I had been a rabbit "mum" for twenty-one years and the last of my six rabbits had just left for the Rainbow Bridge; his passing had left me, to put it bluntly, quite knackered. The fight to give Loll an acceptable quality of life had been turned into a long and continuously stressful battle between myself and his vets. With hindsight I can see that I should have changed vets at the first sign of difficulty, or at the first clash of personalities, but I had been a client of the practice for thirty-three years and had always had every trust and confidence in all the vets. I had enjoyed a good, mutually respectful and friendly relationship with the two senior vets who had owned the practice prior to the take over and they had cared for all my various pets with every care, expertise and professionalism one could wish for. But it was when they sold up and the new, young vet took charge that things began to go pear shaped.
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To cut a long story short, I just didn't hit it off with this new vet. However I have always believed that a difference of personalities should not influence one when it comes to trust in professional care. So I stayed loyal and stuck with the "old firm", trusting they, as vets, knew best. Eighteen months later my pet succumbed to his illness and I walked away feeling far from having been a good owner. I was completely shattered by Loll's death and by the intensity of my emotions over the drawn out months of caring for him. I felt let down by those I had trusted for so long, the previous vets had remained with the practice but no longer had a full say in how things were run. Worst of all, I felt I had let my pet down. I was a wreck.
For the first time since my early childhood I found myself without an animal about the house and I was convinced I would never own another. Over the years I had had dogs, rabbits, guinea pigs, hamsters, pheasants, budgies, doves and zebra finch, but I couldn't entertain the idea of ever having anything again; ever. I resigned myself to living alone for the rest of my life, and for four months I did just that. Friends kept on at me to get myself another animal: a dog, a cat... a rabbit. But I stuck to my guns, putting forth argument after argument against animal ownership. But slowly my arguments weakened as I began to recover from the ordeal of Loll's illness and death. I found myself online, looking at various local animal rescue sites.
At sixty-three, with severe arthritis in my spine that restricts my walking, I knew I could never offer a good home to a dog. Plus, without my own car I would have to rely upon either the good will of neighbours or the costly use a taxi for visits to the vet. It is a big ask of anyone to carry a sick, possibly vomiting dog, in their clean pride-'n'-joy car. And taxis generally don't carry dogs.
Cats have never been my favourites. Though I once fed and cared for the well-being of seven feral cats, loving each one, yet I have never been a cat person. I could never stand them jumping up on things about the house, and just the idea of a cat sitting washing its private areas on one of my work tops is as far into cat ownership as I want to go.
Taking on another rabbit without a rabbit savvy vet, or at least a good vet I could trust, was out of the question. There would be no repeat of Loll's story.
So I drifted into the rather bland world of guinea pigs, hamsters and cage birds. I floundered around, humming-and-haying, one week thinking maybe a cute guinea pig pair would entertain me and fill the empty house. The next week I was looking at hamsters and trying to decide if they had more personality that a budgie. It took a month or more to realise that none of them, on their own, could ever be enough.
I despaired. I gave in to my bloody-minded streak and said, "To Hell with it. No more Pets!" With a heavy heart I packed up all Loll's belongings, and a good few things left from previous pets, and with them piled into a friends car we set off on a bright Saturday afternoon in mid-July to take everything down to our local animal Rescue and Retirement Home. And that was that, I wasn't having another pet, certainly not another rabbit because I had just given everything to the rescue and it would cost a fortune to buy new.
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Funny how things work out.
Having unloaded the car we decided to take a quick look around the rescue and visit the various animals in residence. There was the usual assortment of dogs, cats and horses. Some charming donkeys that captivated us both, but then, finally, we came to the Rabbit Garden and a whole new story began.
It was my friend who saw him first, Henry, and she was enchanted. I only had thoughts for Loll, giving away all his things had re-opened the part healed wound of his passing and I wasn't receptive to the charms of any other rabbit. I glanced at the grey buck lazing in the sun and moved on to the next resident. My friend, however, was besotted and kept on about Henry all the way home.
After a few days I casually looked at the Rescue's web site. At the Small Furries section. Yes, he was a damned handsome rabbit: big, silver grey in colour and with a most magnificent pair of ears that sported little fringes along the outer edges. In his photos he had a rather forlorn look; sad.
Soon the Rescue site was in my Favourites and almost daily I was checking him out, and every time I switched off I found myself saying, sometimes aloud, "No, I failed Loll. Never again!". I could never care for a rabbit properly without a good vet. Yet after a few days I'd be back, just checking to see if Henry was still there.
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July slipped into August and I was getting used to having the house to myself, to not having to close the outer doors every time, to not having to watch where I put my feet ... getting used to the emptiness and the silence. Then my friend found herself with a lot of bedding, towels and such like to dispose of. Her mother had died and she had been clearing out the old lady's house and there was a car load of things that the Rescue would love.
So, on another hot day, but this time with rain pouring from a leaden sky, we arrived back in the Rabbit Garden. He was still there, big and silver and handsome. My friend couldn't resist him, she was waving her hand and coaxing him over but after a perfunctory sniff he came to sit upright before me, reaching toward me as if asking to say "Hello". I responded and reached out to him and he took the briefest sniff then spun away, kicking his heels up as he lolloped across his run, clearly disgusted. My hand bore the scent of the wet Labrador I had fussed at the farm shop we had visited enroute, and of the donkey I had fussed minutes before. The mix of wet dog and donkey obviously wasn't his cup-of-tea!
With his retreat my friend turned away and I followed her, thus destroying any possibility of my acting upon the crazy idea that had momentarily popped into my head. Thank goodness.... I had made up my mind, I didn't want another pet! Especially not a rabbit!
At home that night I studied his sad little face on my computer screen and, for the first time, bade him a soft, "Goodnight, Henry!"
But I was still convinced I could never, ever be a good bunny mum again.
