My sweet little Buster, my guinea pig I brought with me from CA, died a few weeks ago. He completed his average life span (five years), and I was very sad to see him go. It was awful coming home to an empty house. He had the cutest little squeaks and purrs and there’s nothing more adorable than a guinea pig sneeze. Adjusting to his absence was tough. He was my furry little rodent companion.
I wasn’t planning on getting another animal, so I went to the local thrift store to see if they took pet stuff. I had Buster’s cage, toys and a bunch of dry food. They didn’t, they told me.
But inside the store was a flyer for a rescue bunny that needed a home.
Went home and thought about it. Then went to meet the rabbit, who belonged to a woman who had lots of rabbits (not to mention chinchillas), but this one was a rascal. He’d chosen a female there in that menagerie to protect and call his own, and he didn’t play nice with others (he has been spayed).
He was so soft. So beautiful, with a coat the color of milk chocolate.
Went home, thought about it some more. Then I went and picked him up and brought him home.
It’s kind of like an unplanned pregnancy.
I’ve put up a little pen for him. It has tall sides, for he can really jump. He’s doing well with litter box training, and we’re getting used to one another. I go into the little fenced area and sit with him and he hops around and is slowly coming up to nuzzle and let me pet him. He’s starting to trust me. And he loves the treats I had for Buster. Slowly I will expand his roaming territory.
Rabbits are prey animals. They have trust issues. It’s nothing like having a cat or dog or guinea pig. He hates to be picked up, for if a rabbit’s feet are off the ground, their brains tell them they are about to be eaten and they fight like hell. He’s just starting to relax and feel comfortable here. And that cute little furry nose never stops twitching.
They thump with their back foot when stressed or alarmed, just like in the movie, “Bambi.” He seems to be calming down and thumping less. Change is hard for rabbits, so, as when I set up a new pen that gave him more room, he needed time to feel comfortable in it.
I’m calling him Cadbury, for he looks just like a chocolate bunny. But I call him Digger too sometimes as boy howdy rabbits are diggers. And chewers. I’m about to go back to the thrift store for socks I can put on table legs, for they love gnawing on wood. Any wood.
I keep a pile of brown paper in his pen for digging. He loves it. Especially the brown paper packaging material Amazon is using these days.
He will be good company in the winter. The way he zips around doing “binkies” — little hops where he twists in the air like an ice skater — is adorable. It means he’s happy, I’m told.
So. Adapting. Cadbury to me, me to Cadbury. He’s easy to fall in love with. And can also be a pain. But that’s mostly on me, learning to care for a rabbit. It’s a learning curve. He has a big personality.
Caddie needs to feel safe and protected. That he can trust me, that I will be gentle with him. It’s taking time. And that’s OK.
Funny, as my kind grief counselor Kora pointed out — I need all those things too.
7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, acrylic, pastel on paper = $95
