The Cast

When the Rabbit was very small, it fell down the stairs carrying too many toys.
As a child rabbit is bound to do.
It broke its leg.
The Rabbit cannot remember the fall itself.
Only the stories afterwards.
And the cast.

The cast made the Rabbit interesting.
The cast made adults pay attention.
The cast made ordinary activities feel slightly heroic.

The first cast was plaster.
It lasted two days.
The Rabbit had spent both of them in the garden at its grandparents' house, running.
There was dirt everywhere.
Mud.
Grass.
Water.
By the end the Rabbit had worn a hole clean through the bottom of it.
Adventure leaves marks.

So the plaster had to come off, and a fibre glass one went on instead.
The Rabbit's grandmother took it to have the cast replaced.
The Rabbit was not worried until the old cast had to come off.
Then the Rabbit became absolutely convinced they were going to cut its leg off.
No amount of reassurance helped.

The machine looked dangerous.
The blade looked very sharp.
The adults seemed suspiciously calm.

The Rabbit screamed.
The Rabbit cried.
The Rabbit prepared for the loss of an entire leg.

The leg survived.
The adults laughed afterwards.
The Rabbit did not.

The Rabbit was busy learning something important:
Adults sometimes know things that children do not.
And not knowing is terrifying.