When I was a teenager I had two pet rabbits. One was a Black Dutch and the other was a Yellow Dutch. Their names were Bun and Hop--I know, creative right?! Bun, the black dutch, was a boy and Hop, the yellow, was a girl (or so we thought at the time), and so we kept them housed separately because we were not prepared to have any babies.
Most of the time the bunnies were kept in metal cages outside but sometimes we would bring them in to play with them. One at a time we would let them hop around the house. They would hop up onto our laps and snuggle up with us while watching TV. We would play hide and seek with them. They were fun pets. During the summer, when the weather was nice we would build a bunny run in the yard and let them roam free in there like wild bunnies, again separately.
One summer day while we were cleaning their cages we let the bunnies roam in their bunny run. Hop, the supposed girl bunny, was in the run first while I cleaned out her cage. I finished the cleaning and asked my brother to go get Hop out of the bunny run, I was going to gather Bun and prepare him for his turn while I cleaned his cage. I waited a few minutes giving my brother ample time to capture the little critter and then I walked around the side yard with Bun securely snuggled in my arms.
As I turned the corner my brother was nowhere in sight and so I proceeded thinking all was well but as I approached the bunny run I realized I was wrong. Bun began squirming in my arms as we both noticed Hop still in the wired enclosure. I turned to retreat and yelled out to my brother. He came running--he had been sidetracked by a neighbor friend--and arrived just in time to see me lose control of Bun as the rabbit leapt from my arms towards the 2' wire fence.
I freaked out. I screamed at my brother and started chasing the bunny frantically trying to get to it before it got to the other rabbit. I dodged left and right trying to follow it's every hop when to my utter amazement and terror the black and white buck suddenly turned and faced me directly. The animal let out a fierce high pitched scream and bounded toward me on the attack.
It doesn't matter that the thing was smaller than most house cats and weighed less than a cabbage patch doll, when it turned on me my concern for my little Hop quickly became a confused fear for my life. I felt like I was in some sort of crazy horror movie as I turned tail and ran away from the miniature beast. But I wasn't as fast as it was. Within seconds it was on my leg attacking with all the furry ferocity it surely could muster. I was screaming and kicking and can't remember a single thing that happened after that point.
Twenty-five years later I still have the scar, a quarter inch squarish white spot on the back of my upper right calf and a one and a half inch line extending down from it. The spot is the bite mark and the line the deepest of the many scratches.
Yes, this is 100% true!