wide open window. My eyes squint through the rays glinting off the blue pool, scanning for my dogs. They glance over what appears to be a small chunk off wood floating just off center in the deepest end of the pool. I continue to stare on for another minute, intrigued. My curiosity gets the best of me and I head out the back door into the sunroom and out to the porch, stopping just short of the pool. What appears to be hard brown wood is actually soft, fuzzy fur. I continue around to the farthest side of the pool and my mind puts together the image of a small baby bunny, its nose barely above the water line. There is no way of knowing how long that poor bundle of fur had been in the water for I had been in school all day. If there was any chance that this bunny is still alive, I needed to act fast to keep him that way. My brain was transmitting neurons pretty quickly at this point to try to rescue the little cottontail before it was too late. I knew the pool net was too far away as the nose dipped under. Clothes on and all, I dive in. Chlorine in my eyes, I swiftly fumbled around until my hand grasped the soaked coat. Keeping the bunny rabbit above water, I swim to the stairs as rapidly as my body could. Within seconds,(BANANAS) I clamber out of the water.
Right off the bat, I’m noticing the bunny’s body temperature is freezing. Why was yesterday the one day I remembered to put away the beach towels, inside. I run to the back door in a panic for the bunny wasn’t moving, not a foot, not his nose, not an eye twitch. I open the door, a gush of chilled air rushes out. I make the rash decision of standing out in the doorway, and not taking a wet, cold, hopefully still alive, creature into an even colder atmosphere. Knowing I drove my sister home, she had to be somewhere in our vast house. I begin to yell out for her, frantically, “Sarah….. Sarah….. Sarah, damn it girl answer me?” I wait a few more seconds, about to call out again when she finally answers back, full of sass, “I’m in my room, get whatever you need yourself.” Eventually she’ll get annoyed if I continue to call for her. I repeat her name telling her I need towels and that I need them quickly, on the double, stat. She continues to ignore me, even after I explained that I had discovered a baby rabbit in the pool. As I’m screaming into the house, the bunny begins to scream. My anxiety to save this soul kicks up about five notches. It was alive now, but would it stay that way? Hearing the dreadful screams that sound like nothing else in comparison, and with the new panic in my voice, Sarah finally comes wandering around the corner towards the back door. She has a towel, but it’s wrapped around her waist as she was changing into her bikini. Seeing me standing in the rear entry way, the ball of fur in my hands, screaming, and realization crosses her face. She runs to the hall closet for towels. She immediately takes the rabbit, and wraps it up and leaving me at the door, dripping wet. I realized since my sister now had her hands on the bunny, I would probably never hold that poor little thing again. I put my feelings aside, knowing that little cottontail was not out of the woods yet. I dry off hastily and head to the kitchen. My first concern is to warm up the animal’s core temp once partially dried. Sarah was working on that part while his screams were dying off. I hoped it was a sign that he was either adjusting to a person’s touch or hat pure exhaustion got a hold of him. I filled a plastic water bottle with boiling hot water and enclosed it in a towel. Sarah held the bunny in a clean, dry blanket and placed the warm container next to it while settling onto the couch. The baby has yet to open its eyes; I figure the next twelve to twenty-four hours will be crucial, hoping he survives. While the rabbit is warming up I begin to make his nest. I get the tote we used to house the last bunny we rescued and more blankets and towels. I arrange them in the oversized, plastic container. I place a shallow bowl of water and some lettuce, kale and carrots at one end of the tote. Even though he was barely the size of a lemon, he was big enough to be out of the mother’s care. But being through a traumatic experience takes its toll on the body, physically and mentally. To be prepared in case of possible injury I called my father, and asked him to pick up a can of condensed goat’s milk. The bunny was still out cold on Sarah’s lap but we decided to go ahead and settle him into his man-made nest, replacing his water bottle with a new, warmer one. Between the two of us, the bunny’s practically monitored non-stop. We continue about our day, doing homework, making dinner, the usual. All the while the young rabbit continues to sleep, the only movement being the rise and fall of his thoracic cavity with each shallow breath. We take turns with an eye dropper of water, trying to get some fluids in the poor guy, reversing any possible dehydration it suffered. As night fall approaches, there is still no sign of the bunny’s progress improving. He is moved into my room to continue observations throughout the night.
“Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.” What in the world is that I ponder, as I wake from my slumber? I roll over and my room is still pitch black. I locate my phone under my pillow and am blinded as I note the time to be early, early morning, reading it as some time after two in the morning. The thumping sound continues. I recall the events that happened just twelve hours ago and make the assumption it must be from the rabbit’s make shift pen. I amble over to his location, turning on the light, and remove the lid. Low and behold a miraculous recovery. The baby cottontail had obviously fully rested up and was feeling much better. Before he manages to hop his way right on out of the tote, I put the lid back on, securely but breathable. Apparently this guy’s willpower is strong because he continues, without avail, to try to unlodge the lid with all the energy he can muster. It appears sleep may escape me with all the ruckus. I haul the tote out of my room and rehome it in the living room so I can go back to bed and sleep peacefully. I hope at some point in the night the little thumper will settle back down.
It’s very clear the almost drowned bunny had a made a full recovery come morning. Any method of escape was being tested. The three of us, dad, sister and myself, contemplate releasing him before or after school. It hadn’t appeared that he had eaten any food and not knowing if it was the new surroundings or a possible injury preventing nutrient consumption, it was a mutual agreement to wait till evening. With the persistence of trying to break out of his “cell” we cleaned and set up one of our actual rabbit cages for a better and safer containment.
After the final bell, neither of us dilly-dallied to my truck, anxious to check on “Thumper,” as we dubbed him. Upon arrival home, we went racing to the spot where we left the cage that morning. He was startled to see us, like a normal wild animal, and pressed himself into the corner farthest from us. Our main concern was no longer a reason to keep him confined in a cage, as his food supply had decreased. We had already cleared his release into our neighbor’s dog-free, backyard and wasted no time carrying the pen on over. We set it down gently in the soft, green grass, opened the door and took about ten steps back to give the skittish bunny room to hop out. It was taking longer than expected for him to leave the cage, so we went over and scooped him up and placed him on the ground. He bounded away, as we hoped he’d live a good long life with no more failed swim attempts.