Rabbit Ears

Photo courtesy Flickr

It hasn’t been very long since the Experience Music Project opened its doors not far west of the house. That glorious pile of scrap metal, accidental offspring of Mr. Allen’s affinity for Jimi Hendrix, is Seattle’s answer to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Every year during this week, I remember the happy accident that made listening to the inaugural concerts such a joy.

A friend had asked me to bunny-sit her sons’ brown rabbit, Fudge. We installed Fudge in the latticed back porch, and as I went about my household business over the three days of the EMP’s first celebration, I could visit Fudge and watch her super-ears responding to the national acts that were baptizing the building and the city with streams of sound.

Fudge had spent her life in a quiet suburb listening to an Oxford accent. To visit Seattle’s version of an inner city and process the best live popular music must have been very interesting. I don’t speak rabbit, although my guinea pig is quite good, but Fudgie seemed to be aware and attentive and no more apprehensive than a small herbivore in an unfamiliar situation would have been.

She came back for several more visits, and always seemed to lend a special ear to life on the Hill.

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