Weird events

There was a loud thumping noise outside my lair this morning. Fear struck me like a cow falling from a Russian cargo plane. Believe me, I..ve seen it happen. At first I tried to find innocuous explanations and for this I rummaged through my mind for quite a length of time. I had to sit down at some point because the rummaging had made my ears all fidgety and more pointy than usual. But for long the terror stave off I could not. "It must be the dog," I thought, that scourge of many a lagamorph. "The dog!" What to do? I am a rabbit of fierce temper. Caesar would have crossed the Rubicon twice if he possessed half of what I have of wit and mettle. But to confront this terrible fiend, I deemed suicide. Soon however, my trepidation found competition in the sniffling sense of keen curiosity which, victorious, eventually drew me to the light. If I was to die, than at least I should have looked this barking ogre in the eye, satisfied the curiosity that made me hop around and knock my head into the earthen ceiling of my den on at least three painful occasions. I crawled up to the entrance (one of many of course; I have yet to meet a live rabbit that digs but one escape route). What I saw flummoxed me greatly. The beast that was the origin of so much horrid clamor had not four legs. It barked not and neither did it howl or bite. It did however possess a kind of tale that flapped in the tormenting winds of inhospitable winter. To my relief I found a stranded weather balloon, hooked on a rocky outcrop that had caught it after a baneful descent. Some glass lay scattered among a mangled metal box and I realized that it must have been the weight of these instruments ..of meteorological nature no doubt- clashing with the unmoved earth that had ended my solemn slumber so brutally. Dread mitigated, I retreated into my easy warren. One day I might have to move to Longyearbyen; that depraved center, capital of Svalbard and host to 1800 people. Maybe in spring Bandini. Maybe in spring.