ferb goes to the farm

You may remember your introduction to Ferb, so named by popular demand from my Disney Channel sources. I also think the name fits him.

I led you to believe that Ferb was in training as my inseparable sidekick and regular OneArmGirl installment. I am loathe to admit, however, that since his blog debut, my grandma's beloved, if somewhat creepy, hook-armed rabbit has spent much of his time sitting atop my bedroom bookshelf, half concealed by a door.

I admit I've never been much of a stuffed animal girl [that's cuddly toys to some of you]. Oh, I had plenty of them growing up, but when it comes to sleeping, they just seem to crowd the bed, inevitably landing on the floor by morning.

I must shamefully admit my only interaction with Ferb, since I inherited him, has been to remove him from his perch for dusting and room arranging. It should be noted that my room re-arranging mostly involves moving my bookshelf to a different wall, only to decide it doesn't fit there, and moving it back; then returning Ferb to his spot, from which he looks at me with deep disappointment in his button eyes. If he could shake his head, he would, I'm sure.

I was getting into bed every night feeling like a hypocrite, so Monday afternoon, I grabbed Ferb off the shelf, tucked him under my arm, and headed out the door to the farm. I set him on the sink counter in the tack room while I poked around the barn, putting things in order. He didn't seem to mind since he doesn't have legs. I was feeling tired and unmotivated, which only pointed to one thing....Dr. Pepper, a temptation I have little power to resist. Plus, Ferb looked thirsty.

I let Ferb have the first drink; it was the least I could do to make up for my wrongful neglect. [I swear he's cradling that can with an evil smile.]

But enough procrastinating; it was time to groom Sam, whom I fetched from the pasture. Sam has never been a big fan of brushing, especially on his underside. At best, he tolerates it.

Ferb was no help with grooming at all, having his arm full with a Dr. Pepper and his prosthetic, as always, full with a carrot. He insists on taking that damn carrot everywhere and never eating it.

So, I set Ferb on Sam's back where he wouldn't be underfoot. Well, actually, I put him on Sam's butt because it was the only surface flat enough. Both he and Sam seemed to tolerate this, though Ferb was looking a little stiff. He seemed nervous.





I explained that plenty of people without arms or legs learn to ride a horse. I'd seen this first hand at the Paralympic equestrian events, I said, he had nothing to be afraid of.










Then Ferb fell off.

And he did not appreciate that I went running for my camera instead of rescuing him off the ground.

He reminded me that those legless paralympians had special saddles and he had been riding bareback. I reminded him that he wasn't riding at all, but standing while I groomed Sam. We didn't speak for some time after that.




But Ferb got back in the saddle later for lesson time. Little did he know, I was using him to get my riders to use their seat for balance instead of their arms. At least he felt a little more secure this time. And I'm happy to report no one fell off.












In all, I think Ferb preferred the love he got on the ground. Just look at the smile on his face. It was certainly more attention than he'd gotten in some time. I'm hoping it tides him over.







Unfortunately I can't end the day on a high note. In a disturbing insult to injury, Ferb has suffered an serious wound to his left arm, which is coming apart at the shoulder, white stuffing pushing out of his over-stuffed insides. He is certain this happened with his fall, but I suspect otherwise. When the injury was discovered, Kristy secreted him away to the house, for which, I'm sure Ferb was eternally grateful. When I went to collect him before heading home, she promised to sew him back together, to which I agreed surprisingly easily and left him in her care.

I think Grandma would be pleased, though I'm now wondering where Kristy's going to get a needle.

OneArmGirl

mystery solved...sort of

My mom and her four brothers have been stoically wading through the contents of my grandparents’ house as neither my grandma nor my grandpa now live there. Up to now, this has only affected me in my inbox with conspicuous subjects like “desk,” “bedside table,” and “mountain goat leg lamp.” For reasons I can’t get into right now, I am seriously interested in the last.

But recently I received an email attached with pictures of this stuffed rabbit...yes, with a prosthetic hook arm. I have vague memories of it from childhood time spent in my grandparents’ basement rumpus room, but until it showed up again a few weeks ago, I never really considered its existence at all.

Many questions come to mind... Why? How did this happen? Where did it come from? Why does it give me the creeps? What happened to his legs?! And mostly, What is the likelihood that a rabbit would ever be fitted with a prosthetic arm? I was highly suspicious until Kristen sent me this timely link. Apparently more likely than I thought.

But perhaps most importantly, How did this prosthetic-wearing rabbit come to be in my grandparents’ basement? It would seem that, at some point in time, my dear grandma acquired not one, but two, stuffed rabbits with prosthetic arms for her toy collection. Now, there are one of two options...a)My grandma had a hook-arm rabbit fetish, or b)She had a granddaughter with a prosthetic arm and, wanting me not to feel strange or abnormal, added those rabbits to her collection. How she found them without the internet is inconceivable.
But the thought that those rabbits had existed in her basement for as long as I can remember, primarily for my benefit, had never before occurred to me; Until now, eleven years after my grandma left this world, when my mother uncovered them, and I unearthed another deepening of my grandmother’s love. And why did she buy two rabbits with fake arms? That is still a mystery.

But what should become of the rabbits now? Send them to me stat, I tell my mother by phone, they have a new career awaiting on my blog. But it was decided that only one rabbit should be sent and his brother should remain with my parents, as two might be a bit much for one apartment (don’t want to get the neighbors talking). I think they could use some time apart anyway.
Only one thing remains. My unexpectedly inherited one-armed rabbit needs a name. Any ideas?

I love you, Grandma, very very very much.

OneArmGirl