If you’re not familiar with Robert Smith, he was a wild rabbit who lived in the side yard of our old house and we would often watch him out the window. Once I got bored and declared we should give the rabbit a name. Thinking myself clever, I joked, “How about Stu?” (As in, Rabbit Stew.) With the clout of a distinguished school headmaster, my young daughter immediately retorted that my joke was inappropriate and that the sensible choice for a name was obviously “Robert Smith.” So “Robert Smith” became a household name. As in “who can stop crying over that weird My-Little-Pony-Barbie-hybrid-thing that really just looks like a slutty teenage horse and spot Robert Smith in the yard first?!” I admit that at times I, myself, knew that Robert Smith was not in the yard, but distraction is a parenting technique I learned from my mother. See: There Was No Cat.
A year later, as my two young daughters and I were walking to our neighborhood pool, we came across the severed leg of a rabbit…we’re talking half fur, half bone. The gist of it is that while my little one, Savvy, spotted the carnage and immediately began to fret about getting some sort of bunny doctor, my then stone cold 5 year old informed her that, no, sadly the bunny that was previously attached to that leg was dead forever. She then casually suggested, “It was probably Robert Smith.” I encourage you to read the full anecdote (and see the picture) here if you haven’t already: The Tail Of Robert Smith
Cut to 2021: I’m driving with my girls (now 7 and 10) past an undeveloped field behind the local Zaxby’s chicken franchise (which is irrelevant, but I like their Zalads) when we spot an adorable lost pupper. He is so adorable that I pull over the car with the intention of rescuing him. Upon getting a closer look, our eyes focus on the bits of blood and fur flying through the tall grass as our new friend goes to town on an unfortunate, but apparently delicious little bunny.
Me: “Oh…guys that’s not a dog, it’s a coyote. He’s adorable, but he’s obviously a killer.”
Avery: “His name should be Ted.”
*Much like the time I suggested the name “Stew,” the next thing I said was purely for my own amusement, as the kids are still so young that most of my dark references go right over their heads.*
Me: “Ted’s a good name. We could name him Ted Bundy because he’s probably murdered before.”
Savvy: “No, Ted BUNNY because he kills rabbits.”
It’s rare that I miss an opportunity for a pun, and even more so when I’m outdone by a 7 year old with no concept of famous serial killers. It will be years and years before Savannah realizes how truly funny her suggestion was, but I’ll keep laughing and documenting along the way.
I’m reminded of a story my dad, Glenn (yes, THEE Glenn) tells about his childhood pet rabbit named “Ralphie” and I’m formally requesting here and now that he write a guest post to complete this family saga. Glenn, do you think you could stomach reliving it for the sake of your little girl’s blog readers?
Hare For A Good Time, Not A Long Time
Tuna: Chicken of the Sea; Rabbits: Chicken of the Fields
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