Shit Storms & Sunshine

Boy Scout texted me saying that that Ellie, our perfect princess of a Corgi, “got a baby bunny” in the yard. Oh shit.

I really did not want any more details at that point even though I could tell Boy Scout wanted to share, so let’s just say he took care of the problem.

He then located the bunny nest in the backyard, in a shallow spot in fairly plain sight, where my two dogs freely roam, play, and poop. Both dogs were very curious, therefore, we were very nervous.

Boy Scout conveniently left for a trip. Effer.

I spent time Googling the hell out of “taking care of baby bunnies” and became quite an expert in like 4 minutes so I decided to place our plastic laundry basket over the 2 remaining bunnies. You see, according to Google, this would give them some protection (from curious/attack dogs) while still allowing mother bitch bunny to scoot under to feed them. You see, according to Google, mother bitch bunny only hops by to feed her babies for like 5 minutes at night. I guess she is busy slutting it up the rest of the day. Seriously, what the eff? HOW IN THE WORLD do bunnies survive when bitch bunny mom only spends 5 effing minutes a night with them?! Now I’m pissed.

Anyway, I became obsessive bunny mom and went into protector mode. Then I think I effed up.

One evening, before bed, I decided to go check on the bunny duo and I’m preeetttty sure it must have been during that 5 effing minute window when bitch bunny mom was visiting the kids and airing out her bunny muffin. If so, I scared her away. Oh shit. Did she finish feeding them? Will she come back?

Next morning, I booked out to I checked on them again and almost spilled my damn coffee. One did not survive the night. Oh shit. MOTHER EFFER. Are you kidding me?

Both bunnies were still under the laundry basket and there was no evidence of any “attack” involved thankfully but COME ON. I gathered myself and took care of the problem.

Feeling defeated, I kept the laundry basket over the last bunny that I named “Honey Bunny” and vowed to protect her little ass until she was big enough to leave the nest. To me all bunnies are girls by the way, although we all know that can’t be true.

Honey Bunny finally started to wander a bit, so I was getting amped up that she might leave the nest soon but she was so damn slow and I didn’t know if slut mom would be returning again so I kept moving the laundry basket over her as she wandered to try to protect her. That was fun.

That evening I needed to do a grocery/wine run as mom (Diann) and my step-father were coming for Labor Day weekend. By the way, Diann has her own “wild” bunny that is now a slightly “domesticated” bunny who lives outside but visits her each night (she feeds that mofo), however she has no dogs waiting to eat it so it just scampers about happier than shit. As Diann puts it, it comes and hangs out with her every evening on the patio. It’s like they have happy hour together. I picture Diann in her chair, feet crossed, sipping her Manhattan and Thumper in the chair next to her smoking a joint, head back, cackle laughing at something Diann said.

Note that I said Diann has no dogs.  She has not owned a dog since the 80s (R.I.P. Droopy and Brandy). That is ironic as Diann created and manages a “Dog People” page on Facebook, where she shares her expert advice on all things dogs and pretty much all other animals on the planet. She has quite a following on FB and can’t understand why random strangers from the Middle East are trying to join the group. Weird. Managing the page has become her full-time job. She posts about 1,000 times a day.

It’s actually very cute and she enjoys it so that’s all that matters (and it actually has some helpful info).

Anyway, before I went to the store, I told Diann about my baby bunnies, well my remaining baby bunny. I thought she was going to jump through the phone, she was so excited. “Oh. Well, I know exactly what to do. You know, I have my own bunny, and I know what they like to eat. I’ll bring all my bunny food!”. Oh shit. That scared me.

I went to the store and stocked up on snacks and wine per usual when Diann comes to visit (or anyone). While I was in the store, apparently, there was a terrible storm at home. My daughter, who had texted me earlier to make sure I took a shower so I wouldn’t be “smelly”, sent a follow up text when I was in the checkout line, to tell me it was storming and to make sure I was ok. Awwww, love that girl. She was at home with her (boy) friend “not doing anything bad”.

