Grave Digger

Yesterday promised to be a great day, but deserves a do-over from the get-go.

Yesterday the rabbit died.

No, not that rabbit. Our last remaining pet rabbit, Lil Joe. He was an adorably soft mini rex who lived to the ripe old age of 5. That's good for a small, long-eared rodent. He was Myrtle the Younger's baby. With that said, I can honestly say I am thrilled to be out of the bunny care business. Give me a dog any day (just not one that yaps incessantly).

My day started in its usual manner (moaning, groaning, ignoring the alarm, etc) and I dragged my lazy carcass out of bed to find Lil Joe in early stages of rigor mortis. Yippee. Fortunately it was a Saturday. Unfortunately it was a busy Saturday during the Christmas season. I sent a quick text to a friend I was supposed to meet for breakfast and set about informing Myrtle the Younger of the family tragedy and finding a coffin for said bunny (a toner box worked really well). In the meantime MTY decides that her pet needs to be buried with his sister, Livvy, and his older Californian brother, Macamacadon (I didn't name these rabbits) on Mimi's property. Okay, I didn't plan a 3 hour road trip today, but no biggie.

So, I continue with the established plan of the day which included a Christmas tea at our church with Mimi, following which Myrtle and I picked up the coffin and drove down to Mimi's to conduct an appropriate burial. We stopped for dinner, where I got out of my car and promptly rammed my shin into the trailer hitch extending about 18 inches from the back a big ass truck. Only a few curse words were delicately thrown into the universe.

We eventually proceeded to the farm. By then it was dark, so we chose a burial site close to where the house lights could help us out. Now we are talking about a Texas evening in early December here: dark, chilly, windy, digging in thick Texas black clay soil. After chiseling for a moment, we hit what I think is a bed liner that my mother or grandmother had used in the old flower bed. I was incorrect.

Out of 50 acres, we had to dig in the spot that Miss Hissy was  buried. Yea! I can hear that damn cat hissing at me from beyond the grave.

So, we cover up the cat, move a few feet over and proceed to chisel and scrape our way to a barely deep enough grave to cover one toner box stuffed with bunny. Task complete. I hurt but nothing that a bucket of pain meds can't help.

On a good note, on the drive home, Myrtle got to experience a Christmas classic, Santa Claus and His Old Lady by Cheech and Chong.

Let the holidays commence!

T