I couldn’t write. It was pissing rain and cold cold cold. I loved it! It meant no people but probably no Horace either which saddened me a little. My hare friend and I had had many deep and totally meaningless conversations over the past 3 months. I liked Horace and we had a good time chatting. I decided to defy the weather Gods and go for a walk.
Horizontal rain is common in Connemara at this time of year, late January. It saves on the shower water, removes the crud from one’s eyes and boogers from the nasal passages. 30 minutes into my soaking saunter over the hills and dales the weather turned even worse and so I sought shelter.
I spotted a copse of trees yonder and so slipped and slushed my way into them. As I began to shake the water and hailstones from my facial orifices, something clonked me on the back of my head knocking me unconscious.
Some time later I was awakened by the smell of rich tobacco emanating from Horace’s pipe.
“You okay Al?” He asked with some concern.
I sat up and rubbed the bump on my rear pate.
“Yes Horace thanks, I think so.”
“Something hit me that’s all I can remember . . . except . . . ”
“Oh nothing . . . this sounds silly . . .”
“Well . . . I seem to remember a rabbit of sorts, with little dreadlocks and a pink tutu jumping up and down on my chest . . . weird huh?”
“Oh dear? What’s that mean Horace?” I asked.
‘Er . . . it’s my daughter Clarissa . . . my adopted daughter, I hasten to add, poor girl is not right in the head and she is a rabbit after all.”
“You think?” ”
“I’m sorry Al, but she’s got issues.”
“Issues? She could have killed me!”
“Oh I doubt that. She was probably just warning you off. I mean you did enter her space” he said.
“Her space? I didn’t see a sign saying ‘Watch out! Don’t Enter! Mad crazy psycho rabbit lives here!'”
“Ah now Al, that’s not necessary, be nice.”
“Why . . . why should I be nice . . . ?” I asked him indignantly.
“Er . . . maybe because she’s behind you with a rock in her hand and she’s not smiling.”
I slowly turned my head expecting another wallop but none came.
“Clarrisa . . . er . . . I’m Al . . . I live down the road . . .”
“I know who you are . . . AL . . . me and Mungo know all about you.”
I turned back to Horace and mouthed the word “Mungo?”.
Horace rolled his eyes as he dragged on his Meacham pipe.
“Horace! I saw that! You know Mungo is my friend, why do you do that?” she asked tears welling in her eyes.
“Well . . . er . . . ”
I turned back to Clarissa “Can I meeet Mungo, please?”
She looked me up and down suspiciously before dropping the stone and grabbing my hand leading me into ‘her’ field once more.
“Al, this is my friend Mungo, Mungo, this is the writer I mentioned” she said pulling my hand over to where her imaginary pal was.
I made the appropriate movements with my hand. “Nice to meet you Mungo” At that Clarrisa jumped up and down excitedly.
“Told ya! Told ya Horace! Didn’t I tell ya humans are easily fooled? Ha Ha.”
“And insincere at that . . .” piped Horace.
Clarrisa turned to me after she calmed down, hands on hips.
“You’re an idiot you know that huh? There is no Mungo, you just shook hands with thin air ha ha ha, got you!”
Then she straightened up and squinted at me “I’m watching you crackerhead” pointing at her eyes with her front paws before racing off down the field.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Clarrisa, my adopted daughter, I told you.” said Horace sheepishly.
“Did you have a choice on who to adopt?”
“Well . . . yea, of course, why?”
“I think you picked the wrong one.” I said smiling.
We both watched as Clarrisa stopped and did Kung Fu with her ‘friend’, doing somersaults between running in circles.
“Well yes I suppose I did. But then again who wants to raise a ‘perfect child’?” He said dragging on his Meacham.
“Got that right.’ I said putting my arm around his shoulder as we strolled back to our wall.