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As unlikely as it might seem to even the dedicated observer, the most prominent part of my personalty just has to be my InnerBunny. During the summertime here, the fields fill up with small rabbits. I unkindly refer to them as cheap protein sources for the raptors roiling around in the thermals. These rabbits seem more oblivious than fearless. They're easy for me to spot and I do not possess anything like a raptor's eyesight. They are, like all rabbits, cute, of course, and visions of Beatrix Potter dance around in my head whenever I spot one, though Colorado seems far, far away from the English countryside. I hold no animosity toward them because the deer already convinced me not to plant a garden. I am in no way a Mr. McGregor, anyway.

I fancy myself rather cute, too, though my fur can't rival even a threadbare Velveteen Rabbit's. I would revel in being picked up and chucked behind my ears and I don't think I would ever consider biting anyone, at least not that much. I do tend to wander out into exposed areas, more oblivious than courageous, though I am sometimes mistaken for courageous, anyway. My experiences with bullies suggest that some do, indeed, perceive me as a cheap protein source. I've been bitten but not yet featured as the entree course at any table.

Truth is, I'm rather shy inside. I sometimes respond counter-phobic-ally to perceived threats. This means that I might growl back louder when some pit bull malevolently sneers in my direction. Sometimes, this even chases away the threat. Sometimes, I become the one being chased instead.

Overall, I'm mostly poorly-set jelly inside. Sweet, sure, but rather runny; tough to spread on toast without irreparably sogging it, memorable mostly for my tenacious ineptnesses.

My InnerBunny tries to pass as a confident adult, though the constant fleeing back to the warren often blows his cover. He cowers in private, mostly, dreaming of an alfalfa field he imagines just beyond his horizon. Whether that field exists doesn't seem to matter. He takes great satisfaction in his cowering imaginings, perhaps greater delight than he would take from gnawing his way across an actual succulent field.

When confronted with a carrot or stick situation, my InnerBunny always opts for the root veg. He will flee when distressed and live apparently to flee, and then flee again, another day. He exits more than he ever enters. Consider yourself lucky if you ever see him entering any field.

My InnerBunny sometimes cannot bear to open an email. It will sit there, glowing malevolently, and he will hop right around the thing. Voicemail, sometimes, too. Later, he'll sneak up to the suspicious package, warily sniff, then open it to find no real threat at all, his self-inflicted fright usually much worse than any real-world bite.

©2016 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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