Max and the Rabbit, a short play

Max and the Rabbit

Scene 1

We are in the garage of an architecturally unremarkable house in Livermore. It is August of 2010. Two black Labrador Retrievers are sleeping in the cool half-light of the garage. One dog is older, quite a bit of white around the muzzle. The younger dog is a puppy, perhaps three months old, with a face that says more than Labrador waits within him.  In a side yard through the open side door nearby, unseen, the engine of a Barracuda is being tinkered with.

Presently, a quiet skip-rasp, skip-rasp of smaller claws is heard.

Skip-rasp, skip-rasp, skip-rasp. Pause again. 

Skip-rasp, skip rasp: in the doorway to the very hot side yard there appears a rabbit. White with dark grey spots, a Lop-eared bunny to delight the eye and heart of any eight-year-old.

The older dog opens an eye, pink sliding back from pupils turning milky.

Raider: You. Busfloss.

Two thumps of the tail.
Sigh.

Bucephalas: Raider. Hot outside, no water. Do you have water here?

Raider: Water cool.

One lick of chops.

Raider: You play? I play gentle. This one here, maybe not so gentle.

Three thumps of the tail.
Sneeze.
Puppy stirs.

Bucephalas: I need water. And cool sleeping. Too hot.

Skip-rasp, skip rasp, Bucephalas comes closer.
Thump-thump-thump-thump Raider's tail.
Rabbit and old dog regard one another. Neither knows it, but the music coming from the side yard is Desperado, by the Eagles.

Raider: Water here.

Raider stands, slow, and turns to a gravity-fed water bowl. Two laps. Two more laps.
The puppy stretches out, sighing, snoring little snores.
Bucephalas skip-rasp, skip-rasp, skip-rasp hops to water.

Raider: Water good. You have water now. I lie down. Play? Play? I lie down. Play soon. First lie down. Hot standing up.

Raider lies down on the cool concrete floor, near the puppy but adjusted now for the little one's stretching out cozy snoozing. Bucephalas regards the water bowl.

Bucephalas: No spout. 

CLANG! of a wrench being dropped. Bucephalas: freezes! Raider: raises ears, sitting up. Muffled curse from side yard, sound of beer can tipped over on hot concrete, scrape of wrench being picked up. Puppy snores, feet twitching, a quiet yip here and there.

Bucephalas is still for a long time, large dark left eye fixed on the door to the side yard. Raider has lain back down a long while before Bucephalas moves. Outside, the barest breath of a breeze stirs one or two leaves on one or two trees. They are the only leaves that move in Livermore that day. We do not see this. Bucephalas hears it and understands. Raider hears it and thinks about biscuits. The puppy growls and yips and plays in his dreams. Bucephalas turns again to the water bowl.

Bucephalas: No spout.

Raider: Water is good.

Bucephalas: Too hot.

Raider farts.

Bucephalas: My work is not done. Where there is water, I must drink.

Bucephalas puts his front paws on the edge of the plastic gravity bowl (his claws are far too long, and some of them are bloody and infected) and lowers his head, pink rabbit tongue drink-drink-drinking water. For a long time, the only sound is the music outside -- Foo Fighters, a surprising choice -- and the twisting of a ratchet wrench and the drinking of a rabbit tongue. Then a screen door slams from the house beyond the fence, beyond the side yard, and it so loud so very loud like an explosion and Bucephalas

falls

twitching

into time

We see a scene in the future: the puppy, three years older, stands with his nose at the wire mesh of the Hutch of Bucephalas.

Puppy: You. I remember You.

Bucephalas: Would you devour your future before you know it?

Puppy: You run? You play?

Bucephalas: Not now. Our time is short. I have a message for Chauncey.

Puppy: Who? No. Play.

Bucephalas: Play soon. I promise. When you are alone on the mountain, I will come and let you chase me. But for now, Maxwell, please settle. 

Puppy: Jax! Jax! I am Jax! Jax plays! JAX PLAYYYYYYYS!

Bucephalas: You are a born Maxwell. I know how to get chewy pigs' ears for you.

Puppy: Chewy Yum?!

Bucephalas: Sit still. Good. Now --

Bucephalas opens his eyes. The light coming through the door from the side yard is tinged with the late-afternoon red-gold of August, the temperature edging down toward tolerable. He is laying curled up with the puppy (Jax? Max.) and Raider. The puppy has his left paw resting on Bucephalas. Both dogs are snoring gently.

Bucephalas closes his eyes.