Now that Hugh is out of the woods (no pun intended), I think it's time to tell the full story of Hughdini's great escape.
It all started when the Schnozz family headed up to Illinois to visit Ma and Pa Schnozz. Ma and Pa Schnozz enjoy being rabbit grandparents, so Hugh is always invited to come with us. (And now that he's neutered and no longer smells like rotting beef, Ma and Pa have even been known to pet him once in a while.)
We set up his cage in the unfinished basement, which is full of a collection of items that belong to what I like to call the Instant Rabbit Death Genre. But no problem! Hugh was raised on a farm, and staying in his cage for a day or two won't kill him ... or so we think. But by Day 2, he is so restless and beggy that I take pity on him and allow him to traipse about the basement while I supervise. (And by "supervise" I mean "continually yank him away from deadly substance after deadly substance.")
One fateful night, when playtime was over, I put him back in his cage, close the FRONT DOOR, and leave the TOP DOOR OPEN, please pay attention because this is foreshadowing, then feed him and give him some fresh water. Satisfied that I am a stellar parent, I then walk out of the room and don't think of Hugh again until feeding time the next day--when I realize I won't be home for quite a while. (I had planned to just feed him early, before I went out to
Sam's for the night, but I forgot.) Not wanting him to have to wait several hours until I'm back home, I ring Ma and Pa Schnozz and ask that they give him some food for me. Their answer? "Fo sho!"*
Five minutes later, I get the call every mother dreads. It's Pa Schnozz: "Uhhhh ... the rabbit isn't in his cage."
WHAT??
I think two thoughts nearly simultaneously. The louder thought is
OH MY GOD MY POOR BUNNY IS PROBABLY DEAD. The softer, slyer thought is
I wonder where I can get a brown and white Holland Lop this time of night so Mr. S doesn't find out. All the possible scenarios run through my mind. Well, actually, there is only one possible scenario: Hugh had done something stupid and died. Due to the scenario shortage, I settle for replaying that one in my mind over and over while I wait for Pa Schnozz to call me back and say that yes, they found him, and yes, he was a dead pile of electrocuted bunny fur.
Instead, my dad calls back and explains that as soon as Hugh had heard his cage door open, he had come running, climbing into his cage voluntarily and flopping down in exhaustion.** Then, when Ma Schnozz provided fresh water, Hugh flung himself into his bowl, front paws and all, and drank for all he was worth. From what we know, we estimate that Hugh has been out all day, and maybe all night before as well. For the most part, we're not sure how he spent that time ... but we do know that the electrical cord to the sump pump has been chewed down to the wire, and that Hugh likely received a nasty little surprise when he found out how many licks it takes to get to the chewy center.
I listen anxiously to my parents' reassurances, stuffing my mouth several times with Sam's cookies to medicate my guilt, and make them tell me four or five times that Hugh is fine and doesn't appear injured in any way. Then I
race home to soothe my poor scared rabbit am the last person to leave Sam's hours later.
When I get home, I immediately check on him and let him out ... and watch him hop immediately over to the unfinished walls and take a big bite of fluffy pink fiberglass insulation, chewing it and swallowing it as casually as if he's done it all his life. And that's when I realize we just might have a big problem.
Simply put, eating insulation very, very bad. Not only does it contain various poisonous chemicals, but it also tends to wad up in the intestine, causing a deadly blockage that kills humans and bunnies alike. When they get a blockage, rabbits will fatten up a bit, appearing chubby while they quite literally starve to death. Compounding the problem is the fact that insulation contains cellulose, so it smells like hay to rabbits, who apparently do not know their colors/are as stupid as the day is long.
I won't ever know how much of it Hugh ate, but I'm not willing to take any chances, especially since Hugh has begun clearly showing symptoms of a blockage: less eating, less pooping, and less activity. When we get back to St. Louis, I make a vet appointment and feed Hugh as many greens as I can, as these will help to flush out his stomach. Hay would be best, but I only have broccoli at the moment, so broccoli it is. Hugh reacts to the sudden constant availability of broccoli with blissful disbelief, staring at me in amazement as I continue to hand him broccoli, which he eagerly scarfs down, sprig after sprig. His love for me reaches new heights as he realizes that I am the Lady Who Has the Broccoli. His adoring gaze meets mine as he crunches through his 105th sprig of broccoli. The rabbit is probably croaking, but ironically, our relationship has never been better.
