There are bunnies throughout our world. There are rabbits, hares, whatever your preference. Yet, there is only one Fuzzy. Legends speak of a mysterious glen located nowhere, yet never too far from anywhere. Legend also speaks of a bunny, The Bunny...The Bunny of Cuteness. Many dispute legends and they have very good reasons to do so. Fuzzy, on the other hand is not merely a legend. He is a fact. Some mornings you may awake to find that you may not be as real as you would believe yourself to be. Fuzzy is at least as real as you.

First and foremost, Fuzzy is a bunny. Second and far more, Fuzzy is a man. As long as time could tell, for time is rarely more than one can remember, Fuzzy has always been in this glen. The only bunny with the fuzzy body of a fuzzy man. The cutest bunny with or without the fuzzy body of a fuzzy man. He was and many say still is the mentor of the forest creatures. Despite this, Fuzzy always felt an emptiness. He always felt out of place. There was more to this world than this glen, than this legend. This bunny was more than cute, he was ambitious, even curious. He left the glen and walked into a world of man, a world not meant for bunnies. This is his story.

Installment #01: Exodus
8 May 2001-As Relayed by Fuzzy

Legends are a glorious thing. They give hope and pride to the downtrodden. They give the weak a reason for strength. They give the bored excitement and mystery. Legends have existed for as long as the Earth is young. Only a few ages younger than the Earth is a Forest Glen. Far from wherever you live, but close to wherever you are going sits this legendary glen. It has many names, many locations, and even more spirit. Legends of gingerbread houses, red-hooded couriers, strong-breathed wolves have all been born here. They are all true. Yet some are more true than others and many are less true than most, but none are so true as the tales of Fuzzy.

Deep within this glen, but not deeper than the center, lived a lad. He was a fuzzy lad, a bunny lad, the cutest bunny-lad that ever graced this glen or would ever grace others. He was a bunny by nature, but a man by form. He knew the ways of the forest creatures, yet was ignorant of the ways of man. Perhaps this is why he awoke one morn with a pain in his heart. A pain no larger than a pinprick, but more potent than a tear.

Fuzzy was never a fan of tears or pinpricks and he certainly knew he was no fan of heartaches. He didn't even feel a desire to hop or play. His morning cabbage sat before him and he didn't even want a nibble, much less a munch. Something was terribly wrong. Fuzzy was the mentor of the forest creatures and well-known for solving dilemmas, yet he was stumped. He left his warren and decided to seek advice from his forest friends. The first pal Fuzzy came across was Senor Squirrel doing his morning acorn-toss exercise. Squirrels have to keep in shape too, you know.

"Good Morning, Meester Fuzzy," said Senor Squirrel, "you are looking less cute than usual. Is something wrong?"
"There is a pain in my heart," replied our darling Fuzzy.
"You have been eating thornbushes?" queried the squirrel.
"No," said Fuzzy,"not in my stomach, in my heart."
"Oh, you are sad," consoled Senor Squirrel, "How many hops have you done today?"
"Only one," said the heartaching bunny.
"Ah..." chimed in the fit friend, "You must always do 50 hops a day. This will help, yes."

With this, Senor Squirrel returned to his toss. Fuzzy scurried off, not as quickly as he usually would, but still more quickly than you would. He hopped towards the Hopping Field and continued to hop once he had arrived. The field was empty all except for Madame Muskrat. Fuzzy counted as he hopped in place.

"Getting your morning exercises in?" asked Madame Muskrat.
"No," replied Fuzzy, "I am hopping because my heart hurts like my tummy when it is empty."
"Ah..." responded the musky buddy, "Hopping is no good, what you need is romance."

Fuzzy was confused. He had heard of romance, but he had never witnessed it. Regardless, he continued to hop. Irregardless of this, the muskrat inched closer. With a skip and bound, she leapt into our hoppy hero's arms. Our hoppy hero then toppled from the muskrat's weight. Madame Muskrat was not known for her fit figure. Fuzzy, on the other hand, was known as the cutest creature in the glen. Even a lonely muskrat can not ward off such lagomorphian sex-appeal. Madame Muskrat painted his face with slobbery kisses. Fuzzy was stunned. Then, it all became clear. Romance was not so foreign to him. He had witnesed it when he saw the wolves attack the boars and the coyotes devour the sheep. Romance was a tricky way of saying eat.

Now, it is true that our hero's heart hurt and he was feeling empty like an unfed belly, but this bunny was never so weak as to be eaten by a middle-aged muskrat. In a flash, he had kneed her in the stomach and pummeled her with his fists. As Madame Muskrat doubled over in agony, Fuzzy scurried away much more quickly than he had come.