I hadn’t told anybody about my encounter with the rabbit - nobody, that is, except for my dad. I had told him. He was working in the front garden when I got home. I had told him I’d been to the rabbit warren to catch a rabbit because I wanted a pet. I had also told him I had been talking to one. My dad had listened to everything I’d said as though it was normal for people to talk to rabbits.

.     .     .

The next day, I could hardly wait to go down to the field again to find my rabbit. After breakfast, I headed down the lane. My dad yelled after me to take care and to make sure that I brought home a big juicy rabbit so that mum could make a rabbit stew. By that time, I was already past the old tree and his words never quite reached me, or if they did, I wasn’t quite listening.

As I neared the field beside the river, I saw a rabbit over near the warren. Was it my rabbit, I thought. No, mine was much bigger, but this was silly because how could a big rabbit get out of such a small hole. But, then again, how could I fall into a small hole? It was all too confusing.

The rabbit in the field stood up on its hind legs, alert to my approach, but as I got closer, caution overcame its curiosity, and it scampered away. It obviously wasn’t my rabbit. I had to find my rabbit. Where was the hole?

I was not completely prepared for my next encounter with the rabbit because as I looked down each hole they all looked the same. They were all too small for me to fall into. So where was my rabbit?

“I’m not your rabbit.”

The shock of hearing a voice coming from a rabbit hole startled me. I looked at the rabbit hole from where the voice had come and wondered how I was supposed to get down such a small opening. I took a step into the hole, and the next thing I knew, I was lying at the bottom of the hole staring at my... looking at the rabbit.

“Am I late?”

“Did we set a time?”

“No.”

“Then how can you be late?”

“I don’t know.”

“Time is meaningless unless it is measured from a known time reference. I want you to remember something every time you think of me - Time Is Life! If you don’t anchor time to something then life becomes meaningless! To waste your time is to waste your life, not only your life but the life of everyone else who had any influence in your creation and upbringing.”

“I didn’t ask to be born,” I retorted. “I didn’t come here to be told how to spend or waste my life. I’m not even old enough to know how to tell the time and I’ve got plenty of life left.”

“You’re right, you didn’t ask to be born, so go back to where you came from.”

I wasn’t exactly sure where I came from, but I suspected that returning was not a possibility. Armed with this fragile piece of knowledge, I defended myself. “I can’t. You know I can’t. You’re just a stupid fat rabbit saying things like that.”

That was twice I had called the rabbit fat and stupid -- then, and once the day before.

The rabbit didn’t show any hurt by my insults but I felt sorry that I had resorted to such remarks. He just looked at me for a while and allowed the guilt to take its toll.

After a while, he said, “life is a one-way trip, and you have already begun. You were born into this world and it really doesn’t matter if anyone had your approval or not -- here you are. There is no point in arguing with the situation. Like it or not, you’re here. You’ve arrived. No amount of arguing, debating or temper tantrums will change that. There are certain things in life that just cannot be changed or reversed. You just have to accept things the way they are. Of course, you could take your time accepting these things, but once you involve time into the equation, you are using up a valuable life - your life - in a meaningless and relentless effort to come to terms with something you cannot alter. On the other hand, you could take it one step further and go on a crusade in a vain and senseless effort to change the unchangeable - and then what would you be doing?”

Before I could answer, the rabbit continued. “You would be whittling away your life, hiding behind a lifelong cause to avoid real living in some meagre attempt to give some meaning to your existence. And look at all of the people who spent and shared their life with you just so you could become a person without a purpose. That is tantamount to wasting their lives as well as wasting your own. It’s up to you to determine what course you want your life to take, and it’s entirely up to you whether you take it. Just bear in mind that you have a responsibility and a debt to pay to those around you.”

“My mum and dad tell me what to do all of the time. I don’t have to do anything.” I was still feeling angry at the rabbit for making me feel uncomfortable and at myself for being with the rabbit in the first place. After all, if I wasn’t there, he couldn’t make me feel bad. It was all his fault, I concluded.

The rabbit interrupted my thoughts, “did they tell you to come here and talk to me?”

“No! My dad told me to bring home a big juicy rabbit for a stew.” I guess I had heard the words my father had called after me after all. Selective listening, perhaps?

My words obviously hurt the rabbit because he got up and went down one of the tunnels. As I sat in the hole all alone, I started to feel sorry for myself. I hadn’t really meant to hurt the rabbit, well not too much anyway, not enough for him to go away. I decided it wasn’t my fault -- the rabbit was just being a big baby.

.     .     .

When I got home I told my mum what had happened. My mum, like my dad, seemed to understand that it was normal to talk to rabbits. She explained that I was being selfish to think I hadn’t hurt the rabbit. I said that I hadn’t hit the rabbit. Mum explained that it is not always necessary to inflict physical pain to hurt somebody - words can be equally cruel. I told my mum I was sorry and she said that was nice, but she wasn’t the one to whom I should be saying sorry. I said that I would go back and tell the rabbit. She said it was too late and that dinner was nearly ready.

That night I realised the rabbit was probably right -- being alive had a lot more responsibilities attached to it than I had anticipated.

.     .     .


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