Meet the Berries

When my beloved CS Lewis (rabbit, not famed author) was better after his illness, Michael got me a bushel of baby girl bunnies to keep him company. Rabbits are highly social, so they do better in groups. Easter weekend last year, we added Seafairy, Kelda, and Merry the Blueberry to our pet pantheon. 

My sister Amber had two rabbits that I ended up assimilating as well—Turbo, a tiny little gentleman rabbit that looks as though he’d been gnawed on (because he had) and Biggie Smalls, CS Lewis’s uncle. 

It was my goal when the girls got old enough to breed one litter before getting the boys neutered. We were blessed with a litter from Merry Berry in late summer of four perfect little kits, but a bacterial infection cut through the nest, ending all four. It was so sad. 

We took Biggie in to get neutered and found out that he had cancer riddling his little man body. The prognosis was just a few months. We decided not to put him through the trauma of a surgery when he was in his final run. He passed away New Year’s Day. 

January 18th we found out that as sick as that old man was, doesn’t mean he wasn’t still tryin (and succeeding) to toss some game toward my girls. My Merry Berry proudly showed me what she had made: 11 tiny little kits. 

There are a couple of things you should know about rabbits. The first is that the female rabbits have two uteruses (uteri?) and their gestational period is only about a month. They can hold two litters at a time and get pregnant again within hours of giving birth. Because of this, an unaltered adult pair of rabbits can have up to 200 kits a year. 

How are we not overrun by rabbits, then? This brings us to our second thing you should know:

Rabbits love to die.

It has to be their favorite pastime, because rabbits die a lot. My vet friend said a lot of vets won’t even see them once because “they sneeze once and then fall over dead.” They are prey animals that are susceptible to disease and predators and weather changes and just their own stupidity; 40% of all litters are estimated to die. Instead of evolving so that they don’t die every time, they just rapid fire out offspring and hope that at least one sticks around to carry on the family line.

Merry Berry actually had two full litters that day. Average litter sizes are 2-10, but it’s hard to feed that many at one time. One litter was healthy and robust, four rotund white cotton balls with tummies bulging with milk and teeny limbs branching out. The other 7 were notably premature. They were small and thin, bony, but the worst sign was: they were chilled. Baby bunnies that are cold is a bad sign for their survival chances. We tried our hardest, and I’m happy to say that three actually made it. I wish we could have saved them all, but I will not dismiss the victory because it was incomplete. Two little blacks and one tiny white survived.

They will be three weeks old on the 8th. Their eyes are now open, as are their ears, and they are starting to explore. This is both the cutest time and the most wrangling because they are so curious and mischievous, getting out and about. 

Which means it’s time to introduce you, and to get your opinion.

Know that: rabbit genitals at this point are super tiny, so we can’t sex them yet. It’s really kind of a best guess scenario until their testicles descend. So I use whatever pronoun suits me at the moment for any of them, as I will in the descriptions below. 

FLUFFERNUTTER

This bunny is: The fattest. His fur is longer so he looks even bigger than he is, but don’t let that fool you—he’s also humongous. He’s the one that wants you to pick him up whenever you open the cage, and when you do he will settle down to sleep on your chest like he owns the place, purring and swaying contentedly. His name was picked out by my aide at work, who asked if she could name one—Fluffernutter just suited him. 

LILLY LITTLE

Tula named this one—she is the second smallest; Tula couldn’t decide between Lilly and Emily, but when she saw how tiny this one was, Tula knew she had to be Lilly Little. Her personality is very chill and timid, like her Aunt Kelda. Not very into cuddles, she seems most at home in the nest and doesn’t venture out as much as the others. She is one of the premies, and survived solely because the next one decided that they should never be apart; he kept her warm until she was big enough on her own. 

SISQO

This one was named because he’s got dumps like a truck, truck, truck and thighs like what, what, what. He’s just as fat as Fluffernutter, but it’s harder to tell because he’s not as fluffy. He can usually be found laying on his back, his legs stuck out through the bars of the cage, dead asleep with Lilly Little curled into his side. Rabbits don’t, as a general rule, sleep on their backs. They do however nurse on their backs—their mother just hops into the nest and stands there while all of the babies wriggle into position. He got so swollen on the many milks that his ineffectual arms couldn’t flip his corpulent body back over, so he just got into the habit of sleeping upside down.

