So we decided to give the kids bunnies for Christmas. They went to the store to pick them out for themselves and chose two cute dwarf bunnies, one white with brown spots, which my daughter named “Nibbles” (because it bit her right away), and one white with black spots, which my son named “Romeo”. (Romeo as it turns out is not a “Romeo” and remains quite skittish.)
Nibbles died ten days later. It turns out that rabbits are very fragile and she caught some kind of respiratory infection and died within hours. We only fed her as directed and kept them inside where it was warm. The vet assured us we didn’t do anything wrong, but we were all devastated. Honestly, I sobbed. She was “just a rabbit” and we only had her for a few days, but I had gotten really attached. When I opened her cage she would come right over and want to be picked up. And she was jealous of any attention we gave the other rabbit. She didn’t bite (after the first time) and was very loveable.
I feel a little ridiculous going on about a pet rabbit here, but if I can’t talk about it here I don’t know where I can. It’s been almost two weeks now and I still get emotional about it. We had a little funeral for her and buried her in the back yard. My wife bought one of those kitchy stone cherubs posed in the act of petting a rabbit, and I loved it in spite of myself.
I feel like, as a Pagan, I should be more stoic about death — you know, it’s all part of the cycle of life and all that. But it doesn’t actually help. Death just sucks!