Shuttle Bunnies

Years ago, when I was working for a small and under-funded medical research organization, my coworkers and I had developed a reputation as scavengers nonpareil.

Supplies, equipment, lab space, whatever - we were the acknowledged masters at, shall we say, novel methods of procurement. A researcher in another department, home from sabbatical, returned to his office to find it nearly devoid of furniture. What could we say?...it wasn't nailed down and we needed desks and chairs.

One day, out of the blue, the scavenger's network brought us a call. A research group in a neighboring city had purchased a large number of rabbits, New Zealand Whites, for a project that had been canceled. Free for the taking, we just had to come and get them.

The boss, at whose feet I had learned the finer points of "making do", had his car keys in hand before the receiver hit the cradle. "Fold down the backseat of my car and fill it with cages" he said gleefully, "We're going on a bunny run".

Folding down the backseat of his car I quickly discovered that the cargo capacity of a '73 Chevette, if properly configured, will accommodate two - count 'em two - rabbit cages. Undeterred, the boss declared that we'd figure something out when we got there, and down the highway we went.

Arriving at our destination an hour later we entered the facility to find cage after cage of prime untouched bunnies. With a twinkle in his Irish eye and palpitations in his Scotsman's heart, the boss asked "How many can we have?". "As many as you like" came the reply.

"Load 'em up" I was told. Using a technique later perfected on the Japanese subway system I managed to squeeze four rabbits into each cage. We'd driven fifty miles for eight rabbits.

The boss, quickly calculating the cost savings per rabbit by the mileage expenses needed only a moment to decide - "See how many you can fit in the rest of the car".

I began tossing in bunnies wherever I could find space. This soon became a losing game, as I'd open the door to shove in one rabbit and two more would hop out. Working quickly I managed to cram twenty six more into the odd nooks and crannies of the Chevette.

Biding an avaricious adieu to our benefactors, we headed back to work, feeling like we'd just lined up three cherries in Vegas.

The rabbits were soon feeling lucky too. Very lucky. Amorously lucky. Those that weren't feeling amorous were feeling quarrelsome. Some were feeling both. Some apparently had read the lapine version of the Karma Sutra. There were threesomes. Foursomes. Gang bangs and rumbles. By the time we hit the interstate the fur was, quite literally, flying...as were rabbit feces, urine and probably some other bunnily fluids.

Now, in case you didn't know, rabbits do two things with exceptional enthusiasm...the lesser known is fighting, although the more commonly known activity also involved a fair amount of biting, scratching, kicking and vocalization.

To this day my most vivid memory of that road trip remains glancing over into the other lane as a school bus slowly passed alongside and seeing dozens of young faces pressed against the bus windows, agape with childish wonderment, peering down at our traveling roadshow of lascivious lapines.

Although a close second is the memory of seeing the boss arrive at work each morning after that, for months on end, exiting his befouled Chevette, his suit liberally covered with white rabbit fur.

Mike McCrea is still not sure how he UNloaded the Chevette full of rabbits, but when his hypnotherapist finally extracts this knowlege from his subconscious, Mike plans to go into business in sardine transport. And fire the hypnotherapist.