ST VINCENT AND THE GRENADINES 

Of course Ben named this one. Who else? 

This was the first rabbit named, because it is a -terror-. First out of the nest, this shenanigans factory will explore as far as she can before she gets caught. When she is caught, she will nip at you with her comically new baby teeth and wiggle, hurling herself in any and all directions. The exception is when Ben picks her up. She immediately turns into melted bunilla ice cream in his hands. St Vin is going to be a handful, as she has been the first to squeeze her body out of the cage, first to eat real food, and the first to square up against me. 

MISSY JUMPER

While we are on the topic of disasters, this is Missy Jumper. Missy because of the Doctor Who character. 

 Jumper because she has won the gold medal in long jump, if the “long jump” can be characterized as ineptly hurling yourself in any direction and ingloriously bellyflopping on arrival. She is active, does not like being held because she got places to be, and is the only other black bun from the litter.

LEBUN JAMES

This one was hard to get a picture of, which is why I’m holding him like a burrito. This is LeBun James. He’s the last of the big whites. He likes to burrow and hide, usually under his siblings, and was voted Most Likely to Burrow So We Panic and Think There Is a Bunny Missing But He’s Just Tucked Himself In. Thats why he’s hard to get a picture of—he immediately tries to stick his face somewhere. If you hold him and cup your hand over his head, he will be quite the happy little bunlet.

And last but not least….

????? 

I don’t have a name yet. There’s always one. She (or he!) is the preemie white who kind of flies under the radar. They get peed on because it seems like everyone just kind of…forgets they’re there. This bun is gentle and sweet, quiet, agreeable, just kind of dunked on little feller. He’s soft it is almost unreal. 

This where you come in. 

If you have any suggestions for what this little critter could be named, let us know. It would be awfully tragic if Little Miss Noname stuck because we had plumbed the depths of monikers right on the last one. 

No meat names though. These aren’t eating rabbits, they are buddy rabbits. 

All our bunnies are pleased to make your acquaintance. Merry Berry is happy you’re here and asks (demands) that you pay feasance first by providing the Queen Mother pets or you will suffer the consequences (irritate nipping). She also accepts offerings of blueberries, as is only right, and clover. 

Love from the burrow,

-Andie- 

A Goodbye

 Dear Cees,

I held you on the first day you were born. 

It was April 22nd, 2022. Benjamin ran in from outside and said “I need help! A lot of babies are coming out of Sans.” I ran out, and sure enough, there were a lot of babies. Ten little Voldemort-looking pink wiggly things, all piled on top of one another inside a cardboard box too small for them. 

We carefully gathered up your mother Sans’s removed fur and put it in a more steady box, and we hoped she would know enough and care enough to take care of you. Your father, Timmy the Destroyer, never took much interest in you kits, but Uncle Tucker would set up camp outside the box and check in on you now and again. 

After your runt sibling didn’t make it, something seemed to click in San’s head because she started feeding and caring for you remaining nine. 

Every day, I would go out and take a video log of how you were growing and changing. 

I saw as your eyes opened, and your little bunny ears. I watched you take your first tentative steps outside your nursery hutch, began to explore the world around you on shaky little legs and too-big feet. 

You were curious. You wanted to see the grass outside the hopparena. That is how you ended up on our radar, distinguishing yourself from your brothers and sisters. Because an old woman, long since past her bearing years, had been watching the new mother and her babies with longing, and she just wanted to be a part of it, too.

Mikasa didn’t mean to hurt you. She just scooped you up because you were the one outside the cage, and she so wanted a baby of her own. She could have chomped down on you like a chicken nugget, but she carried you in her mouth with such tenderness and care until Ben found you and rescued you.

You were a bit crunchy and curly from dog saliva, and so very thankful to be alive as I checked you for injury. 

Ever after that, you lived for moments with us, your humans. You never again ventured outside the cage, even when your siblings got bigger and went exploring. The only sojourn you would make was to the backdoor, where you would lay on the cold cement by the screen and wait for it to swing open. 

