In the UK, if your first words on the first day of a month are “rabbit, rabbit, rabbit”, you will have good luck for the rest of the month. The first day of March is especially rabbity for me, because it is Harvey the Rabbit’s birthday. That is to say, when we adopted his playful self from the unwanted pets place, nobody could tell us his real birthday, and so I chose today to be it.
I picked Saint David’s Day for him because he liked Daffodils. Saint David is the patron saint of Wales, where I was born, and it is celebrated by the wearing of a daffodil on one’s lapel.
Now daffodils are pushing up through the soil on Harvey’s grave, and I am spending today thinking about his enormous personality. A friend once called him a “bounder”, and that’s exactly what he was: the most opinionated pet I ever had. One day he threw a tantrum because I had put his litter tray back the wrong way round. He liked to chase balls, and he loved to chase cats. He slept with me on the bed at night, until one night he took umbrage at the fact that Bunty was taking up too much room, and so peed on his head. He took great delight in climbing impossible things, and bouncing on the inflatable airbed. He ate daffodils.
This whole blog is dedicated to Harvey. I began it a few weeks after he was run over on the road outside our cottage. It was a way to remind myself of the many great things in my life, and of how breathtaking is the place where I have made my home. I no longer need reminding of these things, but thanks to my love for Harvey, I have come to enjoy this excuse to look around at my world and feel awed.