A Bunny Called Soup
Kristi Owings
Published by Kristi Owings at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either part of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Call me “Soup”. I’m a large, blue, stuffed bunny, and this is my story.
On the night before Easter, there was a crazy man, we’ll call him “Daddy”, who decided that I would make a tasty Easter lunch. A wonderful woman, we’ll call her “Mom” came to my rescue and hid me in an oven. I was found, through a set of clues given to a young boy, the following morning. I call that boy “Goober.”
Goober and I hid in his bedroom that morning before church. Together we devised a plan to keep me out of the grips of the crazy Daddy man. Goober tried to tell me that my name was “Hopsy”, but I already knew the truth. Daddy had named me Soup, because that’s what he wanted me to be.
The house that Goober and I shared with Mom and Daddy was full of dangers. There’s a furry thing, we’ll call him “Cone Dog”. He has tried multiple times to sink his sharp teeth into my beautiful blue fur. The satellite dish he wore on his head was a great deterrent, though. Goober told me he wore the satellite dish to keep from scratching his ear bloody. Stupid Cone Dog. Why would you deliberately make yourself bleed? I think Cone Dog needs serious psychological help.
I’m sorry. I ran off on a tangent there. This isn’t Cone Dog’s story. This is my story. My name is Soup. Have I mentioned that yet?
Goober and I spent all of Easter having a great time. We went to Goober’s Wiggie’s house after church that morning. It was a tough day for me, because Goober just left me on the couch after introducing me to the wonder that is the Wiggie Woman. It was hard when I was around other people and not just Goober. I was only allowed to be alive when Goober and I were alone. I had to pretend to be an inanimate object when others were present. For some reason, Goober was certain that if others knew that I was alive, my life would end.
That night, as Goober and I snuggled together in his bed, we talked about the dangers of leaving me alone with the man called Daddy. Goober said that Daddy was a good person, but he was just in the mood for rabbit soup. Whatever the reason, in that house, at that time, I was on the endangered bunny list.
Goober explained that the Mom would be helpful in keeping me from the Daddy, and I suggested to him that we explain about my being alive, but he said, “Grownups can’t handle that kind of information.” I believed him. He was the Goober, after all.
The day after Easter was when the real trouble began. Daddy found his Nerf guns and decided to go bunny hunting.
Goober woke up early that Monday morning with an action plan. He scoped out the house looking for good places to hide me. Goober entered the living room with me under his arm that morning. “The most important thing,” he said, “is keeping you with me at all times. If I’m not touching you, then I’ll have Mom watch you. We’ll keep you out of that soup pot.”