The Bobbers

Bill and I have joined a gang.  We don’t wear colors or have to get matching tats, but we hang out in the big pool during the sweltering hot days.  The gang is called the Bobbers because it’s what we do… bob around in the water talking Sun City trash.

The main-stays of the group are Paul, Jim, Ron, Barb, Evelyn and the dominatrix Sylva.  Sylva is a very  tall, stately lady of Greek origin and unknown age.  Her body is tanned nut-brown and her brown hair is streaked with gold highlights interspersed with grey.  She wears her two piece bathing suits with pride.  She doesn’t seem to care that gravity has won in the battle with her ample bosoms, which are resting peacefully on the shelf made by her not-so-taut tummy.  She keeps the Bobbers in line in between smoke breaks in the 5 x 5 smoking area in the back corner of the pool complex while staying hydrated drinking a pale green concoction that she pours frequently and liberally into a plastic cup.

Yesterday as we bobbed around in a loosely formed circle, the subject of bunnies came up.  As I’ve mentioned before, rabbits are a terrible problem here.  Bill was under the impression that the Sun City rabbits were focusing on our yard, to the exclusion of the rest of the homes here.  Ron was talking about building a six-foot block fence around his lot, but his neighbors weren’t too happy
about that.  I asked why a three-foot fence wouldn’t work.

“Oh no, honey,” said Evelyn.  “The bunnies jump right over that.  I know because our neighbor has one and it doesn’t help a bit.”

“I used to feed them,” Barb interjected.

“You mean like leftover salad stuff?” I asked.  “I used to do that when I thought they were cute.”

“Oh no, dear,” she said.  “We started out with that, but then we’d buy rabbit food at Pet Smart .  But that wasn’t enough, because they started eating my petunia and the marigolds.  And they aren’t even suppose to like marigolds. That’s when I said enough is enough.”

“So, how’d you get them to stop?” I asked, hoping the secret would finally be revealed.

“We built a six foot wall around our property.”

“Well, I guess that did it,” I replied.

“Not quite.  We had to put chicken wire on all the drainage holes around the base of the wall because they came in there.”

“So, that was that?”

“Sort of.  What we didn’t know was we walled one of them in and it took us a couple of months to figure it out.  Then we had to leave the gate open and herd the little sucker out, which took about four hours and almost gave my husband a stroke.  But now, finally, we’re in a bunny free zone!”

Later, as Bill and I were leaving, he looked at me with sad eyes and said “So, it isn’t only us, is it.”

“No honey, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.  The bunnies aren’t just picking on you.  They’re out to get everyone.  There’s thousands of them.  And some day they’ll organize and take over Sun City.”

“Does this mean I can’t get a BB gun?”

“Bill, we’ve talked about this.  You’ll shoot your eye out!”


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