Then she texted me again that (boy) friend just left and by the way, he just broke up with her. Oh shit.

NOOOOOOO! Not only did my heart break for her, but the plan was that when I got home from the store, she was going to Uber my ass to Southern Sugar (my favorite wine bar in the whole wide world) while she made dinner for her (boy) friend. Oh shit. That EFFER!

I rushed home, straight into the eye of the effing storm and went straight to check on my baby. My baby bunny, that is.

I saw the shit storm in the yard and panicked, thinking, “I’ve kept this effing bunny alive all this time, she better not effing drown!”

I carefully lifted the laundry basket and low and behold Honey Bunny was ok so I sighed with relief and went up to try to console my other baby. Oh shit.

I knew it would be a long night so we got pizza and snuggled. Well she got pizza. I’m doing low carb/high wine myself.

$47 later, Papa John delivered one extra-large pizza, one box of bread sticks, and a box of donut holes. Whatever, my baby needed comfort food.

I mentioned that Boy Scout was out of town. At this point, he and other daughter are sending me photos from the sweet lake house they are staying at in Clemson. Oh, look at that one of baby girl on a float in the infinity pool. Oh, and there’s one of her holding a little kitten and look, it doesn’t have a baby bunny hanging out of its mouth. Isn’t that just effing wonderful.

I have several shit storms to clean up here and sister upstairs is shoveling a wheelbarrow full of pizza down her throat, but otherwise, we’re just effing great back at the ranch.

I sent back pics of our mangled umbrellas and scattered patio furniture and unfortunately a pic of our bent flagpole. Oh shit. I knew that would put Boy Scout over the edge. He LOVES waving his flags in the front yard and has already replaced our giant flag pole once (after a teen ran into it with our golf cart).

Aaaaannnnway, we survived the night and so did Honey Bunny (another victory) so I went into ninja patio/pool clean up mode before Diann arrived.

It’s now “game day” in Clemson, so more fun photos are flowing in while I’m duct taping umbrellas, spraying debris off the deck, cussing, and sweating like a hoe in church.

I finished up and texted Diann to find out her ETA as she told me she’d be here at 3:00 but she’s famous for being early. It was 1:40 so I figured I’d have time to grab a shower. I saw the bubbles of Diann’s text and then saw “2”. Awesome, Diann is early, go effing figure. So instead of showering, I jumped in the pool.

Diann showed up and the sunbeams from her smile and flailing hand waves lit up the sky. She is so cute and always beaming with sunshine.

Then, she just about knocked me over trying to get to the bunny. She had her bags (as in plural) of bunny paraphernalia and demanded to feed the bunny. I had major reservations about that, since I googled the shit out of how to keep a bunny alive and I’m fairly certain it said not to interfere or try to feed them.

Diann was ALL ABOUT interfering though, and I did not want to shit all over her bunny love fest, but thankfully I was able to stop her before she took out the PLATE she prepared of food pellets, hay, and God knows what else.


We compromised, and she just took the hay.

She was incensed about the location where bitch bunny mom built the nest. “They are supposed to build it under a hedge, like this one over here.” Then she starts trying to make a trail of hay from the nest to the hedge. Oh shit.

“No mom, I read that you do NOT move the nest. The mother (that selfish bitch) may not come back if you do.” So, she conceded and just put more hay by the baby bunny, who by the way, was moving around a lot more at this point. I would have left off the basket, as I was thinking “Yay, she’s ready to leave the nest and get the hell out of my yard!” but we still had to the dogs to contend with, so I kept placing the basket over Honey Bunny as she moseyed about like freaking molasses.

After Diann did her expert analysis, we decided to keep the dogs inside and leave Honey Bunny alone, hoping she would eventually mosey her way out of the yard.

Diann now had another VERY important mission. It was time to go into “doting grandmother” mode, which she is REALLY good at. I let her do her thing with baby girl upstairs and popped a damn cork.

