Bunny Tibbs--the clean version
When Sgt. Thomas Tibbs came home to be my forever buddy, he
was a sorry mess. He'd had surgery that
same day, he was still a bit drugged up, and he was coming into a strange new
place. These circumstances would stress
any dog, but since Thom was so shut down already, I knew he might really have a
tough time feeling safe. So on his first night home, I gifted him with Bunny, a
soft brown Easter bunny my son had given me some years ago. That night, I showed Thomas his bed, patting
it gently as I led him to it, and I introduced him to Bunny.
"Bunny will stay with you, Thomas," I told him,
and I laid Bunny on his bed as well.
I should mention here that for these first weeks, Thomas has
been sleeping in my warm, well-insulated garage, with access to the back
yard. He is in the house more and more
now, and eventually he will be sleeping inside, but we are still working
through a few issues, one of which is his inclination to come alive at
night. During the day, he is still very
shut down, but when darkness falls he becomes much more animated, investigating
his yard and sometimes getting into a bit of mischief. I attribute this to his extended stay at the
shelter; to him, his environment was only quiet and therefore only felt safe at
night.
For the first few days, while he was still recovering from
surgery, I would wake Thom early in the morning, feed him and spend some time
with him before heading off to work.
After a week or so, I came out one morning to find he was up and about,
and he'd been exploring the yard. A few
days later, he spent the night chewing up an old dog bed, and I awoke to find
bits of white stuffing spread all over the back yard. No worries; it was the old bed, not the brand
new one I'd just bought for him. A few
days later I awoke to a huge mess on the back patio; Thom had grabbed two bags
of bird seed that had been sitting out there and dragged them across the yard,
spilling seed everywhere. I cleaned up
what I could, but for days afterward my sparrows, finches and doves had a
smorgasbord upon which to feast.
I'd been buying various Nyla bones and rawhide chews for
Thom all along, as I knew he was anxious and needed an outlet, and due to his
surgery, we wouldn't be going on any long walks right away. But he had seemed
more interested in chewing other things such as his brand new brush.
Then he started excavating.
Every night he would dig one new hole in the yard. Again, I recognize this behavior as one that
emerges from his anxiety, and I know over time that anxiety will diminish, so
it doesn't really bother me. By the time
I have the garden planted in late spring, he'll be staying in the house at
night, so for now, he can turn over all the soil he wants.
Through all of his chewing and somewhat destructive
behavior, he had never touched Bunny, and I sometimes wondered why, given what
he was finding to chew on in the yard and the fact that he'd reduced a large
dog bed to piles of fluff.
Then one morning I woke to find Bunny lying in the middle of
the backyard. I picked her up, turning
her over and over, but could not find a tear or mark on her. Huh, I thought, carrying her in and dropping
her on Thom's bed.
That afternoon when I returned home from work, Bunny was
missing. I searched the yard, walking
every inch of the perimeter. She was
nowhere to be found. Thomas, of course,
did not reply when I asked him repeatedly where she'd gone. Finally, after my third thorough search of
the yard, I noticed that the soil in one of the compost boxes looked
uneven. I ran a hoe through the rich
earth--and a soggy ear flopped into the light.
I pulled it--and unearthed a very filthy Bunny. I laughed as I carried her to the garage and
threw her into the washing machine. That
night as I tucked Thomas in bed, I handed him his warm, soft Bunny right out of
the dryer.
Of course she was missing when I woke up in the
morning. This time, she was nowhere to
be found.
I called my son (whose favorite programs are true crime
documentaries) and my best friend Donna, whose advice in helping Thomas recover
has been invaluable. Both were
suspicious of Lady Boxer, the dog who lives behind us and sometimes jumps over
the fence to "visit" (as in, eating Thom's food and drinking his
water when her idiot owners leave her all alone for a weekend). I wasn't so sure, but after a week went by
with no sign of Bunny, I drove around the block and knocked on the door. I was prepared to appear foolish ("Um,
would you mind checking your back yard for my dog's stuffed rabbit?") in
order to retrieve Thom's toy. Yes, I
love him that much. Fortunately, they
weren't home.
The next morning, there was Bunny, lying on the lawn as if
she'd never left, covered with dirt but still wholly intact, not a scratch on
her.
Of course, I stupidly, foolishly, picked her up and threw
her in the washing machine again. And of
course, she immediately went missing the next day.
Poor Thomas. He's
having a tough time teaching his human to leave his toys alone.
I may not be as quick to learn as Thom, but I do eventually
figure things out. He buries Bunny during the day so she will be safe from clean-freak
humans, obnoxious cats who think they own the yard and pushy Boxer bi-- er,
females who come over uninvited. At
night, when he's anxious, he digs Bunny up and chews on her--nicely. There is a freshly dug hole in the yard, I'm
sure, for every rawhide chew I've given him, as I quickly stopped seeing any
evidence that he ever chewed them.
OK, Thom-boy, I get it now.
I promise I will never take your Bunny again.