Whenever we did come out for a visit, you would be our little shadow, following behind. Setting up camp in our laps or by our feet, showing us how you bathed and binkied. You liked it when I read to you or sang, making your tiny little contented noises. 

After your ordeal, you also had your name: C.S. Lewis. I had been telling my friend Andrew about you, and he called you C.S. It stuck, even if I always called you Cees. 

You were the last one. As your brothers and sisters got older, they moved on to their forever homes. Some we lost along the way. Rabbits are so strong and still so very fragile; they were not meant for environs such as these, with its relentless heat and wild predators. There is a reason God made bunnies to reproduce like they do, as only 40% of any litter will make it to adulthood.

You knew you were safe, though. Because you had us, the ones that had saved you before. You trusted so fully in us to save you again. 

As you got older, I worried you would be lonely without other bunnies in your hutch. You never seemed to suffer for it, though. When the weather was nice, I would lay out in the grass with you. You were my quiet place--I would press my forehead to yours, and you would close your eyes and rub my nose with yours in little bunny kisses. At night, I would bring you in to lay down with me and cuddle before I went to bed and you went back to your hutch. Every morning, I would take you around and you’d wake up the kids with me. You liked your family, your yard that grew so wild and full. 

When you got sick, I was so scared. You were so scared. But I sang to you and you remembered: these are the people that take care of me. You moved toward the sound of my voice, even as you struggled for every breath. I raged at God, accusing Him of making such a cruel disease for such a helpless animal. I called Him unkind and told Him that He better make my rabbit well again. 

And He did. 

You got better. 

You had lost half your body weight, just a little wisp of a guy. But you were still my joyful boy, fighting to stay with us. 

The sickness ended up costing you an eye and two teeth. It looked like it was so painful, but you were still you--binkying, purring, chattering you. 

I took you to school with me, tucked into my jacket as I taught. The kids asked about your eye, and learned how brave a fighter you were. They all wanted to pet you. You liked getting the attention, and you liked not being left home alone. 

After you had been given the all-clear, we brought home three little bunny girls for your companions. How happy you were! They were already, at three months, so much stronger and healthier and bigger than you at a year, but they doted on you. Merry Berry nurtured you; Seafairy played with you. 

But to Kelda, you were her bunny. She was born blind in her left eye, and you had lost your right. You were probably the first half-blind rabbit she had met that was like her. She would set up on your blind side and you would watch out for each other. She got aggressive if she thought anyone was taking your attention away from her, and would fight her sister to keep Seafairy away from you. 

Even with repeated procedures, you weren’t getting any better. We knew every day with you was a blessing because most rabbits would have died if they had gone through half of what you did. But you still looked up at me like I was your world, put your forehead to mine and gave me those little bunny kisses.

After you died, I asked Amber if she believed in heaven. I am still learning and growing, because the Things Unseen part of the Bible, the mystical part…it is harder for me. Whatever I believe or do not believe about the Afterlife does not alter the reality of what is yet to come. I figure any imaginings I have therefore are for my own comfort, and I will otherwise have to wait and see. 

After I lost you, I like to imagine that you ran into my vision of heaven. It is a quiet stream, a place of rest, because you so need rest. You were so tired. If Heaven can be anything, it can be simultaneous and timeless. So you didn’t have to wait for me at all. You ran right back into my arms. You put your little forehead to mine. And you gave me your little bunny kisses. And I sang you Home.

I love you, C.S. Lewis. Thank you for everything. I won’t ever forget you. 

--Andie 

I have been taking this week hard. I have cried a lot for a sweet creature that made me his world. How strange and awful and wonderful it is to be human, so that we can experience such levels of grief over something so small, so fleeting. There has been a lot of feelings of guilt. He trusted me to save him, and I wasn’t able to this time. That maybe if I wasn’t so selfish, I wouldn’t have let him suffer this long. I bargained and broke. I just wanted my bunny back. 

Sad as it is to say, I resented the other three rabbits for being the wrong rabbit. They, of course the little perceptive creatures they are, picked up on it. Seafairy hissed at me, Kelda whimpered when I came close, and Merry Berry tried to box me. I have been working to rebuild the trust and relationship with them--I’m not ready yet to sing, but I have read to them. Kelda came and sat by my foot, Seafairy came and put her forehead on mine. 

