The Bunny and the Squirt Gun: Don't Aim That Thing at Me

The Bunny and the Squirt Gun

He was only four years old, holding grandma’s big puffy hand as they walked through the gigantic, yellow, canvas tent at the annual parish carnival. Outside were rides- a Ferris wheel, a merry go round, and small roller coaster. Oh, do not forget the pony rides. Ah, the aroma of ponies. Inside the tent were games - cake walk, ring toss, balloons and darts, and the game where he would soon win a live black baby bunny: the fishpond.

The fishpond was a game of skill for little kids or maybe chance or was not even a game. Grown people never seemed to try their luck. Yet, he found it to be worthwhile. A woman put a bamboo pole into his small hands. He grasped it tightly. He had been fishing before. On the business end of the pole was a fishing line, really just a piece of string with a loop where a hook should be. He knew that real fishhooks could go through your finger and come out the other side covered with blood. This was kid-safe fishing, no dangerous barbed hook.

The woman told him to hold the pole high, as she dropped the string loop over a curtain screen. While he waited for something to happen on the other end of the fishing pole, he imagined he felt a drop of rain on the top of his head, but he was in a tent.

The far end of the pole bobbed up and down a little, like when you have caught a real fish. He could see the top of another head behind the curtain and felt a stronger tug on the fishing pole. The pole felt heavier. Something was on the end of the string. It weighed too much for him to lift the end over the curtain. An unseen helping hand lightened the load from behind the screen. Over the top popped a wriggling baby bunny inside a mesh sack tied to the fishing line.

He began to wiggle like the bunny, so much so he did not notice the drops of water landing on his head.

Grandma helped unwrap the bunny and place it in her grandson’s arms. Holding the little rabbit close to his chest, until he and the bunny calmed down. It was almost as if the world had melted away, leaving only the boy and the bunny and wasn’t that another raindrop? This time he noticed he was getting wet and when he turned and raised his puzzled face toward the roof of the tent he was squirted right between the eyes.

It was not raining at all. A big man on the other side of the tent was laughing, a squirt gun in his hand. When the little boy saw him the man attempted to hide the water pistol, but grandma saw it. Grandma picked up the little boy, still clutching his new pet, and marched toward the man, who pretended to be innocent of getting his jollies by squirting a little boy.

She grabbed the gun from where he had stashed it and drained the contents onto the man's head. Then, told him she was keeping the water pistol.

Her grandson and the new bunny barely slept that night.

Eventually they did.