It had been a few months since my first bunny, a shelter rescue I named Victory, died as a result of GI Stasis. She was 3 years old and fantastic, my fiance and I constantly wondered why she had been surrendered, she was so lovely. When she died, it was sudden and dramatic. She was sick in the morning when I got up, after being completely fine and bouncy the night before. I took her immediately to the vet and she was stabilized, her guts sounded gassy, I was instructed to start Critical Care feeding and call if I needed anything. I took her home, and as I pulled into the garage, she started to go south, letting out this horrible groan and I immediately started back to the vet. She died halfway there on a five minute drive.
Victory was such a wonderful bunny, even though I had only had her in my life for about 5 weeks, I knew I wanted another bunny someday.
I got Larkin when he was 9 weeks old off of craigslist. I actually had wanted his sibling, a broken red New Zealand, but his mom said she only had two black ones left. I said that was fine, deciding color was silly, and explained I would like “the more outgoing and bossy” of the two. She agreed to meet me in the parking lot of walmart at 11 o’clock at night to give him to me.
Larkin was the best, nearly-impulse decision I’ve ever made and I don’t regret getting him for a second.
He was this tiny little 2 pound black fuzz ball and I loved him immediately. I took him home and had him wait in a laundry basket while I set up his digs. I stayed up until 3 a.m. with him, making sure he was happy and comfortable.
He was about 3 months old when we got him a girlfriend, we named her Pharah. She was a 4 month old Blanc de Hotot. He fell in love with her immediately and their bonding went very smoothly. About two weeks after she was spayed, they moved in together and never looked back.
My little guy was still intact and was starting to behave like a very naughty, testosterone-filled monster. He was terrorizing the cats he used to sit and groom, spraying pee everywhere and covering his poor, patient girlfriend in pee and… other stuff.
He was about 6 months old at this point and had already missed one date to get neutered because I had kept him home because he had had a cold. He was happy and healthy, I was familiar with the neutering process from volunteering at various spay/neuter clinics when I was younger. I knew it would be a quick, way less invasive procedure than spaying and he would get to come home once he was alert enough to do so.
The surgery went perfectly. My vet, who is very rabbit savvy, felt he was a perfect candidate for neutering. It was while he was recovering that something went wrong. My vet believes his lungs were weak, and he suffered a heart attack from lying on his side while he was coming out of being out. My vet tried to revive him for 15 minutes. He never woke up again.
I was called and my vet asked me if I was sitting down…
I’m so crushed. I was completely expecting him to come home without any issues. He was so young and feisty and healthy.
I’m in the middle of finishing up the large, indoor hutch I was making him and his girlfriend, and it feels so pointless to finish now. I had imagined them moving in -together- and playing in it. I know I’ll finish it for Pharah, but I had no desire or drive to do anything but cry and be alone right now. It’s so quiet and empty in this house. My little monster isn’t here to visit me in my chair as I write this, or binky and zoom around the room.
My vet thinks I’ve had horrible luck with bunnies so far, but both cases have been very unusual and not my fault and I shouldn’t blame myself or stop from getting another bunny if and when the time is right to find Pharah a friend. I’m still so discouraged.
I wish I had requested to sit with him while he was waking up. I had thought about it, but didn’t think it was necessary.