When I was in fourth grade, the thing I wanted more than anything in the world was a bunny.
We had cats and a dog, and various and sundry goldfish, but I wanted a house rabbit. Preferably a flop-eared rabbit.
Mom and Dad weren’t so keen on the idea. For my ninth birthday, instead of a bunny, I found a cage in the living room with a guinea pig.
I named her Abby. She was a black-and-white checked Abyssinian. She was the best birthday present ever.
I went on to get three more guina pigs over the next several years — a friend for Abby, then after Abby died, a friend for her friend, and so on. I loved those guinea pigs, but I never did get a bunny.
Maybe that’s why they keep showing up in my art.