Those of you who grew up in the 80s might be familiar with the young adult series of books revolving around a vampiric rabbit named Bunnicula. My sister had the books, and I would go so far as to say that they got us interested in bunnies before we had a real one.
Last week when we were driving home from Oakland we decided to stop and see a movie so as not to be stuck in Bay Area commuter traffic. Consequently, we didn't get home until well after 1 a.m. Driving down I-5 through farms, desert, farms, more desert, and more farms, I saw a rabbit-shaped object on the side of the road. Bleary-eyed from having my contacts in all day, I figured it must have been a copycat bush or tumbleweed. Then... THEN! I saw another, and another, and another, and ANOTHER! I started to get excited. No way were there five random bunny-shaped shrubberies chilling on the side of the highway. These had to be the real thing. A moment later I spied another... and ANOTHER. There's just no mistaking those ears, and plants don't have glowing eyes.
But what were these desert rabbits doing out at midnight? Shouldn't they be snuggled up asleep in their burrows? Weren't they frightened by the roaring and rumbling of passing 18-wheelers? What possessed these rabbits to sit on the highway shoulder in the pitch black night?
The only valid explanation I could come up with is that these rabbits MUST be Bunniculas, and that there is an entire tribe of marauding desert vampire bunnies inhabiting the San Joaquin Valley. I saw at least eleven of them, munching roadside grasses in a most ferocious manner.
That, clearly, was the most logical conclusion. Vampire bunnies using the cover of night to grab a snack without revealing themselves to the world.
They just didn't count on me and my bun-dar rolling through their turf. It's OK, Bunniculas, your secret is safe with me. I respect rabbits who have a vicious streak a mile wide.
There are Bunniculas everywhere. Some hide out in plain sight, and can be identified only by their evil, glowing eyes.