Here bunny, bunny, bunny.

Yesterday as I was driving down a road, I saw a bunny leaving a school's parking lot. Not like a wild rabbit, but somebody's white fluffy bunny pet. I turned the suburban around, left two confused three year olds in the car and went to catch the rabbit. The next few minutes went something like this:



I finally caught the bunny and went to the teacher who was on recess with his class, and I said, "does this bunny belong to you?" "No." "oh..." "One of these neighbors raises rabbits and lets them roam around. We had four in our playground this morning."

So, I let the bunny go, and went back to the suburban where two three year olds kept asking, "why'd you let the bunny go?" and "can we take it home?" Having to explain that the bunny belonged to someone else proved to be almost as difficult as trying to explain the concept of an "actor". To this day, they think that after Mary Poppins left, Dick Van Dyke moved north, had two blonde children, and then tinkered around with chitty chitty bang bang, and that Brendan Fraser moved from Africa, to Canada to be a Mounty, and then to Los Angeles where he was aided by Bugs Bunny to save his spy father, Timothy Dalton, from the evil Steve Martin.