Hare, There and Everywhere: Episode Six

by Martin Smith
Previous episode

As he passed the 30K marker, Hare felt good—no, not good, great. Nothing stood between him and the finish line and a glorious victory.

Toot! Toot!

Hare turned around and saw a speeding car coming towards him. What now? he thought.

Toot! Toot! The car approached and swerved at the last moment as it passed him and came to a skidding halt. The door burst open, and the driver jumped out. Doe.

‘Harey! Harey!’ she shouted, rushing towards him whilst waving a thermometer. ‘Harey! Harey! I’m ovulating!’

‘What?’ Hare said.

‘I’m ovulating. It’s time.’

‘Time for what?’

‘Time to mate.’

‘Not now, sweetie, I’m mid-race.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I’m down to my last egg. It’s now or never, or we’ll never be parents.’

‘Never?’

Indecision tugged at Hare’s mind. What to choose? Parenthood? Or glorious victory? God, life sure threw up shit sandwiches at times. He looked back down the race road, and then at the thermometer in Doe’s hand. Surely he could have his carrot and eat it, too.

‘Did you pass Tortoise?’ Hare said.

‘Yes,’ Doe said. ‘Five minutes ago. He was having a cigarette with his nephews at the 27K marker.’

3K back? Hare thought. Enough of a gap to spare five minutes for Doe and her egg. But what of the golden rule? There’d been consensus about abstaining from sex before racing, but no such guidance about sex during racing.

‘OK, Doe. Let’s do it. But it will have to be a quickie.’

They rushed behind a bush and peeled off their clothes and embraced. Buck teeth met and tongues entwined.

‘Oh, Harey. Take me.’

‘Oh, Doe. You feel wonderful.’

Oh God! Hare thought, sex with Doe felt so good. Unbelievably good. Mind-blowingly good. How in the hell had he abstained from this for two decades?

‘Oh, Harey. Don’t stop.’

‘Oh, Doe. I won’t.’

And Hare became the Duracell bunny.

‘There! There! Oh, Harey. Oh God! That’s the spot. Oh, Harey … don’t stop! Don’t stop! Oh, Harey! Oh, Harey, the earth’s moving … the earth’s moving … the earth’s … mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmooooooooooovvvvvvvvvvvviiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggg!’

Boom-boom.

Boom-boom? Hare’s ears pricked.

Boom-boom.

Hare’s flushed face appeared above the bush. Tortoise! he thought. Approaching.

‘Oh God, Harey! Don’t stop. Don’t stop!’

A paw rose and guided Hare’s head back below the bush. And the Duracell bunny bonked faster, and the bush swayed.

‘There! There! Oh, Harey. Oh God! That’s the spot. Oh, Harey … don’t stop! Don’t stop! Oh, Harey! Oh, Harey, I can hear fireworks … I can hear fireworks … I can hear … ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffiiiiiiiirrrrrrrreeeeeeeewwwwwwwwoooooooorrrrrrrrkkkkkkkkssssssss!’

Boom-boom.

Boom-boom? Hare’s ears pricked.

Boom-boom.

Hare’s flushed and panting face appeared above the bush. Tortoise! he thought. Passing.

‘Oh God, Harey! Don’t stop. Pleeaasseeee!’

A paw grabbed Hare by the ear and dragged his head back below the bush. And the Duracell bunny bonked flat out, and the bush shook.

‘OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

By the time the bush stopped shaking—and a spent Hare and Doe lay back and shared a cigarette—the distant boom-booming of Tortoise had faded to silence. Hare released a smug chuckle. Given he’d fallen behind earlier and still caught Tortoise and regained the lead, his little dalliance with Doe had been worth the stop. But now he’d best get moving. He stubbed out the cigarette, kissed Doe on her cheek and went to rejoin the race, but Doe dragged him to her and said, ‘Just one more time, Big Buck.’

And the Duracell bunny heeded the call to arms.

On and on Hare bonked.

On and on Tortoise plodded.

And wider the gap between new leader and newly last became.

Hare rushed from behind the bushes and, with his jackstrap around his knees, shuffled back onto the race road. He’d fallen asleep! Succumbed to post-coitus drowsiness! And God knows how far Tortoise was in front! All because he’d been weak and succumbed to the cunicular curves of a concupiscent coney.

He hobbled on until he had pulled up his jackstrap, and then he tried to burst into a sprint, desperate to catch and pass Tortoise. But his legs would not respond. He wobbled. He buckled. He fell to his knees. ‘Oh God!’ Hare cursed. He’d legs of Jell-O. Damn Doe and her lust. He’d broken the golden rule. The new golden rule. No sex during racing.

Still Hare rested on his knees, willing his legs to rise and run. Right! he thought, this is where the carrot-nibblers separated themselves from the parsnip-munchers. Use your mind, he implored himself, and will yourself across the finish line. And he cleared his mind of Doe and her doey bits, cleared his mind of all the fame and adulation that lay ahead for the victor, cleared his mind of the shitload of cash he would get for winning and, later, celebrity endorsement, until his mind contained but a single image of a ribboned finish line and a buck-toothed wonder breaking the tape with arms aloft.

‘Hare,’ he said, ‘look within. Feel the force. Rise, go forth and win.’ And grim determination filled Hare’s legs, and he staggered up on one leg … and raised himself up on the other … and hopped a pace forward … and then another … and then … and then … and then he sank to the ground. ‘Yes,’ he shouted heavenward to the sporting gods, ‘I know, I know. I’m a weak-minded bastard of a buck.’ And he buried his face in his hands and wept the tears of a loser.

‘Hare!’ a voice shouted from behind the bush, startling him. ‘Move your bunny-tailed, jackstrapped arse!’

Doe emerged from the bush with a scowl on her face and wielding a clenched fist.

‘You better not lose this race, Harey, or I’ll divorce you. And, given the fruits of our recent conjugal labours, I’ll take you to the cleaners for alimony and kitcare.’

‘Doe, I can’t. I just can’t. I’m legless.’

‘Legless, my arse! Get up and get going, or so help me God, I’ll … I’ll …’

‘Or you’ll what?’

‘I’ll … I’ll … I’ll run away and live a life of sin with that tortoise.’

Up Hare jumped, and off he sprinted upon reinvigorated legs, desperate to avoid defeat, divorce and the sight of his Doe wrapped in the libidinous legs of a triumphal Tortoise.

At the 32K marker, Hare sighted the glint of Tortoise’s shell under the sun as he meandered onwards ahead. Hare rushed forward and caught and surged past his shelled opponent. ‘Farewell, Sucker,’ he said, and he left Tortoise covered in dust.

‘Supercilious shit,’ Tortoise said, and he lumbered on.

On and on Hare ran.

On and on Tortoise plodded.

And wider the gap between leader and last became.