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| Miss Giggles and Cally (the cat) chill out in the rabbit run. |
Some creature stole my bunny's head, leaving her torso and legs.
I wish I were talking about a chocolate Easter bunny, but I am not. I am talking about Miss Giggles, my dwarf rex rabbit.
Some creature, probably a neighbourhood cat, attacked Miss Giggles inside her own hutch -- allegedly a place of safety -- and almost surgically removed her head, leaving only a few small fragments of bone, blood and fur to indicate that the predator was not human.
This happened during daylight. I found Miss Giggles's headless body, newly dead, about noon one day. Her beautiful large head, with its long brown ears and large brown eyes, was nowhere to be found. The rest of her was stretched out on its side in the hutch, as if she were sleeping. The backyard was eirily silent. No bushes rustled, no leaves crackled.
I presume the animal carried the rabbit's head away to present as a trophy to its human owner -- or to nibble as a delicacy in the woods near my townhouse.
I hope that the animal killed the rabbit as food for its family -- and was not just sporting with the poor, unfortunate rabbit.
Poor Miss Giggles was potential prey for just about everything in the world. Bunnies eat plants, but most of the rest of the animal world eats bunnies.
From the beginning of my guardianship of this rabbit, I realized that Miss Giggles saw even me as a giant potential predator, even though I did everything I could to relieve her fears. Cuddled on my chest, she would finally relax her fears and chubble her delight at being held close and safe. Bunnies, of course, cannot talk, but they vibrate their teeth and throat to indicate pleasure and contentment. When relaxed and happy, their teeth chatter in a way reminiscent of a cat's purr.
Over the past four years, I delighted in being a bunny's human "mom" -- although I often felt inadequate and unsure about how to perform my role most effectively.
Miss Giggles provided a delightful introduction to the joys of bunnyhood. She was sweet, intelligent, curious, affectionate, playful, and crafty. When I picked her up to cuddle her, she would chubble with delight.
When I first ventured outdoors with my bunny, I tried to keep her on a leash and harness. The arrangement didn't work well. The bunny would just sit there for five or ten minutes, and then start hopping wildly off, under a bush or fence, in an attempt to go where she wanted to go -- sans human accompaniment. Also, I would frequently notice neighbourhood cats stalking us. My own two female pet cats both adored the bunny, seeing her as a non-threatening addition to a household that they felt already had too many cats for their liking. (They hate each other.)
Bunny herself was self-possessed enough to let the two cats know that she was a fearless little creature who would boldly sniff their tails or noses and let them know that SHE was in charge of her domain.
Later, I bought Miss Giggles a see-through net enclosure, shaped as a cylinder, that I could "cage" her in. She could jump around inside the tube, rolling the tube on the lawn and nibbling at plants sticking their leaves through the holes in the netting. This wasn't a practical arrangement, and it certainly didn't protect her from potential predators. It just made her easier to catch when it was time to go back inside. She wasn't as likely to dash off under a fence or bushes where I couldn't easily reach her.
Eventually I bought a couple of short, movable fences that I could set up in the garden, so that the bunny could dig or nibble to her heart's content while I gardened.
I live in a condo complex that has outlawed bunnies and owner-added fencing. She and her moveable fences existed solely at the pleasure and discretion of the condo board. (Thank you, kind people, for understanding my indulgence of this little critter. I know you are animal lovers, too.)
Of course, Miss Giggles didn't want to come in when I quit gardening or darkness fell. She would take me on a royal bunny chase around my small garden, hiding under the hostas or scurrying down a burrow she'd dug under a cedar bush.
Many times I would just let her play out on my small balcony during good weather. I assumed she was relatively safe there from land-roving critters. One of my cats, sometimes both, would go out to stand guard over Miss Giggles in her enclosure on the balcony -- lest some intruder cat find its way up the fence and onto the balcony.
Several people warned me about the dangers of hawks and owls preying on bunnies. I added a hutch and run to the balcony and tried to camouflage it from above with a tarp or rug. When sudden rain showers hit, I would find Miss Giggles huddled in the run attached to the hutch -- with my cat Cally sitting smugly inside the hutch. Cally, my Calico cat, even took a hint from Miss Giggles and pooped in the litter tray underlying the wire section of the hutch floor.
