A Two Time Shelter Dog Turns Author * The Lowe's Rabbit " by Sam Prescott

The Lowe’s Rabbit

By Sam Prescott*

I let out a bark.

He was standing by himself, on the floor, in a dark corner, underneath shelves of other creatures. There were fat, smiling pigs with wild, staring eyes, a bevy of scatterbrained doves, a mass of green frogs and even a small flock of pink flamingoes. They all look very chummy, and very pleased with themselves.

But the rabbit stood off by himself. He had dignity. I could see that.

There was a grace to his long back. His ears flew backward in a daring and jaunty way. He looked as though he’d walked out of an El Greco painting and was taken aback by his new surroundings.

I barked again.

People turned to look. Why are they looking at me, I wondered. Is it because I know about El Greco?

I go to Lowe’s with my family. Walk all over the place, too. There aren’t many places that allow dogs, but Lowe’s does.

Back to my story.

I barked when I saw this rabbit standing in the dark corner. He must have been two feet tall and I know that’s taller than the marsh rabbits I’ve seen on our street. You can understand my surprise. Not only was this Lowe’s rabbit alone … he was beige. A beige rabbit?

My dad asked me what the matter was.

“Sam, what do you see?”

“Beige rabit. In the corner.”

My dad’s eyes veered in the direction of my bark. He saw the rabbit.

“Oh, my. He’s beige. But he’s quite the rabbit, isn’t he?”

“He has such an arch to his back, and what elegant ears. He’s not the sort of rabbit you’d see at Lowe’s,” said my mom. She’d noticed the rabbit, too.

“Haven’t you been looking for a rabbit to go in the front yard?” I asked.

I barked again.

“Sam must have met him before in his travels,” said my dad.

My mom walked over to the shelves and bent down to inspect the rabbit. Now she was on the floor and gingerly coaxing the rabbit out from his hiding place. She picked him up by his hind legs.

“She’ll have one surprised rabbit on her hands,” I thought.

“He’s made in China,” said my mom. Her mouth was turned a bit down.

“What? Are we avoiding Chinese rabbits?” I asked her.

I woofed.

“He may be a Chinese rabbit, and he may be beige, but he’s charming. He’s quirky. And he’s the only rabbit here. He might be lonely. Let’s take him home and I’ll paint him. He can be a wild, Fauve, rabbit,” she said.

“Sam, you have a good nose for Chinese Lowe’s rabbits. You’ll have to tell us where you picked that talent up,” said my dad.

Another bark from me.

“Maybe it’s time we took our Chinese Lowe’s rabbit home,” said my mom. “Sam is getting vocal.”

I shot her a look. Oh, yes, I have a nose for Chinese Lowe’s rabbits who have a touch of El Greco in their bearing. I learned that at the first shelter I stayed in. It’s stayed with me all this time.”

That noise? Me, shooting off another bark.

We paid for the rabbit (at $13 he was a bit of a bargain) and drove him home.

For a time, the Lowe’s rabbit stood in our Florida room, underneath the bank of windows, right where the sunlight floods in the morning. I’d walk by him and say “You’ve gone a long way from your dark corner under the shelving at Lowe’s, Mr. Rabbit.”

Did I catch him blink in the sunlight? Was that a smile on his face? He was taking in the measure of the place, I expect.

But … no. Are Chinese rabbits capable of such things?

One day the paints came out, along with the brushes. I have a fondness for paint, especially the dark blue variety. It’s tasty. Unfortunately, my taste in paint is well known. I don’t get close enough to the stuff to sample it anymore. But, that beige, Chinese Lowe’s rabbit? He quickly became a bright orange rabbit. Then the periwinkle, pink and pistachio-colored paints jumped on him in wide swirls. Long ribbons of delphinium and turquoise danced down his back. Those beige eyes closed and reopened with dark purple pupils. His little beige tail turned wisteria and bottle green. He was alive with color. He was magnificent, a true wild beast to stand sentry in our garden. No more beige rabbit in the dark corner, forgotten and out of place. He was transformed.

I looked up at my mom as she put down her paintbrush. She looked at the colorful rabbit in front of her, and then she looked at me.

“You know who the Lowe’s rabbit reminds me of, Sam?”

Bark, from me.

“You, that’s who. He reminds me of you.

‘When you came to us three years ago, you’d been in two shelters. You’d been a puppy sitting in a cage in a pet store, and then you’d had two families who gave up on you. I don’t know why they did, or how much it hurt them, but there you were. You were very, very afraid, but incredibly sweet, and you had a terrible haircut. You weren’t beige, but you were like this Lowe’s rabbit. You were waiting for someone to find you and look beyond the obvious. You’re still surprising us, too. We had to go to Lowe’s to discover you had a nose for beige, Chinese rabbits, didn’t we?”

“Don’t forget the El Greco,” I reminded her. “Remember to ask me where I learned about El Greco.”

I’ll save that surprise for another time. We have to go into the garden and find the perfect spot for the Chinese Lowe’s Rabbit. I want him to be happy here.

About the author:

*Sam Prescott is a 4-year-old, male wire fox terrier. He was picked up by his family when he was one-and-a-half years old, already a veteran (and survivor) of two shelters. He was not house trained, his social skills were rapidly deteriorating and he did not have proper wire fox terrier grooming. What he did have was the intervention of a wire rescue group, a caring shelter worker and a sweet disposition. He had luck, too. He landed in a wire fox terrier family overseen by one female wire named Gimlet, who has taught him the basics of dogdom. Sam’s been with his family for three years and writes for his and Gimlet’s Web site
http://mrdoodlesdog.com/

story and drawing copyright P. Kane ( contact at Mr. Doodles for permission to reprint)