Bunny part two

Lyla got her hair done this morning at the Dada Salon. (That's Dada as in Dad, not Dada as in Dadaism, which now that I think about it would work too since that hairstyle is really anti-style.)

The weather left nothing whatsoever to complain about, so after an early nap we hightailed it to the zoo's farm exhibit. Inside a giant barn with no obvious purpose, there was a bunny you could pet while supervised by a highly-trained threesome of teenage zoo volunteers.

"Lyla, do you want to pet the bunny?"

She threw me a piercing gaze, reading my face for hints that I might be joking. Then she said "Yeah" with a higher pitch than normal and with more than a little desperate yearning.



Then everything stopped. Treetops stopped swaying because the breeze stopped blowing. Everyone froze mid-step. Two bears play-fighting in the water became a ferocious tableau, water droplets all around them suspended in the air. And Lyla continued petting that bunny, petting and petting it. Petting and petting and petting it.

Eventually the Earth lurched back into its orbit around the sun. Butterflies fluttered. Pigs oinked. A group of kids walked up to the bunny, so with a lot of encouragement Lyla gave them a turn.

But then it was her turn again.

And then someone else's.

Then hers.

And on and on.

Finally it was time to go. "No!" she cried.

"Say bye-bye to the bunny."

"NO!"

"Come on, honey."

"No."

"Please?"

"NOOOOO!"

"Hey, do you want to sit on the tractor?"

"Tacta."