Rabbit

In Dr. Fillmore's waiting room, sitting next to each other on burnt orange cloth covered foam seats framed in tubular chrome Shirley and Janice Jones looked with bewilderment at the hysterical receptionist. What do you think is wrong with her Janice?  She's blabbering as if the devil himself has a finger up her butt.  You don't remember her Mother Jones?  Shirley frowned, not at all, can't even remember ever seeing her before. Last time we were in here you said some unusual things to her.  Unusual how?  Well, you were upset that she asked you for your insurance card.  Why would she ask for my insurance card, I've been coming here for 30 years?  She didn't know that mother.  She is new here.  She was just doing her job the way she was trained to do it.  Shirley huffed. I think she might should find another line of work because I can't see how it would be comforting to sick people to be greeted with all that hysterical snot gobbling.  Janice became alert at the word, "gobbling."  The incident with the baby was still fresh in her mind, and some variation of the word often signified that Shirley Jones was under one of her spells.  During her last checkup three months ago, when the receptionist had asked for her insurance card, Shirley responded calmly, now you listen here you gooch gobbler, I have been a patient of Dr. Fillmore's for 30 years and not once in those 30 years have I been asked for an insurance card.  I am not some homeless person off the street.  Ma'm, I am not saying you are homeless, I just need to verify your insurance card against our records.  Do you have a dog? Shirley asked abruptly, the non-sequitur stutter step being  one of her signature maneuvers. Because if you do I sure hope you treat it better than you treat people in this office.  Not such a bad exchange really in the scheme of things Shirley but as it turned out the receptionist did have a dog.  And in what could only be coincidence, upon returning home from work that day she found the dog dead in front of her house, it having crawled under the fence and into the street where it was struck by a school bus.  The driver had not wanted to traumatize the children and so had not stopped to check on the animal, but just as well for the dog had died instantly from the blunt force trauma of a bumper moving at 30 mph meeting its skull. The receptionist, new to the area and not quick to make friends was especially close to her Phoebe, a mixed breed mutt with at least some poodle in its lineage.  The receptionist naturally assumed that the crazy lady who wouldn't give up her insurance card and weirdly asked about her dog had somehow caused this "accident," and upon seeing that witch again today suffered the opening of what she had thought was a healed wound.

Ward was back in the Winona tool shed he called home petting his new pet rabbit. In New York Abel had at some point become curious and asked, what are you looking at Ward?  Ward admitted he was looking at the construction dumpster across the street, wondering if there was anything of use in it.  Ward, you mustn't wonder, you must act, and rising from beneath the broken pieces of sheetrock in a cloud of dust, his black clothing etched white, Abel went to the magic sock drawer and this time pulled from it two fluorescent lime green safety vests.  Put this on, he said, giving one of the vests to Ward while donning the other. Let's go have a look. No, wait. From the closet near the door he brought out two hard hats. In answer to Ward's barely raised eyebrows, he offered, for verisimilitude. From the pocket of his vest he removed a laminated ID tag attached to a lanyard. Emblazoned on the tag was an official looking seal and below that, Inspector 23.  I get to wear the lanyard, but I'll let you wear it next time. Ward nodded.  Abel continued, it is my belief that a man without a lanyard is barely a man at all.  I don't know that I can adequately express what this lanyard means to me, he said reverently, fondling the tri-colored nylon weave.  I understand, said Ward. Unable to determine if he was being patronized, Abel said, come on, let's go get you something good, and they left the building. The two of them, looking almost authentic, had stood in front of the dumpster until two workers came down carrying old wall studs with remnants of lath and small pieces of plaster still attached.  Stand down men, Abel had ordered while flashing his Inspector 23 badge.  He then explained to the workers that pursuant to article 16 of the building code all wooden studs of a length greater than eight feet must be de-nailed before being placed in containers exceeding 70 yards of cubic volume.  The two men had stared at him for a moment before abruptly dropping the lumber to the ground and re-entering the building.  OK Ward, you have five minutes until the foreman comes down, before which we must be gone.  It took Ward only three to find the rabbit, which he at first thought was a giant rat, accept his congratulations from Abel, and be off in his Jeep towards the Williamsburg Bridge, and the LIE to Winona.