Yesterday Hugo disappeared again. Again. For a third time.
He burrowed under the fence, in the soft, wet dirt and escaped into the neighbours yard. There was even a telltale bit of fluff, stuck on the fence, a marker of his escape.
I am starting to think he doesn’t like us.
Or maybe, as some friends on twitter have suggested, he has a double life.
Maybe he is a spy. Like of those animals out of that Dogs and Cats movie.
Maybe he is saving hungry babies somewhere, or working towards world peace. Or simply trying to save us from the new Tony Abbot election ads.
Maybe he has a bunny girlfriend somewhere.
Tucked up in her cage, he bounds over and sits wistfully next to her cage, pining away the hours, discussing a future when they both can be free, until he gets too hungry and has to return home.
Maybe he has a second family. Somewhere where the roses are plentiful, the lettuce garden free and there are no children to put bows on his ears. Maybe they let him jump on the bed, without scooping him off and allow him free range to chew cords and unlimited supplies of carrots and grapes.
This time the neighbours found him bounding across the road, as if he had every right in the world to be right in the middle of it. They kindly scooped him up and bought him back to us at 11.30pm last night. We are the family who’s pet escapes; they are all getting to know us now.
He now seems to be sulking in his cage. Maybe we interrupted his grand plans for world domination.
Or maybe he is simply a cheeky bunny. A very cheeky bunny.