Too soon
I’m taking a writing class at the moment and this week the instructor assigned an Italo Calvino story about ants. I didn’t get it read in time because my brain in the ninety minutes before class said not today Jeannie. I will get to it, I promise! I’ve to get a train tonight. Maybe then. During the class we took the opening line of the story to prompt a mini story of our own. Here is mine:
When we came to settle here we did not know about the rabbits. If we had known the old man next door kept rabbits, we would not have allowed our rescue greyhound off her leash to explore the garden at the back of the house. We would have easily prevented a massacre. No one warned us about the rabbits. Or even told us. Rabbits are noteworthy. Surely you mention a garden full of rabbits. They had not been hopping across the old man’s lawn the days we viewed the house and visited with surveyors and other men in jeans. Apparently they had been at his sisters for a few weeks while he was in the hospital. Our dog killed a sick man’s rabbits. We had no chance. What happened next was biblical: we were shunned, a crucifixion was called for, my husband fled in the night with the dog without telling me, I was spat at, a rock was thrown through the window, eventually the house was sold again, we made a loss. Years later, our dog long dead after a long life, we sat in a gastropub. We held thin paper seasonal menus. My husband said he was going to get the rabbit stew so he could see what all the fuss was about.