This is St. John (pronounced Sinjun). As far as I know he's the world's only flying bunny. And, like flying reindeer, I only have the proof that he did it; I didn't get to witness the event. In fact, the whole thing was so traumatic It's taken me this long to write about it. St. John has been here nearly two weeks. He is the most wonderful little bunny. When he arrived he was about 5 weeks old and before you ask, no, I did not plan to add another bunny. Especially a boy bunny, but at a bunny meeting I discovered that Fergal matured into much too small a specimen of bunnyhood to reproduce (I mean, he's capable, but short bunny genes aren't ones we want to pass along, so to speak) so he's going to just continue on his life as a spoiled pet. I might check into getting him fixed though as his spraying has gotten really bad.
Anyway, I saw St. John's father at the bunny meeting and St. John needed a home and well, here he is. He has THE most lovely fiber. When you blow on it you can see how crimpy it is. His father was absolutely stunning and his mom was beautiful too. Because the house is Fergal's domain and smelling other bunnies around the place just makes him mark more territory I've been letting St. John run around in places where Fergal isn't allowed to go and also on the porch, where it doesn't matter because it's mostly self-cleaning out there since there's no roof. The other bunnies have been out there and I've never had a problem. Until St. John.
I put him out one day and decided to just skip down to the mailbox to post some letters. I wasn't gone five minutes and when I got back I went out to collect St. John. Except that he wasn't there. Anywhere. HE WAS GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No amount of exclamation marks can fully convey my horror. When it finally sank in that he really WASN'T THERE it also began to sink in that I could hear flopping noises UNDER THE PORCH. Now, let me explain at this point that the porch floor is at least 9 feet from the ground at its closest point.
First thought that went through my head, "He's fallen and broken his back and he's under the porch writhing around in agony!!!" I flew around the house and as soon as I could see under the porch I saw that a) St. John was indeed under the porch and b) St. John did not appear to be hurt in any way, but he was seriously FREAKED OUT. He was running back and forth thumping loudly. I was terrified that he was going to take off and I'd never catch him. I tried talking in a soft voice as I approached, but he was waaaaaaaaay too freaked out. The look on his face plainly said that he knew I was going to eat him. My son had left an aquarium under the porch at some point and St. John kept running behind it on his trips back and forth. So I quietly moved it against the foundation and on his next lap he ran right into it and I grabbed him. Not gracefully. I grabbed the first thing that met my hand, which happened to be his big bunny slippers.
That's when he started screaming.
And when I say screaming, I mean screaming. High and shrill, like a terrified woman. And he kept screaming. It seemed like hours. I petted him and told him it was okay and he screamed and screamed. I was sure he'd gotten hurt somehow and was going to quietly die from internal injuries. I bawled my head off and sat in the house with him on my lap for at least fifteen minutes howling like a baby. St. John barely moved. I put him in his cage. He laid down. I brought him into the bathroom with me while I got ready to leave. Usually he hopped around on the floor. He laid down. I was sure he was hurt. But after about fifteen minutes he started to perk up and eat and act normal. Turns out he's fine; I think he was in shock. I, on the other hand, may never recover.
Never a dull day at Reindeer Station Farm . . .
So, yes, in case anyone asks you; bunnies CAN fly.
