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September 10, 2004
Baby bunnies for New Year's?
Israeli tradition leads a family to become pet owners for the
first time.
BRIAN BLUM SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH BULLETIN
Pop quiz: what is the biggest gift-giving holiday in Israel? If
you answered Chanukah, you would be thinking in overseas terms,
where the influence of a certain other holiday in December has turned
the once minor Festival of Lights into a major deal. In Israel,
Rosh Hashanah is the clear leader and, in another twist from Diaspora
traditions, the focus is on receiving presents from work rather
than family and friends.
Indeed, when the economy was better than it is today, gifts from
the bigger corporations could top upwards of $150 per person, sometimes
paid in gift certificates, sometimes as toaster ovens, DVD players
or decorative wine racks. I don't know how it happened exactly,
but the gift-giving tradition somehow filtered down to our own little
expatriate household in Israel. I guess Jody and I are the closest
thing to a corporate entity in our children's eyes. And so, every
September, the kids begin hinting.
Just before Rosh Hashanah three years ago, we were walking down
to the neighborhood pizza parlor with the family. As we passed the
local pet shop, what should we see in the window but these two adorable
little white bunnies? The kids were immediately entranced.
I thought: rabbits – how much trouble could that be? (Anyone
who has ever owned one of these cursed creatures is probably doubled
over in hysterics just about now. But I get ahead of myself....)
"They're dwarf bunnies," the nice salesclerk in the pet
store explained. "They'll always stay as small as they are
today." That sounded appropriate for apartment dwellers like
us.
"Can we get them, can we?" then seven-year-old Merav and
nine-year-old Amir chanted in near unison. Two-year-old Aviv was
too young at the time to say anything.
"OK," my wife Jody and I consented – too easily I
must say (Jody has later claimed that we must have been temporarily
delusional). It's just that it seemed like such a good idea at the
time.
At first, things went quite swimmingly. The kids spent lots of time
playing with the bunnies, holding them, feeding them. Jody chaired
the clean-the-cage brigade without much complaint and everyone pitched
in. I felt the older kids were really learning some important lessons
about taking responsibility for living things.
The bunnies were given free run of the house and we were flabbergasted
when they toilet trained themselves: they only "made"
in a corner of the kitchen, in an old dust pan! How considerate,
really.
The kids named one bunny Snow, since he was all white. The other
was called Patch because he had a brown nose and a patch of color
on his left foot.
As time went on, however, the kids became less interested in caring
for Patch and Snow, and the bunnies apparently reciprocated in kind
by leaving their tell-tale pellets all around the house, usually
behind the hardest-to-move pieces of furniture. When they chewed
through a telephone wire, they were relegated to the outside terrace
in warm months and to their cage in winter. As their presence in
the house became less of a novelty, they wound up spending most
of the spring and summer in their small cage as well. They now seemed
to fight as often as they cleaned each others' fur.
When Amir, who had from the beginning been their greatest champion,
announced that even he was bored with them because, as he put it,
"they don't show any love in return," it was clear that
the bunnies would have to go. But how?
I suggested that we set them free in a nice green field. They'd
savor their freedom while providing concrete evidence in support
of Darwin's theory of natural selection. The kids looked at me like
I was a psychopath.
They were similarly appalled when I proposed cooking up some yummy
bunny stew. We could serve it alongside the apples at Rosh Hashanah,
giving a whole new twist to the traditional holiday song. Sing along
with me: Dip the apples in the bunnies....
"You're kidding. Right, Abba?" Aviv asked, entirely mortified.
"Of course I am sweetie," I replied, doing some instant
damage control and thinking sarcasm is truly wasted on the young.
Instead, we put an advertisement on a local e-mail list. We received
a number of responses and Jody interviewed each of them for suitability.
It was like we were putting our kids up for adoption; we needed
to find a "good family."
We finally settled on a young, newly married yeshivah student named
Yoni who wanted to give his wife a special surprise for her birthday.
She loved animals and this seemed – to her loving husband –
a unique (and inexpensive) gift. He was sure she'd be thrilled.
(Clearly they hadn't been married that long.)
On his wife's birthday, at 4:30 in the afternoon, our entire family
piled into the car and we bade one last farewell to Patch and Snow.
Yoni's wife was surprised, to say the least, but she took to them
quickly.
Amir remained impassive throughout the entire operation. I saw a
few moments of emotion on Merav's face, but she took it well. Aviv
asked if we could come back and see them sometime. Bunny visitation
rights?
We've now been bunny-less for three months and I must say I can
barely remember those heady, smelly days of yore. As the High Holy
Days approached this year, I couldn't help being reminded of that
fateful day, three years ago, when we became pet owners for the
first – and perhaps last – time.
However, the other afternoon, in the lead-up to this year's Rosh
Hashanah gift-giving frenzy, we passed by the pet store again on
our way to pizza. And there in the window was this adorable little
puppy. Jody and I have managed to resist the temptation, the demands,
the expectations and the whining.
Well, at least so far.
Brian Blum writes the syndicated column This Normal Life
at www.ThisNormalLife.com.
E-mail him at [email protected].
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