This bunnie was given to me on the day of my birth. Nobody else loved him, threw him, dressed him, stitched him or named him. As my vocabulary was limited, 'Bunnie' he was to remain. He had no sharp edges, harsh comments up his sleeve, he was all an inanimate friend could be.
BUT he had feelings too and and like the rest of the race, he hated crowds, gossip and people who disturb my sleep. Bunnie knows the story of my secrets, the mismatched cottons that slowed the rate of evisceration.
Bunny lives another year as the small girl's heart salve.
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