Hutch Ado About Nothing
Carrie crouched beside a ramshackle rabbit hutch and watched as her boyfriend tried to squeeze through its narrow door.
She’d thought it looked cramped and dingy, really too small for a poor bunny to live in. ‘Nah,’ Nick had replied. ‘There’s plenty of space. You could fit a person in there and they’d be quite happy.’
Carrie had rolled her eyes and said, ‘Go on, then.’
Nick wasn’t the type to admit when he was backed into a corner. It took time, but he finally, after more effort than he’d ever admit, forced himself all the way inside. He peered out of the mesh window at Carrie. ‘See,’ he said. ‘It’s fine. Plenty of room.’ Beside him, a confused rabbit wrinkled its nose. According to a nearby sign, his name was Herman. Nick tried to leave the hutch but, somehow, wasn’t able to get out again. His shoulders were wedged tight. ‘Um,’ he muttered, head sticking out of the door and red in the face, ‘I seem to be stuck.’
Carrie shrugged and, as she’d long grown bored of Nick, simply left the pet store and went about her day.
A week or so later, however, she grew curious about what had become of Nick and ambled back to the shop. Nick was no longer in the hutch, although Herman remained, chewing on straw. She asked the man behind the counter, whose name tag read ‘Hi, my name is Dale!’ about Nick.
‘Oh, we sold him a couple of days ago,’ Dale said.
Carrie was now doubly curious. Who on earth would buy Nick? He was a bit smelly and barely house trained. She could find out, though. She’d had tracking software installed on his phone, back when she’d thought he was having an affair with Nelly from the fancy cake shop. In fact, he’d just become temporarily addicted to cream horns. She simply clicked a couple of icons on her own phone and – bingo – she had Nick’s exact location.
Whoever had bought Nick lived in the posh end of town. Carrie took an Uber and hopped out at the address. She peered over the fence. There she saw a woman, somewhere in her forties it looked like, in a garden chair. The woman had Nick cradled in her lap like a baby. She was feeding him a carrot and scratching him behind the ears. ‘Whoosa a good bunny-wunny?’ she simpered. ‘Yoosa good bunny-wunny, yes oo is!’ Nick showed every sign of enjoying this bizarre behaviour. He grinned widely, went for another bite, then stretched out luxuriously. At the far end of the yard was the hutch. It looked little used, and Carrie suspected Nick slept in the house rather than the garden. A flicker of jealousy sparked inside her. She looked over at the house. It was large, spotlessly clean, and decorated with trellises and hanging baskets. Through a window, she could see a plate of cream horns on a table.
Carrie took another Uber home, thinking. She didn’t miss Nick, not really. They hadn’t been very well-matched. But she did miss attention, affection and companionship. She had to admit it. She was lonely. Nick, on the other hand, clearly wasn’t. She reached a decision. She walked back to the pet shop. She opened the door of the rabbit hutch. She squeezed inside, more easily than Nick had, and elbowed aside a visibly annoyed Herman. And she sat there and waited.
A couple of hours later, a small pigtailed girl approached. ‘Mummy, look at the pretty bunny,’ squealed the child, pointing at Carrie. ‘Can we get her, please, please, please!’ The mother nodded.
‘Why, she is a cutie, isn’t she, Daisy?’ she said. Carrie beamed and wiggled her nose. ‘Oh, that’s so sweet, isn’t it? Okay, we can get her.’ Daisy nearly exploded with joy.
Soon after, Dale appeared, picked Carrie up, put her in a box and handed it to the girl’s mother. He charged them £50, and threw in a couple of rabbit toys and a bag of ‘gourmet’ rabbit food. The bag featured a picture of a cartoon rabbit with a top hat and a monocle. Daisy was bouncing up and down with excitement, squeaking ‘bunnybunnybunny!’
Herman watched them leave, turning a chunk of carrot round and round in his mouth. Dale crouched in front of the hutch. ‘It’ll be your turn eventually, buddy,’ he said, and gave the rabbit a scratch. Herman, who couldn’t have cared less, blinked at him noncommittally and went to sleep.
David Cook’s stories have been published in Ellipsis Zine, Bending Genres, Janus Literary, and more. He’s a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. He lives in Bridgend, Wales, with his wife and daughter. You can find him on Twitter @davidcook100.