Longwood-Dexter Comprehensive Animal was in a modern glass building on Route 9. Dawn squeezed into a space by the Dumpster and sighed as she cut the engine. It was close by and it seemed professional. Not specifically recommended by her last vet, but how up on the newer treatments could he have been?
“C’mon, Hildie,” she took the carrier from the passenger side, “You’re all I have left. That’s a lot for one bunny to bear, but they’ll have you hopping by dinnertime.” The rabbit lifted one ear and twitched her nose.
A large security guard leaned against a desk. The sleeves of his uniform taut over bodybuilder muscles. He looked up when the doors opened, sized up the carrier, and nodded. The elevator doors whirred. Small House Pet Care was floor seven.
Cacophony with a riot of odors assaulted them. Dogs yipped; cats hissed. Wet fur, stale biscuits, and old coffee competed in the cramped waiting area. A receptionist led them to an examination room, handing Dawn a thick stack of forms.
“Fill out as much as you can. The more you tell us, the better we’ll understand your pet.”
“I have Dr. Brownell’s file with me.” Dawn dropped her shoulder, letting her purse slide open. “He retired, but he took care of Hildegarde.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the receptionist snapped her gum. “Our specialists form their own impressions using the latest veterinary science.”
“What kind of information would be useful? I have the chart showing her growth and weight.”
“We have machines for that. It’s the psychological profile we want. Is your pet moody? Irritable? Hungry for no reason after 8pm? Take your time, the doctor’s running behind.” The door shut.
“Well, this seems over-the-top. I hope they give you a carrot.” Dawn put the carrier on the examination table and looked at an assessment page— Circle the paws: 1 for not at all, 5 for absolutely. In the morning, my pet is excited to see me.
The receptionist stuck her head back in. “The doctor will be along as soon as he’s done with the dog.” She disappeared without waiting for a response.
A blank computer stood next to a display rack. A faint click released air from the overhead vent and caught the first few “Ferrets are Our Friends” and “Sleep Cycle of the Mongoose” pamphlets. A scale and a box of latex gloves sat on a bench. Hildegarde was curled into a tiny ball. Her ears rose and fell with each breath.
The cloud of cologne hit first. Then a burly man with thinning black hair and a heavy beard entered. Dawn was struck by how hairy the back of his hand was as they greeted each other. It was damp—he had not finished drying it.
“I’m Doctor Kettler, nice to meet you, and nice to meet . . . your rabbit,” he read from his clipboard. “What seems to be the problem?”
“She stopped hopping last week, then confined her movements to her cage.”
“Any change in diet?” He took Hildegarde in his massive hands. He peered into her eyes, poked her stomach, tugged each ear.
“Fresh vegetables and Timothy hay, no change there.”
“House rabbits have a sensitive digestive system,” he addressed the pamphlets, avoiding eye contact. “It is possible she has an upset tummy.” He put her on the metal tray. She tucked down; ears flat. “Simple blood test—the nurse will be right in.” He marched out.
The fluorescent light buzzed; a laminated poster of a hamster’s skeletal system caught the glare. Dawn patted Hildegarde. “Hang in there, Hildie.”
A nurse came, brown hair tucked in a bun, clutching a small black case to her purple scrubs. “I’m Jennifer,” she said with a somber look. “It’s quick. I’ll leave you here.”
Dawn nodded, relieved to avoid the barky waiting room, missing the companionable silence of her home.
“Just a pinch,” Jennifer whispered, taking a long needle out of the case and plunging it into the bunny’s side. She straightened and left.
“This is kind of a weird place, Hildie, maybe I need to find another.” She touched the soft fur under the left ear. The rabbit flopped over. “Hildie?” Dawn shook her and touched her nose, but she didn’t move.
Dawn screamed.
Dr. Kettler flew in, the nurse behind him.
“What is the problem?” He looked at Dawn for the first time.
“It’s Hildie. She’s dead!”
The nurse looked confused. “Doctor, I administered the Somulose while you set Shadow’s broken paw.”
Doctor Kettler’s nostrils flared. “That was to end Dewdrop’s suffering. How is this an obese cat with rabies?”
“You never said that part. I—”
“Assumed. Which I have no need for. You are fired.” He shook his head. “What kind of consolation is that for,” he glanced down at his clipboard, “Hildegarde von Bingen Bunny?”
