Please tell me the rabbit isn't in the house

By Staff
Leada Gore, Editor
We were sitting at a little league baseball game when Greg happened to mention we had a rabbit in our house.
"I caught it while I was cutting grass," he said. "It's in a box in the living room."
My mother – his new mother-in-law – looked at him with surprise.
"How nice!" she said, then turned to look at me. "He's just joking, right? There's not a rabbit in your house, right?"
I just smiled. I didn't doubt for a moment there was a rabbit in the house and that I would have a difficult time convincing Greg that we didn't need to keep the animal as a pet. It was very small, he said, no larger than the palm of his hand. He was trimming the rose bushes when it hopped out. He picked it up and put it in a box with some water and a piece of celery.
"In case he was hungry," he said. "I've named him George."
"How nice!" mother said again, looking at me with a befuddled look.
I sat through the rest of the game and then decided to run by the house to check out the rabbit situation.
I saw the box the second I walked in the house. Peering in, I saw the water and the celery, but no rabbit. I lifted the towel Greg had placed in the bottom of the box but the bunny wasn't hiding beneath it.
The rabbit had escaped and was hopping loose somewhere in the house.
I started looking around and quickly noticed the small bunny had left a trail to mark its path and it sure wasn't Easter eggs. That was it. I wasn't staying around to search for a rabbit on the loose, especially if it had decided for some reason it didn't want to be in the house anymore and opted to attack me instead. I headed to the grocery store.
My phone rang as I was wheeling through the store. It was Greg.
"Did you notice something missing at the house," I asked with a laugh.
"Um. Yes. George was in the dining room. I just followed the droppings until I found him. Seems he made his way to every room in the house. I don't know how he got out of the box."
When I got home, we (meaning I) made the decision that while George was cute and furry, he really belonged outside.
"He was fine underneath the rose bushes," I said. "Who knows? His bunny mom is probably looking for him as we speak." Greg reluctantly agreed. He scooped up George, whom I must say looked no worse for wear from his adventure through the house, and carried him outside. He placed him gently beneath the rose bush and we watched until he hopped off.
"I hope he's OK," Greg said.
"I'm sure he will be fine," I replied. "And, if you ever want to find him, all you have to do is follow the trail. George has a way of marking his path."