A Serendipity of Rabbits

Why I wish there were bunnies in my sock drawer - by Ginny DeFrank

A lot of people have been confused as to why I want to find bunnies in my sock drawer, as I had indicated in a facebook status update.
Answer appears below:





My friend Marina found these baby bunnies in her garden, hidden under a leaf big enough to hide baby bunnies. In addition to their undeniable cuteness and being nearly perfect scale to chocolate Easter bunnies, I found them incredibly attractive as something by which one could be surprised. Wouldn’t it be nice to come upon baby bunnies in one’s daily living?

Lacking a garden, I decided I would like to find them in my sock drawer, looking up in simultaneous surprise, suspicion, and fear, wondering what I wanted with the soft spot they had discovered prior to being discovered. Much like under Marina’s leaves, my sock drawer would provide comfortable shelter free from detection. Only in possibly looking for something else would I find them. What serendipity that would be, to find baby bunnies balled up like socks, promising even more warmth than the socks themselves.


My fantasy expands, of course. Once the bunnies and I become acquainted, and establish we are not threatening to one another, we will agree to harmonious and shared living. For their part, they will agree to never: chew on things which I deem of some sentimental value, poop in places mutually deemed inappropriate, or grow up, as that would be too heartbreaking to bear. Not one to find comfort in being seen as a bunny overlord, I in turn, agree to honor requests for certain fine vegetables, consider requests for trips to local points of interest like the beach or the car wash, and respect requests that they not be hugged, if my persistent need for their affection should prove too intense for any young bunny to endure. Understanding the power of their teeny ears to overwhelm the affections of human beings everywhere, this last caveat was one passed through genetic inheritance rather than practical experience. It is hard to stay wild when suffocated.


Over time, the baby bunnies would learn my habits and forgive most of my faults, so long as the swiss chard was delivered as promised and their musical discretion was respected on most occasions. They would be partial to both John Denver and Stereolab, nature lovers and dancers one and all, though hip-hop is a common human misconception of their taste, given their association with the latter portion of the genre.


Some days they would have matched a pair of socks for me to save me the minor, utterly human inconvenience of trying to match a mismatched sock. One would have a polka dot sock ready in his mouth when suddenly, from the flurry of stripes and cartoon animal patterns in socks behind him, the other would appear, wearing a polka dot sock like a party hat, covering both ears. We would smile at one another, and then I’d take the sock, and close the drawer.

The best would be the myriad opportunities for bunny surprise. Digging for the remote in the couch cushions, my hand would instead find itself tickled by warm fur, like finding a twenty dollar bill in one’s pocket when looking for a Kleenex. Wearing a wool sweater on a winter morning, one hand would find car keys in a pocket, the other, a sniffing bunny nose, followed by a tiny bunny face that would peek out of the pocket top for a better view as we walked toward coffee. And every now and again, one bunny, either wanting adventure, or sensing my mood was bad, would sneak into my purse, only to appear under my desk, eyeing me as warning that I should not react negatively or we’d both be in trouble in the workplace. And at lunch, we’d go play. Maybe sit on some grass and smell the ground where it had scent, or on a bench or sidewalk, warming ourselves on already warm concrete.


Surprise baby bunnies. A delightful notion. I am glad Marina was willing to split hares.