By Lois Rogers, Guest Blogger
When the Oct. 4 Feast of St. Francis of Assisi approaches every year, I take a Franciscan inventory of the yard. Happily
this year the survey once again revealed that all five – count ‘em five – statues of the saint, including two with bunnies nestling by his side – survived this summer’s nasty weather with its storms and floods, and even a scary microburst.
The statues are treasured presents given by friends over the years in token of my family’s devotion to Francis and his love of creation over at least a couple of generations. I regard them as a concrete welcoming committee for the birds, squirrels, butterflies, bees and other of God’s creatures who venture over here from the Green Acres Park across the street.
And, whenever I have concerns for the health of one of my own rescued critters or that of a poor straggler that appears to be abandoned, alone and at risk– as with a fluffy, large white and black rabbit this summer carelessly tossed out of a car at the park – I call animal rescue first and go outside and pray to St. Francis to intercede for a safe recovery.
This habit dates back well over a decade to when the word got out that a tiny, battered white rabbit had been spotted running loose and frantic on the grounds where I worked. As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one praying that Francis would intercede for this little guy. Quite a few people who worked on the campus of Notre Dame High School shares with the Diocese of Trenton’s Chancery in Lawrenceville were praying to him for the same thing.
In fact, a whole crew of determined folks made it their mission to rescue this contemporary iteration of the “runaway bunny” made famous in the beloved children’s story by Margaret Wise Brown. Custodians and crew from the high school equipped themselves with a have-a-heart trap and monitored his appearances. I got regular updates from a co-worker whose son was a Notre Dame student and kept the bunny in prayer to Francis.
If I recall, it took well over a week, but they were determined to bring this rescue attempt to a happy end and, finally, he was captured. He turned up one morning in the office of The Monitor, the diocesan newspaper where I worked, at the behest of the co-worker when her original plan for her son to take him didn’t work out.
Tucked under my desk in the have-a-heart trap, he was a pathetic sight with scratches and bruises across his mid-section. The newspaper crew decided he had a narrow escape from a predator and were supportive when I decided to take him home that night, get him to a vet and “foster” him ‘til a permanent home could be found.
He was so beaten up that when I got him to the veterinarian, people in the waiting room started to grumble and gave me angry looks thinking I was the culprit. They backed off when the vet – Dr. Laurie A. Pearlman – who would care for him over all the years that followed, came out into the waiting room and interceded, telling them, “No, No! She rescued him.”
That was 13 years ago and the little bunny, who we named “Boo” because of his skittery behavior, has been a permanent resident of the little blue house by the lake ever since.
My late brother Pete, who shared the house during a particularly happy period here, made sure that Boo was entertained and well fed while I was at work and that the little guy got to interact with other rescues who bunked in here over the years.
Now, at age 13, the equivalent of about 91 for a human, Boo is holding his own. He has regular visits with Dr. Pearlman who announces his arrival to one and all in earshot with, “Here’s the world’s oldest bunny!” to let everyone know his venerable status.
He has lost his sight so he can no longer sit by the patio door and muse over the statue of St. Francis by the bird bath and all of the creatures who like to sip from the waters and bathe in it and rest on the saint’s head.
Nor does he pay any attention to pirate movies and other action films as he once did, though he stretches out in sheer bliss on his blanket when classical music is playing. And he gets around very well, knowing every inch of the large gated area of the dining room where he still goes on midnight rambles and runs.
He always appreciates the gift of fresh parsley and dandelion greens and gobbles them down as fast as he can. And, most wonderful of all, is the way he snuggles in my arms when he gets a “bunny burrito” wrap in a comfy towel after grooming.
So that he doesn’t suffer stress while traveling, this will be the second year in a row that the trip to church for the Blessing of the Animals will be replaced by a livestream service and a sprinkle of holy water on his forehead. I’ll savor every moment while holding him in front of the television set and then carry him outside for a brief walk around the yard by the statues, thanking St. Francis once again for answering the prayers for Boo.
Lois Rogers has been writing about faith, family and food (most notably in her award winning blog, "Keeping the Feast" which appeared in The Monitor) since the late ‘90s. She may be reached at loisrogers66@gmail.com.
Courtesy photo.
