Our very, very good friend, Ben Evans, called my husband.
Now Ben & his beautiful wife, Ashley, have four precious children.
The Evans' oldest daughter's name is Anne-Claire. (Gorgeous, huh?) Anne-Claire is 7. She is so darling and can't fully say her "r's" yet. Totally grabs my heart every time I hear her speak.
So Ben calls Chris.
Ben: "Hey, man. Anne-Claire is selling Easter bunnies. She's so nervous about asking someone to buy one from her. I told her to call you. Will you talk to her?"
Chris, for some reason thinking it was a huge, edible chocolate bunny, says: "Oh, sure! Put her on the phone!"
Anne-Claire, so incredibly sweetly: "Mr. Cwis? This is Anne-Cwaire. Would you wike to buy an Eastuh wabbit fwom me?"
Chris, his heart melting: "Oh, you bet, Anne-Claire! How much is it, honey?"
Anne-Claire: "Twenty dahwas."
Chris: "Absolutely! That would be great! Thank you!"
Ben, back on the phone: "Great, dude. Thanks so much. I'll be up next Saturday to deliver it."
Next Saturday rolls around, and Ben delivers the bunny, all right.
A living, breathing, precious four-week-old gray ball of fur.
Timothy does back-flips of excitement all over the house. "A rabbit! A rabbit! We got a rabbit!"
Chris and I are stunned.
I, for one, do not want a single additional organism to take care of in this house.
Much less one that poops 24/7.
But what do we say to Mr. Backflips?
So Chris first names him "Stew." Isn't that horrible? :)
Timothy counters with "Mr. Hopper."
Chris: "Bullet". (Gasp!)
The neighborhood kids get in on the christening: "Mr. Fluffy-Wuffy Pants".
Timothy: "Mr. Fluffington."
I never knew what to call the little thing. All I knew was that he was sweet. Docile. Let us hold him and love on him. Came to his crate door and put his feet up on it when I passed by. Ate out of my hand.
Yup. He's staying.
And his final name, courtesy of Timothy, is "Mr. Sniffer."
Hello, Mr. Sniffer.
How could I say "no" to those ears?
He's like a dog.
In fact, he plays with our dogs. He chases them.
What a pet.