Our dear rabbit

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There is an absence in our house this morning. A small rustling that isn’t heard. A cute face not peeking out from a bed of hay.

Our little rabbit died yesterday, and it was with great solemnity that I headed out to dig a grave in the backyard.

Rabbi, as he was best known, was my younger daughter’s pet. She had been asking for a pet- pig, horse- for years and when the opportunity came up to get a rabbit, I thought it would be a perfect starter pet for competent tweenager.  

The rabbit was a constant source of concern; requiring new cages, new foods, and new cleaning protocols. I watched over the little creature but failed in the end, with much regret.

Two weeks ago, my daughter noticed the rabbit was losing fur on his feet. I went to google and found the condition was likely urine scald; bunny getting his feet wet with pee causing skin irritation. I googled some more and got advice from a hobby farm Facebook group I joined.

We washed his feet regularly with saline water, kept the cage cleaned and full of hay, giving him several hours a day out of his hutch; he seemed to be getting better. But yesterday when we went to give him carrot scraps from supper, he was gone.

As parents we allow our children to have pets for several reasons; to learn responsibility, for companionship, and eventually, to learn lessons about death and loss before they start to lose important people in their lives.

This is not our first pet loss, and we have gone through the loss of some important humans too. It’s all part of life, losing the people and pets we care about. And it isn’t easy. It’s not supposed to be. But you get better at dealing with loss, learn to live with the absences.

My daughter and I both feel sadness about the death of our little rabbit. It was difficult not seeing and hearing him this morning.

In our book of thankfuls yesterday, the only thing I could think to write was that I was thankful the ground had warmed up enough that I could dig a little grave.