Bunnicula Strikes Again! (Bunnicula and Friends)
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IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN.
The Monroes' kitchen is littered with the remains of vegetables drained of all color. To Chester it's obvious that Bunnicula, the vampire rabbit, is up to his old tricks.
But Harold is more frightened for Bunnicula than of him. The poor bunny doesn't look too good. Is he sick? Or just unhappy? Or has Chester finally gone too far in his attempt to make the world safe for veggies?
One thing's for sure: Harold isn't going to let anything bad happen to his long-eared pal -- even if it means leaving the comfort of his home, losing his best friend, and risking his own life. And if he fails -- could this be the end of Bunnicula?
delight ready and waiting for me. (Some of my readers have written expressing their concern about the potentially detrimental effects of chocolate on dogs, to which I can only say that while it is true some dogs have been known to become ill from eating chocolate, others have not. Luckily, I fall into the latter category. Also, I hasten to remind my readers that I, like the books I have written, am a work of fiction.) Parenthetical digression aside, I return to that Friday evening in May when I
in a Mets cap. A West Highland white terrier with a lavender bandanna knotted jauntily around her neck. The bandanna may have been different, but otherwise the two looked exactly the same as when we’d last seen them. “It is them!” I exclaimed. “Chester, it’s Bob and Linda from Chateau Bow-Wow.” I don’t know whether it was Bob and Linda in particular or the memory of the boarding kennel where we’d met them, but Chester muttered, “Oh, no,” and rolled his eyes. If Pete was an Olympic eye-roller,
came running in from the kitchen, the front door swung open and in walked Mr. Monroe. “What’s going on?” he asked, dropping his brief-case to the floor. “I don’t know,” Pete told his father. “The dogs started barking like crazy and we just got here and—” “Look!” Toby grabbed his father’s arm and pulled him toward the closet. Howie and I stopped barking as Chester, who now had all eyes upon him, filled the void with a mewling that sent chills down my spine. “Pete, get Chester’s carrier from
his head in my direction, and had I known then what I would later learn, I would have seen the listlessness in the movement, might even have detected the lack of luster in his normally sparkly eyes. Do I only imagine it now, or was there something behind that glassy gaze that was saying, “Help me, Harold”? How easy it is to look back and see everything so differently. At the time, I was just relieved he was there. I didn’t pay him any more mind at that moment because the door to the kitchen
obliviously from the kitchen. “And the match goes to Toby,” Chester commented as he licked a curled paw. “Nice wordplay.” “People are fascinating, aren’t they, Chester?” I asked as we followed the boys and the enticing aroma of bacon into the kitchen. “All those words and they actually imagine they’re communicating.” “I swear,” said Chester, “if you waved a sign in their faces that said FEED ME BEFORE I FAINT, they’d ask if you needed to go outside. Speaking of signs, what did the poster say?”