I love animals.
I am fond of them and interested in understanding the lives of small creatures.
Rabbits — some call them bunnies — have a particular cute nature to them, causing the effect known as “awing.” Easter is just two days away and bunnies are the poster animals for the holiday.
But my Easter story has no egg baskets painted with pinks and yellows, bombarded with the warmth of fur from hares or jellybeans — all the fictitious stuff.
Well, I almost ran over four rabbits Monday night.
My Easter story wouldn’t have been the cute and cuddly versions we know. It would have been similar to the dead cat incident from my earlier column.
After getting off the phone with my mom, I decided to do some late night shopping. My mind wasn’t focused fully on the road as I was battling a personal fault and how to deal with it.
The darkness was pierced through with the bright of my headlights that jerked from pressing on my brakes in shock.
Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail almost became the stew of some ever-present hawk and I would have been the cause.
However, the furry creatures they managed to get away in time scurrying into a neighbor’s backyard.
I freaked out and nearly cried for almost striking the bunnies. I needed to pay better attention to the road.
The most common type of rabbit in this area is the Eastern Cottontail, I believe. They are most active at night and can have up to 35 babies, or kits, a year. That’s why bunnies are known for multiplying at high rates.
After turning the corner to get onto Votaw Street, I accelerated to the required speed limit and turned my head to the calm pond outside of CrownePointe of Portland. When I looked back on the road, Peter Rabbit found himself several inches away from my left passenger tire.
I went crazy.
Rushing to pull over on the shoulder of the highway, my hazards were on and my eyes were ready to shed tears. I turned on my phone as a source of light to shine on my indiscretion and see if there were any bunny limbs on my car.
Thankfully, no rabbit parts were on my car. I got back into my Taurus, body shaking and heart racing.
Pulling into a parking space, I forgot my hazards were still on and nearby onlookers marveled at my odd behavior. I looked like an idiot.
This is not an Easter story, I know. In fact, bunnies are not the story of Easter. This holiday, also known as the Greek and Latin word “Pascha” for Passover, is about the resurrection of Jesus Christ. No disrespect to the rabbits, egg baskets and jellybeans, but it’s not about them. It’s about the resurrection of my personal savior.
This time around, the rabbits survived and I got through the weekend. Hopefully I will make it through the holiday without running over Bugs, March Hare or Quicky, the Nesquik bunny.