It was the morning we were leaving for vacation.
We decided to go to the park to let the girls run around at the Children’s Farm before stuffing them in the car for the 9 hour trip to the beach. Great idea, right?
We thought so, too.
We got to the park and started picking our route. First, we’d look at the big old pigs. Next up was the bunnies and chickens. Then we’d go to the goats and birds. Eventually we’d find the peacock and we’d finish big with the chock full-o-personality donkey.
We never made it past the poultry.
As we rounded the corner to the bunnies, Peanut asked if she could pet them. These are bunnies who are handled by hundreds of kids per week during school and camp visits.
The bunny hopped right on over and Peanut gently stroked his (her?) head. Pumpkin decided to join in the fun, too.
I don’t think Pumpkin (who is 1) quite gets the idea that you pet the TOP of the bunnies head. So she stuck her hand right near the bunny’s mouth.
I was watching and I didn’t even see it happen until it was too late. But as I was saying, “Be careful, honey,” I saw it. Blood trickling out of the bunny’s mouth and Pumpkin’s finger stuck inside.
I got her finger out and realized that Pumpkin was doing the breathless, silent scream of terror.
I looked at her finger. When I tell you it was gushing blood, I don’t do it justice. There was blood on the sidewalk, blood on the bunny, and blood all. over. her. I got the least amount of blood on me and my shirt looked like this:
When we got it cleaned off, I could tell her finger was going to need far more medical attention than a kiss and a band aid.
So off to Patient First we went.
Turns out, they don’t stitch animal bites because of the preponderance of infection. Who knew? Pumpkin had to be put on antibiotics and they used steri-strips (a.k.a butterfly bandages) to keep the wound shut before bandaging her up.
I was ready for the worst but Pumpkin was a freaking warrior. She ooched a little as they took x-rays (no crush injury, thank goodness) and as they bandaged her up. But she was giggling in between. My little trooper.
Then they dropped the bomb. “Don’t get her hand wet at all for 10 days.”
I heard the proverbial record skip.
“Wait, what? We are on our way to the beach for TWO WEEKS. You want me to not let her go to the beach or in the pool?”
“That would be ideal,” said the doctor.
Oh, crap. Ohcrapohcrapohcrap.
That’s the TRUE story of how a vampire bunny attacked my 1 year old. Sort of. And now, whenever I see a rabbit, I don’t see cute and fuzzy. I see this:
And I want to do this:
Ok, Ok not really. I wouldn’t really hurt a bunny, not even the one that mangled Pumpkin’s little finger. And yes, I know that bunnies eat stuff that is put in their mouth, even if that is a 1-year-old’s hand.
But I can’t speak for Pumpkin’s big sister, who, at five years old, now HATES rabbits with the fire of a thousand suns. And I don’t blame her. The fight response is genetic, apparently.
So watch out, Bugs Bunny, because Peanut could be coming for YOU.
Consider yourself warned.