Thankfully, this does the trick, and by the next morning, when the vet appointment rolls around, Hugh is no longer listless and sick-looking. In fact he is hopping cheerfully to and fro and pestering me for broccoli, which he now thinks he should get all day every day, and I feel like a histrionic idiot. But the vet reassures me that bringing him in was the right thing to do, as insulation is very dangerous and could very well have killed him, especially if I hadn't fed him so many greens. Then we all agree that Hugh is in fact a very good bunny, yes such a good bunny-wunny, and then we get in the car and go home.
On the way home, the atmosphere in the car is tense. We both know we are going to have to have a very long talk about insulation abuse when we get home. I need to have a heart-to-heart with him. I need to be a role model. I need to teach my rabbit to Just Say No to construction materials.
When Hugh and I sit down together, I have two main questions.
1. How the hell did you manage to get out of your cage?
2. What on earth did you do for the twenty or so hours you were out?
In response to the first question, all I get is a coy little stare. (We still have no idea how Hugh did it; the top door is above his head even when he stretches all the way up, and we've left it open for weeks on end without an incident. Hugh has never managed to get out before, and it wasn't from lack of trying, either--it isn't unusual to see him stretched to the max, barely able to rest even the very edge of his nose on the rim of the top opening, trying to figure out how to get out. Traditionally, we have merely scoffed at his efforts, which were clearly futile. Or not.) I suppose it will always be a mystery.
In response to the second question, Hugh told me the most amazing story ...
"It all started when I noticed that your parents had put your old magic wand--the one from Halloween--in storage, and it wasn't far from my cage. Undoubtedly the magic wand never worked for you; it's a little-known fact that magic wands only REALLY work for rabbits. You know that whole cliche about a magician always making a rabbit disappear? You guys got it totally backward. Rabbits make MAGICIANS disappear, which is why the only magicians left in modern times are either fake or have made a direct deal with Satan that guarantees them protection from rabbit magicians, major network coverage, and the ability to live in an ice cube for like eighteen days or something equally moronic.
"Anyway, I stuck one little paw through the slats of my cage, and I discovered that I could ... just ... reach it. I immediately gripped it in my paws and felt the power rush through me, all the way to the tips of my ears. Kinda like I would feel in an hour or two when I bit through the sump-pump cord, only more magical. I uttered a rabbit spell: 'Crunch on carrots, chew them well, release me from this prison cell!'
"Just like that, I was out. Unfortunately, rabbits are hungry morons first and talented magicians second, so I promptly ate the wand in its entirety, breaking the spell and returning everything to normal. Except ... I couldn't get back in my cage! I expressed my anxiety by pooping all over the basement.
"But then I discovered something wonderful, and I immediately got over it."
"That's right--it was an entire WALL of cotton candy! Perhaps the magic remained after all, as I had never seen such a wonderful sight in the forest. But here, in suburbia--the last place you'd expect to find it--was a heavenly treat I couldn't wait to feast on.
"I'm not into sharing, and I knew you or my grandparents would come back any second, so I greedily ate as much as I could, hoping to eat it all before anyone could take it away from me. Eventually my belly was so full that I had to rest awhile. Soon, I started to feel kinda ... funny. And the basement looked ... weird. May have been the fiberglass. Or the formaldehyde. Either way, let's just say that's when I realized I hadn't been eating cotton candy. At least not the kind of cotton candy you can buy at the fair."
"The nice lady played the horn, drawing me closer and closer to her. I didn't feel sick. If anything, I felt uplifted ... too uplifted ...
... Uh oh."
"When I found myself in Bunny Heaven, I knew everything had gone horribly awry. I wasn't even a year old! It wasn't fair. I wanted to live! I didn't know what to do. So I did the only thing I could think of. I begged. 'Oh please oh please oh please oh please give me a second chance!'"
"Miraculously, my prayer was heard, and I was returned to earth. A mere second later, your parents walked in, and the rest, as they say, is history."
Personally, I think he's just trying to outdo me in the tall tales department. Like mother, like rabbit. We may never know what REALLY happened that day in the basement. But all that matters, I suppose, is that he's just fine now, with no signs of brain damage. (Well, no more brain damage than he seemed to have already.)
And now that he's fully recovered, the future's so bright ... well. You know the rest.
--------
*Paraphrase.
**Hugh is like a crate-trained dog--his cage is his safe place that he often climbs into when he's stressed. So hearing he came running into his cage only deepened the guilt; he had probably been very anxious once he realized he was unable to get back in.
