The story I read to my son when stressing the proper care of animals.
| Bunny Bites
"Josh, get your ass out of bed. You are not sleeping the summer away," I said to my loveable but lazy twelve-year-old son. It was the same conversation I had with the atmosphere every day. Exasperated, ice water over the head was my next plan of action. Luckily, I had not found the need to resort to that tactic. It was being held in reserve.
"What you want? I'm up."
"If you want breakfast, I need to see you at the table."
"Aw mom, just five more minutes, please."
"Get out of bed now!" I began using my mean mom voice. It didn't always work, but it made me feel better.
Josh moved slowly, with each movement prolonged. In typical Josh fashion, he ambled down the hall with zombie-like steps. Ten minutes later, he arrived in the kitchen.
"Cereal or oatmeal. It's a make-it-yourself and eat-it-yourself day. I have stuff to do."
I stopped him in mid-sentence with my perfected mom glare.
"I have made a list of chores for you that I need to be done today. Let me read them to you. Cut the grass. Take out the trash. Clean the rabbit cages. Feed and water said rabbits," I said being very precise, having learned long ago the needed method for dealing with kids.
"But mom, I was going to get together with Pete."
"Plenty of time later to socialize. What are your plans?"
"Hanging out, here or there. Can I do that stuff later?"
"No, the poor rabbits are in desperate need. I think that 4-H project of yours has headed south. You never feed or water them. I don't have the time to do your job. If you want to keep those animals, you have to do the work. I'm leaving now, so get this list done before I get home. Got it?"
I left the house assuming that my demands would be met, but apparently, it was wishful thinking. Josh had made a small effort to cut the grass, with a zigzag cut pattern left as evidence. When I returned home the gaming equipment was spread out in the living room. Angry, I went in search of my wayward son. My anger grew as I looked for him. I went to his bedroom, thinking he had chosen to return to the comfort of his bed.
When I entered the room, I found three gray bunnies sitting on the bed. They weren't the cute pets of memory. Their eyes were glazed in the frenzy of a feast. Fangs, painted in red, protruded from their mouths. Three noses wiggled frantically in search of further food. My son's remains were sprawled across the bed with the central part of his face missing. The bunnies ignored me and returned to the gnawing of flesh and blood. They would dine until sated.
"Dammit, I told you to feed those adorable, starving rabbits!" were the only words this mother could muster.
Word count 496