Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog

Of my four scars whose stories I remember, my favorite (big surprise) is the rabbit-generated one, resulting from a bunny kiss FAIL. 

The other three stories that I remember, in age order are as follows:

Right eyebrow: My parents tell me that when I was about five years old, I fell out of the car head first into loose gravel. I don’t remember the incident, but there is a slight bare spot in that eyebrow, so I’ll have to take their word that something happened.

Left knee: Virtually immediately after getting a brand new, red Schwinn 3-speed bicycle when I was about 9 years old, I rode it down to the end of the street, made too sharp a turn to come back, and promptly wiped out.

Left breast: When I was in college, I had a small lump removed. Nobody ever thought it was cancerous or had the possibility to be, but it was one of those peace of mind things. My surgeon was Dr. John Najarian, a pioneer in organ transplant. I did not know that at the time. He went from fame to infamy to acquittal.

Lower lip: My second rabbit was Hilda. (For those of you keeping score, she is the rabbit who Chris Gargan named. (I should really give Chris his own tag!)). She was a regal Checkered Giant (aka Papillon to you Europeans). The breed is described as “lively” and it’s no lie!

I had decided on her breed long before it became necessary to have something in mind, and picked her up at a rabbit show in Hutchinson, Minnesota, when she was about eight weeks old. She was a large personality from the get-go. She and the cats (my two former cats, Dhia (tortoise shell) and Yul (black)) had a mutual admiration society.

Hilda and I got along just fine, too, after I learned about her personal space issues.

One evening when she was still fairly young, she was lounging (rather than chewing) on the couch. She just looked so adorable that I had to lean in for a bunny kiss. My previous rabbit Hazel had been good at that, my current rabbit Robbin is very good at that. You meet the rabbit halfway, and he or she bumps noses with you.

Well, not Hilda, bless her sweet heart. There were still inches between us, but she lunged up and grabbed my lip with her pointy teeth. I think we were both surprised. I looked in the bathroom mirror and through the blood, discovered that there was a V-shaped piece of skin flapping in the breeze.

In hindsight, I certainly should have gone to get stitches. Instead, I’m left with a permanent reminder of my Peanut.