“I remember you, girl. From Paperville!”
“Right, right. The Little Cafe on the Way!” Both open their mouths further in surprise but never get to the heart of the oddity. Rabbit 02 in the corner of the fake flowery field worships on. Fertility. Much fertility.
“I remember you too, Birmingham.”
“Shut up Muff,” the fellow red fox hissed over. “I did what I had to do.”
“Yeah right, hmph.”
Rabbit 02 has a new husband. Rabbit M4, who lives just off the freeway. He usually stays over at Rabbit 02’s place because of the noise. He has a lot of patience and ironically he is a doctor too (optometrist), so more patients. When Rabbit 02’s family got together at Thanksgiving, he and Dr. Rabbid Baumbeer, Rabbit 02’s son from husband no. 3 — Rabbit 01 we’ve called him in this here blog — got along swimmingly, being fellow doctors (and swimmers) and all. Now in the last couple of weeks she’s had 3 more from M4: Uffcott, Hinton, and Winterbourne, because he was, since his birth came the first of December and the other two, slightly older triplets came out a little before midnight. They usually keep them over at the “highway house” with housekeeper Sarah because, again, of the noise. M4 is patient, but he needs a lot of quiet because of all the research he’s doing into creating a super eye capable of perpetual self healing — alien science we’re talking about here, top secret hush hush stuff. He can’t discuss it with anyone. All his friends and relatives think he’s just selfish separating himself from his children, not knowing he has very good reasons, very good indeed.
The wife finishes her worshiping and walks back over through the fake flowery field between the two girls who had turned their backs on each other, and between the two foxes who had also grown apart.
“I hear the town has a temple, dearest. I wonder if we could fit in a visit between your shops.”
“Maybe,” shot back Rabbit 02, irritated that he would ask. “Consignment store next door, or so that’s what the map says: Odds & Ends. I need to pick out some outfits for Christmas for the big ta-do at Ben the Parrot’s.”
“That foul mouth bird brain!” Rabbit M4 wanted to yell with his tongue at the top of his lungs but of course bit it. They should never have started selling those animal talkie toys, he laments.
They move next door. No consignment store there. Yet.
Instead: “Come here dear. There’s a man stuck in this picture!
Dear?”
Sunklands 