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WriteOut of Her Mind

by Kelly Waterhouse




Funny bunny

I have the craziest dreams. My head on the pillow is my entryway into a virtual reality influenced by whatever happened to me or around me that day.

So, when I dreamt that I met the Easter Bunny on the Elora Cataract Trail in an early morning haze, it made perfect sense that he would be there. (It also made perfect sense that I was exercising in the early morning, because yeah, that would happen.)

The fact that the Easter Bunny was using the Belwood section of the trail was totally plausible too, because it’s one of my favourite sections. And let’s face it, if you must hop about carrying a basket full of chocolate treats, you want a clear-cut path to head down, not to mention the security benefits of tall grass and thick brush sidelines to hide if, say, Mr. Fox happens to be out jogging. (Different dream).

The Easter Bunny appeared out of nowhere, leaping directly into my path. We startled each other. Struck by genuine curiosity, we sized each other up.

He was a little taller than I expected: a full two feet when propped on his hind legs. His coat was seasonally appropriate; shades of brown, blending in with the early spring surroundings.  His tail was perfectly white and his long ears were pointed straight up as if always on alert. But it was the bow tie that really threw me off. Polka dots. So cliché. I expected better.

In his paws was a large rounded wicker basket stuffed full of Easter chocolate treats. When our eyes met, he asked, grumpily, “What are you looking at?” 

The little rabbit had a deep, rough voice, suggesting he was perhaps compensating for his tiny stature. Hard to say really. Maybe he smoked a pack a day. I wasn’t judging. But he had all the attitude and sardonic wit I expected of a celebrity rabbit unaware that he had just met his match.

 “Why do you drop off eggs if you’re a rabbit?” I asked, patronizingly. “Why isn’t there an Easter Chicken?”

He rolled his big eyes, suggesting I lacked originality.

 “Would you prefer I leave little black raisins?” he responded, dryly. Feisty little fella.

He looked up at my curvy, statuesque frame (shush, I’m still dreaming) and asked, “Why do you only get on this trail when you’re dreaming? Is exercise really something you think you can afford to put off at your age?”

Touché. Well played funny bunny. And just like that we were fast friends.

Silly rabbit, it was all just a dream. I awoke in a pool of drool and rolled over to find tiny balls of foil wrappers on my bedside table, evidence of the chocolate binge I enjoyed the night before while thinking about exercise.

Let’s say I was practicing visualization techniques using chocolate aids. But trust me, if the Easter Bunny rips me off on chocolate treats this year, I will dream about introducing him to the jogging fox ... my dream, my rules.

 

 

Vol 51 Issue 13

 
 

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The Foxes
March 30 2018 | 12:01
Oh my! You had us rolling with this one! We are The Foxes and my husband reads me your article every week. Not because I can't read, I just can't be bothered with newspapers. But when Mr Fox was constantly laughing when he read your articles, saying he "had the vision" because he has a great imagination, he started reading and sharing your articles aloud with me. So now when the paper comes and he gets to your column, he gets his voice all cleared up and with much fanfare, announces "KELLY!" and proceeds to read it to me. Well, this week you have him convinced that you are dreaming about him LOL as if he'd ever be out jogging! Don't worry Carpenter it's only a dream. Thanks for our weekly giggles and keep up the good work! Mr and Mrs Fox
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