The nurse’s mouth was a tight line as she turned to Dawn. “I am so sorry for your loss.” She left the room.
Dr. Kettler put a hairy hand on Dawn’s shoulder, the manly scent shrouded them.
“This is a terrible tragedy. Your rabbit, Hildegarde von Bingen Bunny . . . was well-loved and active in her community. She could live on here.”
“What do you mean?” A sob welled up in Dawn’s chest while she gagged from his scent.
“In addition to caring for pets, we do research. Hildegarde could help us understand how to care for her kind.”
“Like by not killing them when they have a tummy ache?” Rage flared in Dawn’s core.
“That’s a fine example: house rabbit digestive systems. We could learn from Hildegarde.”
“You mean dissect her? Cut her open like a still-warm organ donor!? She was my friend!” Her nostrils flared.
“Alright,” Dr. Kettler held up his hands. “Maybe not the right choice for your family. This is a full-service facility. I can arrange to have Hildegarde cremated today. A courier will deliver her ashes in a decorative vase. Normally an expensive process, but we’ll waive all fees.” His unctuous turn from stealing Hildie’s body to destroying evidence sparked her suspicion. She needed time to understand what was happening.
“We are leaving. You’ll hear from my lawyers.” The threat landed. His face flashed with rage, then desperation.
“Please—”
Dawn charged out of the room, Hildie cradled in her arm.
The elevator’s digital display swam through her tears. The bing of the lobby doors opening flipped a switch in her. The security guard’s face froze at her expression.
She fumed across the parking lot. Sue them. Make them pay. She reached for the door handle and saw the nurse’s reflection in the window.
“How dare—”
“You saved her,” the nurse said, looking at the rabbit’s body.
“What do you mean? She’s dead! You killed her.”
Jennifer pressed a business card into Dawn’s hand. “Look, there’s this place . . . they’ll treat Hildegarde’s body respectfully. I used to work there. Decent people, a married couple from Bhutan. She does all the talking. They’ll take care of you. It’s above the puppet theater.” She walked back into the hospital without looking back.
Dawn’s eyes followed as her mind looped through the tracks of the day. She got in the car and buckled up. If only she had asked what the nurse was doing. She looked down at the body, hardly any weight on her legs. A tear plopped onto the fur as she started the car.
*~**~*
A spot was open in front of the puppet theater. Dawn cradled Hildie while feeding quarters into the meter. She walked past the theater, looking for another door. There was only a taco shop and next to it, a nail salon. Walking back toward the car she noticed a chain link fence along the alley. She had missed it before. The gate squeaked as she pushed it open onto a narrow brick path of weeds and crumbling mortar.
She stopped in front of an old oak door with antique brass. Frosted glass on the top half said Karma Chime Statuary in block letters. She rang the buzzer. There was a faint click as the door swung in like a breath onto the bottom of a stairwell. Daylight lit it from high overhead.
“Hello?”
The stairs were metal with layers of dull black paint covering chips and scratches. Her hand ran smoothly along the rail. On the fifth flight, she saw a pile of dirt underneath a stair. On the eighth, a dead yellow-jacket lay on its back, dry legs woven together. There were no doors on the landings, no one calling down. Dawn’s breathing grew louder and the metal stairs rang as she climbed.
She stood panting at the top. A narrow walkway led to a steel door. On her left was the small window that provided light. Straight down was the alley, across, the roof of the taco place, its large metal exhaust fan turning. Next to it, the nail salon building had a roof deck. The back of an Adirondack chair faced her. Someone could sit there at night, thinking about all the things she might have done differently.
The door opened and a small woman stepped out. She looked up through octagonal lenses framed in green, salt and pepper hair swept back from her round face. Her striped maroon Kira hung down to the floor, covering her feet.
“I am Karma Chime. This is my store. Karma Chime Statuary. Come in now, we will help your problem.”
It was enormous. Thick workbenches lined the walls, each overflowing with cloth, cardboard boxes, crumbs, pegs, blocks, measuring tapes, felt-cutting mats, sewing patterns, blueprints, rulers, scissors, and half-filled glasses of tea. A square piece of floor was covered in indigo silk. Wooden school chairs stood on it in rows. Each one held a taxidermied animal that looked at Dawn—a raven with gleaming black feathers, a toy poodle with a pink tongue, a turtle with a polished shell, and a calico cat holding a ball of yarn. Warm air with a scent of forest washed over them.