I couldn’t take it.

I had to go check on Honey Bunny in hopes that she had finally made her way out – far away from the nest where I could no longer find her – out of my damn yard. I oh so gingerly walked over and lifted the laundry basket for a peek.

She was gone! Woohoo! I was so happy. I thought, “Oh shit, I did it. I kept this little mofo alive through all these shit storms and now she’s able to move along…and get the hell out of my yard!”.



I felt something rustle.

Under my flip flop.


I had STEPPED on Honey Bunny.

My heart stopped.


I felt like the biggest LOSER on earth. HOW??? HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN??? AFTER ALL THAT???

Honey Bunny was not good. I was beside myself. My heart was breaking (again). I had to set down my wine.

After collecting myself, I went inside to tell Diann what happened. Imagine her dismay.

We booked it back out to Honey Bunny and for better or worse, she was gone. As in R.I.P. gone. So sad.

I’m a f*cking bunny killer.

Once again, I took care of the problem.

About that time, Diann and I decided it was time to recover from our bunny and (boy) friend traumas, so we suited up and filled up for sip ‘n float time. And as shitty as the bunny chronicles turned out, the bright side (that sounds awful I know) was that we did not have to worry/obsess over them anymore. I mean after all, look how well that turned out.

She filled me on her talk with baby girl upstairs and I filled her in on what I told baby girl during pizza/snuggle night, which was the same advice Diann gave me when I had my heart broken in high school. I’ll NEVER forget mom coming in to my room and laying with me in my tiny twin bed while I was in the fetal position. She told me I HAD to get up, hold my chin high, look “hot”, smile and be happy, and NEVER let him know how miserable I was.

I was like “Oh hell no I can’t do that” but guess what? It took EVERYTHING I had but I followed her advice and it worked! I put on the biggest act of my life despite my heart being stepped on like a… (oh shit, never mind, block that out) and despite wanting to projectile vomit every day at school for a while, I effing did it!

It was so liberating. And I’m THRILLED to report that baby girl took the advice, too! It’s still early, but girlfriend is doing a stellar job so far.

Despite the bunny debacle and the heartache over a heartbroken teen, Diann and I had a lovely weekend and had some great mother-daughter time, mostly spent at our favorite wine bar in the whole wide world, where Diann poured her sunshine all over everyone she met.

We laughed non-stop as Diann just says the funniest things. Here are a few notable quotes from her during our weekend together –

When she woke and came out to have coffee with me, knowing I get so grossed out when she does not wear a bra: “Yes, I’m bra-less. Like I was in the 70s.”

When she shared a story about trying to make it to the bathroom: “I wet my pants. I’m a pant wetter.”

When reminiscing about nick names she had: “In high school, they called me Jakes. Or Chicken Legs.”

At the wine bar, while talking to some friends as well as some strangers about going to her 50th high school reunion and joking that she will likely get hit on by her old boyfriends: “Oh, we’ll I better get a wax.”

I love Diann and she loves life. She’s so much fun to be around. Little miss sunshine.

Together we enjoyed the best wine ever from the  best wine bar ever and we lived happily ever after. Hee hee.

In honor of Diann, here’s a playlist I created called Sunshine.

Oh, and here’s some amazing hair stuff that Diann ordered, after stalking a lady at dinner and smelling her hair. She and great smelling hair lady hit it off (like Diann does with everyone she meets) and they both have super curly hair, so apparently it’s the greatest (and greatest smelling) stuff for curls.

Cheers to you and to dealing with life’s shit, trying your best despite failures, finding time to enjoy (and console) your loved ones, and seeing the bright side of things, even if those things suck.


FYI, for some links that I share like Amazon, I earn a few pennies from qualifying purchases. It’s a blogging thing, very common, and absolutely no extra cost to you.   

2 thoughts on “Shit Storms & Sunshine”

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