I don't know where it came from, but last night I started thinking about my first rabbit, Stormy.
She was a beautiful grea angora given to me by my boss at a horse ranch. I was 10, maybe 11, when I got her and knew very little about how to properly care for rabbits. She was born & kept outdoors until I brought her home. I recall wanting to keep her indoors, where it was warm & safe but my family insisted she stay outdoors - at least during the summer. My brother had a bunny, too - Thumper (naturally) - so we built a large cage on the lawn for them to be more free and happy. However, it was poorly constructed and they both escaped a few times - always eventually caught, until the day Thumper never returned. We lived at the foot of a mountain, so there were numerous animals that would have preyed upon the poor fellow.
After that, I kept Stormy in a small wooden cage that was better built. She was allowed to run up & down the porch, but spent most of her time in the tiny enclosure. At some point I decided to put her in our unused camper trailer, kept warm with lamps and space heaters in the winter. She seemed much happier in there, having the run of the place. A local "wild" rabbit even came to see her on a frequent basis, and one day I decided to keep him inside with her, which pleased them both to the point of having litters. The babies didn't survive long, though I was told at the time that the first litter or two that a rabbit has rarely survives (much the way women have miscarriages without knowing it). Still, it was heartbreaking to return home from school and learn that another kit had died that day. The longest to survive was a sweet black kit - he took after his father - whom I looked after for my best friend. She lived a few hundred kilometres away and wasn't allowed to have a rabbit, so I kept him in her honour. One morning in the dead of winter I went to feed the Stormy, Perky and Sir Hops-a-lot, who had all been fairly happy in that trailer. When I entered the trailer I nearly collapsed in shock: poor young Perky was dead, in the most horrific way. I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it. The heaters broke overnight, causing the trailer to dip greatly in temperature. I believe that he froze to death, and fell into his water dish, which in turn froze around his little body. It's a vision I can never remove from my mind.
Soon after that, I released the semi-wild bunny (he was part of a string of rabbits that were once family pets but left to fend for themselves at some point) and took Stormy back inside. Some time later, we moved to another town and I kept Stormy in the basement of that house. It was a very unwelcoming spot, and she was kept in the little cage again; I honestly don't know why she wasn't allowed in the house, aside from the fact that it wasn't a very large one. At any rate, I was 13 any distracted by my young, irresponsible life. Since she was in the basement, Stormy was often the last thing on my mind every day. She was fed and watered regularly, but I rarely let her run about anymore - I wouldn't have let her run on the basement floor, and we didn't have a porch. At that time, I didn't think of just letting her run in the livingroom, especially because we had dogs that would have gone after her. So there she sat, in her little pen, day in, day out, probably waiting anxiously for the next feeding. I don't recall what I fed her - pellets, and veg, but probably more of the former and veg only sparingly. That was her life. Food, and a tiny pen.
Within a few months of moving to this new place, Stormy died. I went down to the basement one day after school, and she was sprawled out in her pen, unmoving. I lost it. I screamed and cried and a massive wave of guilt overtook me. My mother assured me that Stormy died of old age, but she would have only been 2, nearly 3 years old. I think she died of loneliness. I've never gotten over the guilt - that I didn't give her more of a free life, that I didn't play with her more often or let her run around inside. I'm sorry that I neglected her, even though I loved her. I'm sorry that the idea of a rabbit was more important to me than taking care of her. I'm sorry that I was too naive to know how to properly care for her, and that the death of Perky didn't encourage me to give Stormy the most fulfilled life possible.
I'm sorry, Stormy.
She was a beautiful grea angora given to me by my boss at a horse ranch. I was 10, maybe 11, when I got her and knew very little about how to properly care for rabbits. She was born & kept outdoors until I brought her home. I recall wanting to keep her indoors, where it was warm & safe but my family insisted she stay outdoors - at least during the summer. My brother had a bunny, too - Thumper (naturally) - so we built a large cage on the lawn for them to be more free and happy. However, it was poorly constructed and they both escaped a few times - always eventually caught, until the day Thumper never returned. We lived at the foot of a mountain, so there were numerous animals that would have preyed upon the poor fellow.
After that, I kept Stormy in a small wooden cage that was better built. She was allowed to run up & down the porch, but spent most of her time in the tiny enclosure. At some point I decided to put her in our unused camper trailer, kept warm with lamps and space heaters in the winter. She seemed much happier in there, having the run of the place. A local "wild" rabbit even came to see her on a frequent basis, and one day I decided to keep him inside with her, which pleased them both to the point of having litters. The babies didn't survive long, though I was told at the time that the first litter or two that a rabbit has rarely survives (much the way women have miscarriages without knowing it). Still, it was heartbreaking to return home from school and learn that another kit had died that day. The longest to survive was a sweet black kit - he took after his father - whom I looked after for my best friend. She lived a few hundred kilometres away and wasn't allowed to have a rabbit, so I kept him in her honour. One morning in the dead of winter I went to feed the Stormy, Perky and Sir Hops-a-lot, who had all been fairly happy in that trailer. When I entered the trailer I nearly collapsed in shock: poor young Perky was dead, in the most horrific way. I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it. The heaters broke overnight, causing the trailer to dip greatly in temperature. I believe that he froze to death, and fell into his water dish, which in turn froze around his little body. It's a vision I can never remove from my mind.
Soon after that, I released the semi-wild bunny (he was part of a string of rabbits that were once family pets but left to fend for themselves at some point) and took Stormy back inside. Some time later, we moved to another town and I kept Stormy in the basement of that house. It was a very unwelcoming spot, and she was kept in the little cage again; I honestly don't know why she wasn't allowed in the house, aside from the fact that it wasn't a very large one. At any rate, I was 13 any distracted by my young, irresponsible life. Since she was in the basement, Stormy was often the last thing on my mind every day. She was fed and watered regularly, but I rarely let her run about anymore - I wouldn't have let her run on the basement floor, and we didn't have a porch. At that time, I didn't think of just letting her run in the livingroom, especially because we had dogs that would have gone after her. So there she sat, in her little pen, day in, day out, probably waiting anxiously for the next feeding. I don't recall what I fed her - pellets, and veg, but probably more of the former and veg only sparingly. That was her life. Food, and a tiny pen.
Within a few months of moving to this new place, Stormy died. I went down to the basement one day after school, and she was sprawled out in her pen, unmoving. I lost it. I screamed and cried and a massive wave of guilt overtook me. My mother assured me that Stormy died of old age, but she would have only been 2, nearly 3 years old. I think she died of loneliness. I've never gotten over the guilt - that I didn't give her more of a free life, that I didn't play with her more often or let her run around inside. I'm sorry that I neglected her, even though I loved her. I'm sorry that the idea of a rabbit was more important to me than taking care of her. I'm sorry that I was too naive to know how to properly care for her, and that the death of Perky didn't encourage me to give Stormy the most fulfilled life possible.
I'm sorry, Stormy.