I’ve had a difficult time writing lately. The tide is persistently out, though I have tried many times to draw it back in again. It’ll come when it’s ready, and I’ll have things to say again, stories to share.
In the meantime, I think I’ll just write about the little things. Then, at the very least, I can keep those muscles warm.
Last February, we got ourselves a rabbit and named her Cinnamon. Our wildest dream is for my husband to be able to quit his job and for us to buy lots of land for a farm. We’ll raise animals and tend a massive garden and we’ll write. That’s the plan, anyway. In the meantime, we got Cinnamon.
My husband is interested in raising rabbits for meat, so we thought this was a good way to familiarize ourselves with the species. She instantly became a calming, therapeutic presence in our home from which everyone benefited.
For months the children made sure to remind their father daily that he was not allowed to eat Cinnamon, that they’d be so mad if he did. It took a lot of convincing (some teasing about rabbit stew didn’t help) but they trust him not to eat their pets now.
Mostly.
Cinnamon wasn’t the breed he was interested in raising. He wants to raise silver fox rabbits. We decided to get another doe, a silver fox, with the added benefit of giving Cinnamon a companion. So, last summer we brought home Thistle.
Well…long story short, we learned almost instantly that sweet little Cinnamon is not a doe, but a buck. Fortunately, we separated the rabbits immediately and all was well, albeit more complicated than we anticipated. We had MacGyvered a rabbit run out extra pieces of chicken run and garden trellis, intending for it to house two rabbits. Since we were not ready to start multiplying rabbits just yet, we had to do it all over again (no more hog panels for my garden) and built a second run for Thistle. They aren’t bad little runs. Both rabbits dug their own burrows and could at least nuzzle each other through the fence.
That was lovely, until the weather turned. Winters here get bitter and harsh, and since we’re still renting (working on that farm), we can’t construct anything permanent outside. The rabbits didn’t have sufficient shelter to stay dry, so we brought them in. One evening when the kids had one rabbit upstairs and the other downstairs, someone lost track of one of them for less than a minute. That’s all it took for them to find each other. We thought we got to them in time.
Eventually we built an indoor run in our enclosed patio with two separate areas so the two of them could get out of my mudroom but still be sheltered. We turned a couple of big storage bins into burrows by cutting a hole in the side of them and sticking a bit of six inch PVC pipe in it to make a little tunnel. Well, one day I went to change the bedding in Thistle’s burrow, and inside looked an awful lot like a nest. A couple days later, I told my nine-year-old to go peek inside real quick, just to check. I still wasn’t convinced she was pregnant, but sure enough…the nest was covered in fur that she had pulled from her body, and under that fur were nine tiny, bald baby rabbits. The look on my boy’s face upon that discovery was one of the best things I’ve ever seen in my life.
This was at the beginning of February, the coldest point of the year. We got a space heater going and every day I peeked in the nest, expecting to find them all frozen or starved to death or accidentally trampled by Thistle, or something. I didn’t think they’d survive. There were just so many, and Thistle had never done this before. I was so worried she wouldn’t feed them, or would hurt them, or reject them. Turns out, she is a fabulous mother.
We did lose one baby, but that was our fault, not Thistle’s or the weather’s. I had thrown my back out and was bedridden for the better part of three days, meanwhile my husband hit a particularly busy stretch with work. So, though we were home, the children were left to their own devices a little more than usual. The short of it is, the older ones had been holding some babies (they were about two weeks old at this point) and had become distracted (as kids do) and lost track of a couple of them. Meanwhile, their little sister (two years old) came across them. I don’t actually know what happened or how the bunny died. All I know is that when I managed to get out of bed to check on everyone, I came upon my youngest in her little play kitchen and she handed me a tiny pot and said, “Bunny sleepin’!” I lifted the lid and looked inside. Bunny was most definitely not sleeping. Or rather, it was sleeping…permanently. I’m not sure if it was suffocation, a broken neck, or a heart attack, but that little bun now lives on Grandma Lisa (my angel Mama)’s farm in heaven with the rest of our dearly departed pets. Fortunately, the other wayward bunny escaped being loved to death and is thriving today, along with the other surviving seven.
It has been such a joy to have them. Someone always has a little rabbit kit tucked under their arm or nestled under their chin. They’re only a couple weeks away from being sent to their new homes, and I’m trying not to think about it. We’ll miss them.
We’re keeping one. It’s the only one with a distinguishing mark—a tiny white stripe on one of its ears. The rest are going to new families, and I do hope they bring them as much joy as they’ve brought us. Children and animals are such a beautiful combination.
We learned lots of important lessons (especially after the loss of the one kit) and have been comforted and delighted by their presence. It’s been quite the happy accident. And thanks to a match-making two-year-old who figured out how to open the doors of the rabbit runs, I’m pretty sure we’ll be doing it all again soon.
P.S. Happy, happy, happy vernal equinox to you today 💚
Hannah, this is so beautiful, what a joy. All the lessons, all the love. I'm sure your sweet little ones will remember this precious time long into their adulthoods 💛
They are so so beautiful!