a tail of two critters
by lisa horak

When my husband Mike and I were newly married, we lived near Washington, D.C., where we spent Saturday mornings at Eastern Market, a bustling open-air emporium near the U.S. Capitol that sold just about everything. We sampled fresh fruit and vegetables, inhaled freshly cut flowers, and browsed the stalls filled with hand-made jewelry. But on one cold December day we made a purchase of a different nature. We bought a rabbit.

Yes, a rabbit. A man sitting on a stool had a cardboard box at his feet which was filled with the cutest baby bunnies imaginable. Seriously cute. Can’t-possibly-leave-them-there cute. So for five dollars, my husband bought me an early Christmas present—a cream colored bunny that we named Fluff. We stopped by the pet store on the way home and bought all the necessary bunny accoutrements: a cage, hay, water bottle, toys, you name it. We loved her. She was easy, the perfect low-maintenance pet. No need to rush home from work to care for a bunny. We played with her, fed her carrots, and even taught her to poop in a litter box. And despite the fact that she nibbled the woodwork of the house we were renting, she was adorable.

But this is really a story about a dog and a carefree, newly married couple. You see, I was content with our darling Fluff, but Mike wanted more. He wanted a dog. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I just wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. I wanted to be young and free and go out on the town straight from work. But Mike wanted more. He wanted a dog.

We knew exactly what we wanted, once the time was right—a Soft-Coated Wheaten Terrier, a breed we first saw, coincidentally, at the same market where we found Fluff. Wheatens look sort of like sheep dogs, only smaller, and they don’t shed, despite their abundant fluff. Combing the classifieds one Sunday we saw an ad for a litter of Wheaten puppies. Mike looked at me pleadingly, and I agreed that we could go—just to look. Needless to say, once we saw them, we couldn’t leave without one. And so, six months into our marriage and three months into life with Fluff, we got Livingston, whom we named for Livingston, Montana, a beautiful and fun little town that we both loved.

Mike and I were smitten with Livingston, even though I traded the happy hour circuit for poop cleanup. I became one of those people who shows pictures of their pets to anyone who is around, bragging about Livingston’s cuteness, from the way he tilts his head to the side to the way he would lie on our porch, butt in the air and legs splayed out behind him.

While Livingston’s star was on the rise, poor Fluff was in hell. Livingston, after all, was bred to hunt small critters like her and would chase her relentlessly whenever they were in the same space. Now most people, when faced with a pet situation that isn’t working out, take the problematic animal to “the farm,” trying to convince themselves that it will be better off. We, on the other hand, really did find a better life for Fluff. We found her a good home with a kind friend who had several pets, including another rabbit named Buns. Although our hearts were heavy, we knew we were doing the right thing when we delivered Fluff to her new home, complete with bunny companionship and indoor tunnels for burrowing.

Livingston, of course, reveled in our undivided attention. And we were definitely a little off the deep end! This was one pampered pet, from the ceramic dog dish I painted for him to his $65-dollar haircuts to the long, rambling hikes we took through the woods. We made up songs for him, one cornier and sillier than the next. And to top it all off, I had Livingston’s portrait taken as an anniversary gift for Mike. Livingston was The Man.

But as the old saying goes, nothing good lasts forever. A few years later our daughter Molly was born, and then Isabel, and Livingston had to learn about being displaced. The day Molly was born, Mike took her little hat home so that Livingston could get used to her smell. Like us, our dog had no idea what was about to hit the fan. As life with kids got increasingly hectic, Livingston’s walks became less frequent and he didn’t get brushed regularly. Worse yet, we found ourselves making up songs about the girls instead of Livingston, and we now annoyed our friends with excessive baby pictures instead of puppy portraits.

We felt badly. Really badly. But these small, new, human creatures demanded our full attention. To add insult to injury, Livingston was almost like a giant stuffed animal, played with on occasion but more often crawled on or tripped over. Amazingly he never showed any jealousy. Rather, he loved the girls instantly, presenting them regularly with his soft, wet kisses. I think for him, the best part of having kids in the house was the bounty of food found under a high chair.

The beauty of life is that things ultimately come full circle. Livingston adapted and learned to live peacefully and happily with his house full of humans. He is a gentle old soul, content to sleep more in a day than I do in a whole week. Happily, these days it is our girls who are smitten with Livingston. They love to feed him treats and sing his silly songs and show him off to their friends. Isabel is already planning to bring him to school for show and tell. The girls fight over who gets to hold his leash when we go on family walks. He is clearly enjoying a second honeymoon period.

For awhile we visited Fluff around Easter time. On our last visit, Fluff’s new human gave each of our girls a stuffed rabbit that instantly became their favorite treasures. One is named Fluff, of course, and the other is named Buns, after Fluff’s companion in her new home. So in her own way, Fluff is still part of our family.

I often wonder how Fluff is doing. I think it’s time to check in.

Lisa Horak lives in south Asheville with her husband and two daughters, Molly and Isabel. In her spare time she hikes, volunteers in classrooms, and dreams of writing children’s books.