Bunnies!

Jerry absolutely loves the cabin. I feel like that's a given. It’s in a forest and he’s a dog. We often just let him run wild and go adventuring. He typically races off and returns a small while later covered in goop and smelling like dead things.

We worry a little bit about letting him loose, but we are pretty far from the road and at heart Jerry is a scaredy cat who really only adventures under our porch. Plus, he knows where the extremely expensive dog food is located.

We were hanging around our little game table which has a lovely view of our back yard. We were playing “5 Crowns,” which has the dual honor of being Diana’s favorite game and the one she is the worst at.

Suddenly, Luca started screaming. This is nothing new. Luca’s two main modes are scream and loud scream. He and Elijah raced outside and Eli joined in on the screaming.

I looked through the part of my trifocals designed for mid distance and saw Jerry toss something into the air. It was a baby bunny.

No no no no no no. Please don’t be a bunny killer. Please don’t be a bunny killer.

Diana and I raced outside and wrestled Jerry, who had another baby bunny in his mouth. The baby was screaming like, well, a baby bunny in a dog’s mouth. 

We released the bunny and it did it’s best to hide in plain sight. Maybe if I curl into a ball on his sidewalk, the giant monster won’t get me.

Upon inspection, the bunnies seemed, okay-ish. Traumatized, yes. But they weren’t bleeding or in half. Which was weird, because one of Jerry’s teeth was the size of a baby bunny.

I think he was just playing with them. “I’ve always wanted a bunny rabbit. I will name him George and I will hug him and pet him and squeeze him…”

We gently placed the trembling bunnies back in their little nest. Their version of hiding was to stick their heads into the bushes and stick their white tailed butts into the air.

These rabbits weren’t winning any Darwin awards.

 But we decided to make sure at least our dog wasn’t the one to kill them. We locked Jerry in the house for the night. Jerry barked and cried and whined and threw himself at the door. “But I want to go out with my rabbit friends, George. I want to hug them and pet them and squeeze them…”

The next morning, I raced out into the yard to see what was left of the bunnies. They were gone. I am 100% sure they had moved to the city to make it in organic farming. 

Coach Hamann

 

Luca exists in a blob of 4-10 boys. It’s an unstoppable mass of arms and legs and b.o. that crashes into homes, consuming all snacks in its path. The good news is all the boys in this blob are kind and hilarious and tolerate my special brand of stupid dad.

A few months ago the blob decided to join a flag football league. They really wanted to play full contact football with pads and helmets, but…Evanston. The blob doesn’t care what kind of football because the blob just needs to keep playing. Blob is play. Play is blob. 

The flag football games took place at the big inflated indoor fieldhouse across town. On the outside, it looks like a giant, quivering marshmallow. On the inside, the stench of 1,000 tweens hits you in the face like a bucket of socks.

On the morning of the first game, Luca and I arrived the Hamann-required 20 minutes early to meet the coach. Instead of a coach, there was just a pile of uniforms. As gametime neared, the pile didn’t magically turn into a coach. The blob didn’t seem to mind, but we dads felt it was necessary to have a coach. 

Luckily, an Alpha Dad stepped up. He is an E.R. doctor, so, you know, qualified. He coached the blob to a huge, lobsided victory. His technique was to stand on the sideline and do and say very little. The blob was so in sync that the just rolled over the other team. Blob is play. Play is blob. 

This went on for the next couple weeks until Alpha Dad had to go out of town. This left the blob coachless. The blob nominated me to coach. Not because of my apparent skills, but the blob thought it would be funny to see the unathletic, glasses nerd stand on the sidelines.

In the days leading up to the game, I asked Luca what I needed to do.

“Just say, ‘Good job,’ and stay out of the way.” I could do that.

However, 24 hours to gametime, I started to get pretty nervous. What if they needed actual coaching? What if they played a team who could stand up to the blob? What if they lost under my non-coaching? I came very close to having an old school panic attack, but my brain miraculously turned off that spigot.

The morning of the game, I asked Luca if I would try or if I should act like a hilarious goofball. He thought for a moment and said, “Um. Maybe in between?”

My addition to the coaching regime was stretching before the game and doing that thing where you put your hands in and go, “One two three roar!” Which I would say only 50% of the blob understood for its delightful irony.

The blob crushed the other team. Blob is play. Play is blob. I mostly stayed out of the way and said, “Good job.” But after seeing the sad faces of the other team I suggested maybe we lighten up a little bit? The blob laughed. The blob destroyed. 

I barely got to congratulate Luca on his play before the blob moved on to someone’s house to eat all their chips.