When I was 9 years old, my family and I went to a pumpkin patch.  The pumpkin patch had a petting zoo.  Actually, it was more like a petting farm, because it was basically a gated area with lots of farm animals.  Besides the typical goats, this “petting farm” had rabbits.  Dwarf bunnies to be exact.  I remember holding one in my arms and it fell asleep.  At that point, I knew I wanted a bunny for a pet.

There I am to the left, holding the bunny from the petting farm in my arms.  Now that I look at it closely, the bunny looks scared.  Maybe it pretended to fall asleep, in order to calm itself down from the anxiety of being held by a kid.

I asked my mom if I could get a pet bunny of my own.  She said that if I learned about bunnies and how to take care of them, I could get one.  So I found myself at the library researching all the books I could find about bunnies and how to take care of them.  I photocopied all the books I found (I guess I didn’t know what a library card was, because I could’ve just helped save the environment for my future kids by checking out the books and taking down notes on recycled paper or something).  After all that research, I decided that a floppy eared bunny was the bunny I wanted to get.  I knew that I wanted to have a boy bunny, and name him Pinocchio (I also had this slight obsession with Pinocchio at the time.  I owned 3 different types of Pinocchio marionettes, a small Pinocchio figurine, and a Pinocchio pencil holder…yes, when I like something, I end up going all out).

I did it!  I had done my research.  You could call me a pro at this point.  I was ready to be a pet owner…

In the end…after alllll this…I never got my bunny.