What I wanted to tell you was how I had spent a large chunk of time Saturday afternoon cleaning out his cage in preparation for a very special Sunday afternoon, when he was going to have company. Dates as it were. Plural.
What I wanted to tell you was how I was converting his cage into the Love Shack and what a lucky little bunny he was going to be to spend some time doing that thing that bunnies do so well.
What I wanted to tell you was how Sunday afternoon, with a lovely young girl bunnette in the cage, Fabio seemed to decide he was a Panda, or some other creature that generally doesn't get (or care about) the whole dating - procreation process, and spent the entire time sniffing her and wondering if I had any more bananas for him to munch on.
What I wanted to tell you was that no amount of encouragement, positioning or humming Barry White songs seemed to help, and my career as a bunny pimp was over before it started.
I wanted to tell you all these things yesterday. But I couldn't. What I wanted to tell you yesterday quickly gave way to hours of time frantically trying to reach my Uncle Tuna, who is a professor at Virginia Tech. At 2:40pm, we finally heard word that he had, in fact, was not gone into campus that morning and was shaken and horribly saddened, but was OK.
And I wished beyond words that all I had to tell you was a story about rabbits.