“We will take this,” Karma Chime held Dawn’s gaze while gently lifting the rabbit and swaddling it in orange silk.
“I’m not sure—”
“The body is a house. We build new foundations. Come back in two days. This rabbit you see now,” she looked down, “will have a new house in a new neighborhood. You can come back. You come back.”
Hildie’s ears poked out of the silk as the door closed.
*~**~*
When Dawn got home, she left the lights off and sat in twilight. Darkness crept up and covered her like a blanket. She couldn’t bear to see the apartment without Hildegarde. Every corner was an empty corner, every silence a shut mouth. There were only building sounds—floorboards settling, a blind swaying against a window frame, the hum of the refrigerator. It grew too dark to see. She forgot if her eyes were opened or closed. It didn’t matter. It was day, it was night; she sat, she stood.
Sleep came on like a spotlight in the statuary. All the animals faced her. Hildegarde was in the middle, next to the urn, unblinking. Dawn began to hear the sound of her own inhalations. She took a step toward them. As her foot crossed into light, sleep vanished like a candle being blown out.
Morning slunk up to draw walls and floors. She stared but did not rise. Grief supplanted her spirit and moved her limbs; it brushed her hair, tied her shoes, and drove her back.
*~**~*
“Yes,” Karma Chime said, opening the door. She said it like an answer. She waved Dawn in with a slight flourish. One of the work benches was arranged like a shop counter. A blue box the size of a bakery cake stood by a register.
“That will be $396.15, parts and labor.”
“What?” Dawn’s mouth was dry, the words sharp and brittle. She hadn’t spoken in days.
“Same diet. $396.15.” Karma Chime nodded, agreeing with herself. The green metal eyeglass frames glinted. She pushed the box to Dawn.
“Same diet?”
Karma Chime flicked the credit card through the reader with a magician’s ease. The receipt printer broke the silence. “Timothy hay, not too much. Good, fresh water,” Karma Chime answered. She wrapped the credit card in the receipt and handed it back.
Dawn’s jaw dropped open. The box held the heaviness of life. Something was shifting, she felt it through her palms. When she lifted the lid, a small gray rabbit looked up. “Who is this? What’s going on?”
“Your same rabbit,” Karma Chime answered. Her husband called out from a workbench. They talked in a swaying, lilting language.
“I don’t understand,” Dawn interrupted. “Where is Hildegarde’s body? Where did this rabbit come from?”
“Your rabbit, new house,” Karma Chime answered, folding her arms across her chest, nodding.
“I left my pet’s body here, what have you done?” She gestured to the box, “Are you telling me that you brought my rabbit back to life?”
“Some people,” she nodded toward her husband, “can talk through the door, call out to the departing. ‘Hey, spirit bunny, you want to come back? You want rabbit life again?’ They choose, we cannot make them come back. Some do, some do not. Yours did.”
Dawn looked at Karma Chime’s husband. He was bent over a workbench, his right eye obscured by a jeweler’s lens. Why would they do this? Did they do this? Maybe it was real.
“Who else can you bring back?” Dawn whispered. “I have more money. I could pay.” The words slid from her mouth, her lips tightening to let only the syllables through, not the desperation.
Karma Chime sucked in her breath and shook her head. “Only animals. An animal likes the warmth of the sun, a belly full of food, a scratch between the ears. My husband says to a rabbit—there’s not much difference between the two worlds.”
Dawn thought about her own husband, about her quiet home, about the urn that watches her sleep at night. “But—”
“Humans never cross back. All we can do is invite spirits to this world. Only way. My husband sees the space in you. An empty room in your house. He gave you a new foundation. Now there is strength beneath your feet. You have been reinforced for the return. Only a foundation.”
*~**~*
The metal steps clanged beneath her feet. It was crisp; the wind had picked up. She booped the car door. Inside, the closed air was a welcome comfort. She opened the box. The rabbit looked up expectantly, one ear up and snuffling her nose just like Hildie.
She imagined telling the story. It sounded like a joke. The exhalation from her dream came to her. She would not tell. Dawn looked at her own reflection while scratching between the bunny’s soft ears.
“Alright, Hildie,” Dawn said. “Let’s see if there’s not some alfalfa left in the yard.”
Dawn drove home with the rabbit in her lap. New house. New foundation.