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“It appears you can’t, and that’s not even my assessment, it’s yours. And you shared that in a rather scathing Instagram post. You may not be physically harming the animal, but I don’t take kindly to people hating animals, either.”

There are screams from upstairs, and hurried footsteps coming down the staircase. “Mommy, no!” the youngest girl wails. “She’s my bunny, you can’t give her back! Granny and Grandpa got her for me!”

The older girl glares at me, looking a lot like her mother, and then extricates the bunny from my hands as if I’m really going to take it. She cradles it to her chest, and tells Dion, “What kind of mother are you! You’re always telling us not to be assholes, but you get to be one when it suits you!” I rear my head back, stunned. Dion rolls her eyes, and replies, “Don’t be a dick, Nelly, go upstairs.” The other women laugh, and Nelly reaches for her younger sister’s hand, and takes her back upstairs, having forgotten all about their fight over an iPad. I give a light shake of my head, because fuck me, I’m so confused. And possibly traumatized by whatever the hell I walked into. “Anyway, you should know that your post on Instagram has been reported for defamation, and slander, both against me, and the shelter, and should you continue to make such defamatory posts, I will be forced to take legal action.”

Dion’s mouth drops open, and the brunette jumps from the sofa, swaying on her feet with her wine glass in hand. “Now, before you go any further Mr…”

“Doctor King,” I supply.

“I’m Miss Spencer’s attorney,” she continues, “and what you’re doing is coercion.”

“And you’re clearly drunk, counsellor,” I reply, knowing anything she says now won’t be worth much in an actual court of law because she’s inebriated, and her recount of what’s happening now will be considered unreliable testimony.

“Now,” I look back at Dion, “can I trust that the bunny in question will receive the absolute best care possible, or must I have someone from the shelter come and collect her so we can find a better home?”

“This is the best home for Lola bunny, thank you very much, doctor. As you can see, none of my houseplants are dead, and neither are my children. I’ve also managed to refrain from killing my ex-husband and his new child-bride.” I’ve obviously offended her delicate sensibilities, but perhaps now she’ll take my visit more seriously, and stop posting shit online for the whole damn world to see. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

“Fine, but should I see anything online that explicitly defames myself, my private veterinary practice, or the Tarrytown Animal Shelter, this visit will look like child’s play.” Before anyone else can contribute to what has been the most bizarre experience I think I’ve ever had, I turn, open the door, and walk back to my truck. Scratching my head, because what the fuck just happened? I pull away from the curb, and call Nyree.

“I’m on my way home, do you guys want to eat out, or get UberEats for dinner?”

“Let me ask Princess Aroha what she wants to do,” she replies, making me smile. My daughter has us all wrapped around her finger. I hear her voice as she speaks to Nyree, and comes back with, “Princess Aroha wants, and I quote, ‘a picnic in the back garden under the fairy lights Papa put up for me’.” I chuckle, and shake my head, telling Nyree, “That’s perfect, I’ll stop at the market, and get what we need, if you can just ask Gabriel to set up the grill outside.”

“Sure thing. How’d the welfare check go?”

I groan. “I’ll fill you in when I get home. When Aroha is asleep.”

Nyree gasps, and squeals at the same time, and I don’t know how she fucking does that. “Did you meet someone?”

It’s a sad situation when a grown man, who has a child, talks to his baby sister about a woman before he talks to his friends, but, “I think so? I don’t know, Ny. It was just fucking weird.”

And I can’t help but feel that I may have just started a war. Dion doesn’t strike me as the type of woman to back down, which is fine, because I’m not the kind of man who backs down either. If I can perform the Haka in front of 50 000 people at Eden Park during a Rugby World Cup final against the South African Springboks — our biggest rivals — I’m pretty sure I can handle a bunny-hating social-media-happy single mom like Dion.