Better on Top

I brought Hannah home in 2007 because George desperately wanted a friend of his own kind.  Like us humans, most rabbits are social beings and crave cozy cuddling attention.  But when Hannah arrived to "fulfill her purpose" so to speak, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with poor George. Or anyone, really.

It wasn't her fault.  She'd obviously been mishandled in her life prior to coming into mine, rendering her quite leery of anyone or anything new to her. And it was naive of me to assume that because other bunnies are sociable and affectionate, she would be too.  (Of course, the fact that George was relentless in his quest to get his hump on every time they interacted might also have had something to do with it.  Even neutered, he has a libido no female could ever live up to.)

For almost two years, they maintained separate dwellings (Hannah insisted)--George in a larger, raised hutch and Hannah in a comfy smaller habitat on the floor beside him.  A few months ago, after Hannah requested to be moved off the floor since she was getting annoyed with a certain orange kitty who frequently violated her "don't touch me" rule, I started boosting her up on a wide ottoman.  But, as you may remember from my earlier post, that arrangement had limitations.  

As I was cleaning her cage one recent weekend, I happened to set it up on top of George's hutch instead of bending down to scoop it out like I usually did.

"Hey--I think I like this," she said with a sudden calmness.  "Can I stay here?"

Realizing how her home was far more stable in this position than it had been on the ottoman, I agreed that we could try it out.  I don't know why I never thought of it before. 

After a couple of weeks had passed, it became apparent that the new digs were making quite a difference in Hannah's demeanor.  She's still very much Hannah--ever sassy and demanding--but the "edge" has faded.  She's not so jumpy or irritable, and she's been far more tolerant of George (they've been spending a bit more time together without George enduring any significant battle wounds, though Hannah's boundaries are adamant as always--that's my girl!).  I pointed this out to her the other day.

"Well yeah.  It's better on top."  I had to chuckle at her matter-of-factness.

"Don't laugh," she chided. "You should really try it sometime." 

"But I'm already on the second..."

"It's not about floors.  It's about changing your view."

"But I..."

"You don't have to move to change your view.  Just start looking at things from the top."

I was proud of how quickly I understood what she meant by that (Hannah spares me no humiliation when I struggle to grasp).  Much of my focus has been on bringing myself up--expanding my business, building my savings account, paying off debts, improving my health and self-esteem.  These are no doubt worthy goals and I have no desire or plans to abandon them.  But in constantly looking to move forward, I'm not allowing myself to acknowledge how far I've come or enjoying the scenery of the here and now.

So instead of living every day as a forward-facing uphill climb, I think I'll turn around and walk backwards for a while.  I'll challenge myself to see only what's beneath me from my past and what I pause to take in from the present.  It'll require a slow, careful, core-engaging stride to keep myself steady.  With each step, I'll become situated at a new "top" with no anticipation of (or pressure to discover) what lies farther up that hill.  I won't be completely blind to what's coming, but will rely on my intuition rather than my actions to trust it will be okay.  And if Hannah's right, the view will be breathtaking.

Who's with me?