A couple of times I found Miss Giggles, cowered and shaking, hiding inside one of her translucent hide boxes on the balcony. A strange animal had obviously frightened her. The accompanying scat, dirt in her water bowl, and a torn bag of food garbage indicated that the animal was probably a raccoon. What other creature could have climbed up to the second-floor balcony and left such large scat? I cuddled Miss Giggles and tried to reassure her.
Rabbits are very intolerant of hot weather, so I was afraid to leave Miss Giggles on the balcony on hot summer afternoons. She was bored with her cage, from her long imprisonment there during the winter months. Knowing that I was taking a risk, I decided to move her hutch and run down to the garden for the summer. There she could burrow down into the cool earth.
I placed the mobile fence around the hutch and run. That way, I could let the bunny out of the confines of her run to enjoy digging, playing, and sleeping in the burrows she'd dug in my garden. I put lattice around both sides of the mobile fence, so that she wouldn't be able to dig out of the fence. Then I filled her little yard with straw and hide boxes.
Miss Giggles loved it. I would go outside to find her perched on top of one of the hide boxes or hidden from view, down in her burrow.
One morning, about 3 a.m., I was working at my computer upstairs when I heard a piercing animal scream in the back yard. I shot downstairs and headed for the sliding glass door. Had some animal attacked my rabbit? When I went outside, I couldn't see Miss Giggles, but a large animal, probably a racoon, scurried up and over the fence into the neighbour's garden. Fearing the worst, I went back inside to find a flashlight to search the garden.
By the time I got back to the garden with the flashlight, Miss Giggles was back inside her run, cowered in a corner, covered in mud. I drug her out of her run, against her will. She was terrified, and I had never seen her so dirty. (I suspect that she had been trying to dig a new tunnel in her burrow to escape the intruder, who had climbed over the tall wooden fence into her play yard.)
I picked her up and carried her inside. Upstairs, I gave her a bath, and then wrapped her in a big towel to dry off. Lying on my bed, I held her, wrapped in the towel, until she dried off and calmed down. Then I dropped her into her cage indoors for the rest of the night.
This should have been sufficient warning to me, but, as days passed, I again began to leave her outside in her play yard. She LOVED the play yard. Often I would go out during the day to eat my lunch with her or to share a banana (one of her special treats). And, if I were feeling sad, I would go out and hold her to my chest for a while, to get some bunny love from the sweet little creature. She always responded with sweet, warm little bunny licks to my neck. I can't tell you how wonderful that feels.
But then came the horrible day when I found her without her head, inside of her wooden hutch.
Nathan, a five year old who lives behind me, came over shortly after the bunny's death to ask YET AGAIN if he could babysit the bunny. I explained that some animal had stolen the bunny's head.
"But can't you take the head and the bunny somewhere to get them fixed?" he asked.
In my heart, I wished that I could. If only death were so easy to fix.
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I wish -- no, pray! -- that God greeted my sweet little bunny into the afterlife as a warm, comforting mother bunny. She tucked the little bunny's head back on her little body and then gently licked away all of Miss Giggles' tears and fears. Then she bundled up the dear little bunny and held her to her chest, where she rocked her gently to sleep.
If only that were the way that the world worked...
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I take responsibility for the death of Miss Giggles. I was trying to give her some freedom and joy in her life. Sometimes freedom and joy end in tragedy. I loved my little bunny, and I am very thankful for having gotten to know her. She gave me love and joy. I tried to do the same for her.
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In grieving the loss of significant humans in my life, I have learned that it is important to recognize and celebrate the value of the life lost. I have decided to create a memorial garden for my bunny and for all the other loved human and animal creatures who have blessed my life. It will fill the space formerly occupied by the bunny's play yard. I had spent several days building that play yard and trying to secure it. Now the area needs another purpose.
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| Kay with plants for the memorial garden |
Today I bought several dozen spring bulbs to plant in the memorial garden, as well as a red dogwood, a low-spreading sumac, a sand cherry, and three small hostas. The tiniest of the new hostas has the name "Precious." Miss Giggles, who was very precious, loved hiding under my large hostas, where she could easily disappear for hours on end. I will imagine her spirit living under the protective, sheltering leaves of the "precious" hosta.
It hurts to lose anyone or any animal that one has loved, but I believe God calls us to love boldly -- knowing that we will at times lose those we most love. I will try to continue to love boldly -- even when it hurts like hell.
