TOKI!

It has come to my attention that I occasionally make rash decisions. Prime example: within a day of finding out about the opportunity, choose to spend a year teaching in a country that I know little to nothing about. 

Example #2? Purchase a baby bunny in said country from an old woman in a subway station. 

Yes. About a week ago, while sauntering through Singil Station with my friends Angela and Klaus, I happened upon an adjuma (old Korean woman) crouched in the middle of the transfer walkway tossing bunnies from a cardboard box like enticing, furry water balloons. We pushed our way through the crowd, just for a look-see, mind you, and I found myself drawn to a particular little bun who kept trying to make a break for it. And who wouldn't, considering his current home was a concrete tunnel in which wrinkled, gnarled fingers continuously hurled him from his warren of bunny friends to attract customers such as myself? 

With a little encouragement from Klaus and Angela, I purchased the little bunny and carried him home in a shopping bag stuffed with strips of newspaper, only to realize that I had no place to house the little creature. 

Bunny and me, getting acquainted

This is the sometimes problem, sometimes indulgence of living in a foreign country: in a land that feels like an alternate universe, the rash decision occasionally seems like the reasonable one. Would I have made the same split-second choice in the U.S.? Would such an option have even presented itself to me there? 

Goods of all sorts are sold in the subway stations here, and on the subway trains, as well. Cardigans, lipstick, cell phones, school supplies, pets--all these can be purchased in transit. It is the quintessential example of the sort of consumerist culture that exists here in Korea: No need to stop! Just see, buy, and scurry on. 

He is so small, he fits in my hand

And in this way, I have succumbed to being a Korean consumer. My unplanned purchase, however, led me to realize how very much I have missed having an animal companion in my 9 months here. Having left my beloved cat at home, and achieving pathetic amounts of contact with the pets of Korea, I have rediscovered the glory of having a little bundle of fur of my very own. 

From Google-imaging pictures of baby bunnies, I'm guessing mine is about a month old now, though there's no precise way to tell. It seemed fitting to give him both an English and Korean name, so he is officially dubbed Tobias, or Toby, (English, after characters on two of my favorite television shows) and Toki (Korean . . . for rabbit. Yes, I am a creative mastermind). At least I think it's a "he." That's another detail that the internet tells me will be difficult to identify for several weeks yet. Anyway, I tend to just address him as "Bunny" or "Bun-bun," though I felt I should give him a real name so he didn't struggle with too many identity issues.

Bunny squatting behind a pig I once received for free from a bar

I bought him a cage, a water bottle, and plenty of alfalfa and bunny pellets from my local E-Mart (Korean equivalent of Wal-Mart, but without all those underpaid workers), and he seems quite happy with the arrangement thus far. When I'm home, I let him scamper around my apartment, which he has been using as his own personal bathroom. He explores the nooks and crannies, runs around my faux-wood floors at break-neck speed, and comes to sudden, sliding halts where his legs slide out from underneath him and a very surprised expression appears on his face as if to say, "Oh dear, how did this happen again?" 

Korea! Once again, you have drawn me into your clutches, and the result this time is that I now have the responsibility of caring for a live creature even when I'm off the clock. Let's hope he fares better than my plants.