So Blinkie don't surf?

Now, you remember the curious tale of Blinkie the rabbit a little while back? Her owner, Rosie, has requested that Blinkie go on another adventure so....


Having had the boost in confidence that, for a rabbit, is engendered by stealing a car, doing your own shopping for green vegetables and, frankly, having grown men in a public house find you attractive, Blinkie was hungry for another bite of freedom.

Night fell. She had stealthily put together all her kit over the previous few days.

1. Shades. Check. (Aviators. Very on trend, she had seen in Squeak magazine. Angora Hilton wore them.)
2. Miniature wetsuit. (Don't ask.)
3. A log. Tied to a string.
4. The car. Again.
5. A cool friend -or rather,  Stinkie, the white boy rabbit from up the road. It was platonic, because, frankly, Stinkie was a bit square and was no stranger to the carrot trolley. He had, though, consented to go on this adventure.

This time, they took a different car. The family saloon. Blinkie was ready to slip the booster seats in place and had already stolen the spare keys. They were off and headed for the coast. Dorset. It was dusk and Blinkie hoped that, in the smudgy light, she and Stinkie would not be seen and arrested. Having said that, would you believe you had seen a rabbit in charge of a car?

The conversation was a little stilted on the journey. Yeuchhh. Stinkie was dull.

Carrots. Blah blah blah. My nice new run. Blah blah blah. The time I got the bronze in the county pet show. Blah blah blah. Music. Something cool and surfy to get Blinkie in the mood. Accelerate a little. As the light dropped, they were there and Blinkie, dragging her log on a rope, wearing her little suit, was free.

(That's Stinkie above, by the way; he is a little rotund, you must admit.)

Stinkie loped behind her, splashing in the water while Blinkie dragged her log out, caught the wave and WHOAH! Don't ever say that Blinkie don't surf. Blinkie was a goddess. Neptune would gladly have taken her as a wife. Fine, black and sleek she was, with her long ears trailing in the wind behind her and her nimble paws gripping the surf board log. Maybe at first the surf dudes on the beach might have laughed. She was, after all,  a small black rabbit on a log. Within the hour, they were putty in her hands. They smoothed her sleek coat, admired her unusual board with which, she told them, she could also shoot rapids (this was a bit of a fib, but Blinkie had plans). Stinkie sat on the beach and glowered. The gooseberry again. Slow coach. Always chortled at by the lady rabbits, a bit clumsy and, yet, so very very in love with Blinkie and unable to tell her. At that moment, though, he even thought he hated her; thought that, if her family ever babysat him when his own were away, that he might go and piddle in her eglu, pull the rose off the roof of her run or spit in her straw. Yes -- he was ashamed of these feelings.

And so it went, as the darkness came. He could see the silhouette of Blinkie riding the waves, the spray around her catching the rays of moonlight. And suddenly it happened. Where was Blinkie? The beach had begun to empty, but where was she? Had she gone off with these handsome, silly men and boys? Then he heard her: "Stinkie! Stinkie! Help me!" He ran like the clappers and dived into the sea, following her frightened and yet gorgeously rabbitty tones. She was underneath the log, below a wave with her paws caught on the rope. In a second he had saved her, swum with her -really quite athletically- back to shore and laid her on the sand.

"Oh Stinkie! You saved me!"

Now, call our girl fickle, but in that second, Stinkie was transformed into a rabbit Adonis. She saw him in a new light. He might dawdle and loaf around; he might not be socially articulate, but he had saved her life and showed some serious, sinewy athleticism into the bargain. They rubbed noses.

On the way home, Stinkie drove and Blinkie fell asleep on the passenger seat, exhausted by her ordeal. It was going to be lurrrrrrrrrvvvvvve. And  in the morning, he placed some clover tenderly on her straw pillow. The next adventure they must have together. Never again, would she go for pretty boys, but for a slightly overweight herbivore who was a surprisingly good swimmer.

There's a lesson in there for you all, ladies.