Dakota had a near miss with death recently. Upper respiratory disease and his little stomach shut down. He’s okay now but somehow his struggle (our struggle for his life) made me think of the who and what we are.
I thought about the lady who runs the bar in the village of Carces, FR. Her pink hair, brown skin, swimming pool water eyes that appeared pressed in vat of charcoal—lots of eyeliner, and a very large smile. She talked constantly in French to the drunks and the caffeine charged patrons, whether it was 7 a.m. or 11 p.m. Espresso in much of France is delivered in bars. You don’t know when you walk in who’s on uppers and who’s on downers. I thought she’d be scared to have that job. Just like I thought Dakota would have developed a personality disorder by now, given his chronic upper respiratory issues.
Neither was the case. Which made me wonder about other things I thought I was right about, yet was dead wrong.
For instance, I don’t really think we choose what suit we wear before we are born. I don’t think we walk into pre-life store and say, that one! I want to be a rabbit or I want to be red head with more freckles on my face than I can count. But if it were true, I wish I’d chosen to be a light bulb in a hot New York restaurant with super powers to download all the stories I saw from my light bulb point of view to a writer.
Still I was curious. So, for the heck of it, I asked Dakota. Why Rabbit?
I figured if he could tell me this I might find myself in his answers. Given that I’m going through a career transition which seems to be taking as long as a sex change operation would.
It went like this:
Me: Dakota, why are you a rabbit?
Dakota: Because rabbits are smart, clean and they don’t make a fuss. They are self contained unlike dogs.
Me: You sound British to me. But maybe that’s because of the week I’ve been having with British Airways. Still, why not a cat?
Dakota: They can’t control their moods and they eat meat.
Me: You sound pretty clear that rabbits are the superior race in the animal world.
Dakota: No comment.
Me: Okay, let’s take another angle, especially since today I have all this oozing admiration for you. Here’s something I need your advice on. I get compliments on my hair a lot more when I don’t wash it for at least 3 days. I’m thinking I should make a shampoo and call it ‘Dirty Hair Shampoo for Women (that Looks Ravishing– Dirty.)’
Dakota: You mean you don’t have someone from your species who grooms you everyday?
Me: Sigh…cringe, wriggling in my seat—’I think the doctor is ready for you Dakota.’
Me: Who am I Dakota?
Dakota: Not a rabbit; you should work on that!