Dada. That's the name of my family's first beloved bunny. Rabbits are wonderful pets. They're not threatening. They're fun to cuddle, they smell good, they're not noisy, their waste is very easy to clean as well as they're very easy to feed, and of course, they're very cute.
One late Saturday morning, I was awakened by a squeak. Instinct propelled me to look out the window and what I saw was so far then the most horrid sight I had ever seen. A cat quite bigger than Dada was biting him in the neck. Dada was standing on two feet, his front legs were hanging paralyzed in the air as I became paralyzed myself watching the scene in silence. That was a long moment of shock and devastation. When I came to my senses, I said to myself he was dead. I tried burying myself back to bed, as if hoping it was just a dream, or my senses were just fooling me, since I wasn't completely awake.
That was one of those week-end mornings where the whole family had errands to do except for me. I was never a morning person. Thank God for my Ate. She just came back from buying food from the nearby 7/11 and immediately after she saw Dada's condition, she calmly carried him in the house, laid him on the living room's floor and searched the house for bandages and a box to place Dada as she would bring him to a vet. That was one of the few times when I just admired my sister with amazement--one of the few times I wish I had her attitude--and to be blunt in admitting it--her concern and courage. It was at that moment when guilt buried its teeth hard through my neck. What happened to me? I chickened out. Shock and cowardice got the better of me.
Dada did not die. The doctors and my sister had saved him. He even looked cute with a bandage around his head. A wounded bunny and very much loved. In fact, that was not his first wound, he lost his tail before for reasons the family could not figure. Some cat or snake might've wanted to take him in their stomach, but Dada was some fighter. I added to his pains, but he gave me a great dose of guilt in return.
Top Shelf
-
None of the Lights I answered with reluctance when you invited me to a bonfire by the beach with young girls and a local who, despite her ...
-
Tooth Which child's heart didn't throb, eyes didn't widen at the taste of tooth rocking back and forth the soft slide of gum, ...
-
The Idea Write down your ideas. I did last night, got out of bed and grabbed a pen and paper and, like a child chasing fireflies, caught ...
-
The Vocalist The rest could only imitate what he alone and all alone could do: sustain, vibrate, reach unnamed colors of the soundscape. ...
-
So I have gotten into the habit of recording my piano practices because reasons (that have got to do with skills development and, admittedl...
-
Cracked open Volume 1 of Béla Bartók's Mikrokosmos (which I ordered at a music shop sometime in February ) and I am loving it so far. W...
-
Pulse (A love poem) In the beginning was a pulse that came right before any breath to birth a song or a word. It throbs even as the music...
-
The piano makes me happy, which means it makes me sad if I can't engage with it daily in some way — playing, practising, messing aroun... -
Pictures to Show The article calls for being present. That instead of taking photos of the bee Sucking on sunflower, Lock your eyes ... -
Learn slow to learn fast. Everyone will say this in one form or another, in passing or in depth. I'm quoting above the exact phrase sa...