This letter was recommended in an article I saw online as a way to process the hurt caused by the loss of a beloved pet. I didn’t get C.S. long enough, not nearly. But I am so very thankful to have had him in my life. He was what I needed, when I needed it the most. I hope wherever he is, he knows what he meant to me, and that he is at peace. I sat with my sweet boy as he took his last breath, surrounded by love. This letter is my goodbye.

The New Place

I am hurting a lot, and probably will be for a little while.

C.S. Lewis was important to me; losing him was hard. He was a superlative of all the best qualities. He lived both too short and so much longer than he could have, my beautiful boy. 

So I am allowing myself space to grieve for a little while, for something that meant a lot to me. But in the meantime, I am going to write. 

First, settling into our new house. 

We closed on the 5th of June, so we started moving in with intention on the 7th. On the 6th, we brought the kids to see it for the first time. They have mixed feelings. On the one hand, they are excited that everyone will have their own room. On the other, they are anxious about the change, particularly of schools but also because we were in the rental house for so long. 

The more we learned about the house though, the more it felt like we had made the right move. 

There is a big tree out front with a swing and a trampoline in the back. There are alarms on the doors and safety locks  that indicate that maybe a kid not so different from Gabe used to live here. 

Unpacking is, as it ever is, slow going. I think the kids got all their favorite things out and are content leaving the rest in the garage in boxes. Jokes on them, because if it is still there by the end of summer, it is going to be donated. 

Now, a couple weeks later, they are starting to adjust. Gabriel was the most anxious at first and required a lot of reassurance and support. He wanted me to hold him a lot, and for the first week, he slept on a trundle at the foot of our bed. But he is nearly exclusively using the toilet here, with frequent reminders, because the master bathroom has a more enclosed accommodation that makes him feel safer. After 14 years, I am hesitant to say it for fear of jinxing it, but it feels like there may just possibly be an end in sight to the diapering situation.  

Back to the move. It was a grueling several days. Michael’s father came down to help, and I had some friends and family that contributed as well. My sister really threw herself into it, helping me clean up the house and pack. My brother was in the process of relocating at the exact same time himself. But one way or another, we got it all handled. 

We have a few areas set up the way I want them to be. 

The living room feels big, probably because we don’t have a couch. Michael and I will buy one, but we are kind of on a spending freeze after a rather large purchase earlier this month. (Technically two, because a week before closing on the house Michael’s truck started acted a fool and demanded four new tires.) The living room has a wood burning fireplace. In the evenings, we watch Doctor Who with the kids and Michael and I play Call of Duty: Warzone while every cat in the known universe sits on me. They too are feeling insecure, and I am a warm spot. 

The kids rooms and Michael’s office are still a work-in-progress, but they are all happy to have their own “zones”, as am I. My room is a good size, with a separate shower and a garden bath in the master, as well as a big master closet. The only thing the room is missing honestly is a gigantic built in bookcase for all my books. 

The carpet is soft and clean and I like having a quiet place to go. I think I need a bigger picture for over the bed, but this one works for now. 

Also in my bedroom is my office. Before, I used one of the two closets in our rent house as my office. It was there that I was able to complete my schoolwork online and finish my bachelors degree. I wanted a set up here as well, but I moved out of the closet and into the room proper. 

Is it the best use of space? I do not know, because every morning I get up to do my masters work on my computer and the light shines directly onto Michael’s face. This does not seem to bother him overmuch, or he is too polite to complain, so we continue. I have my favorite picture hanging over it. 

The dining room is probably my favorite so far. 

So, we mostly ate in front of the tv because we never had a table big enough for all of us to eat around, and never had enough chairs. We sat where we had seating. It wasn’t my favorite.

When we were moving, Mom sent me another link (what can I say? She is right some of the time) for a picnic style table that was reasonably priced.

I reached out to the guy, who was an older carpenter here in town that was eager to talk to me about his work. He told me he was taught by his uncles when he was little how to build things, and he took a lot of pride in his work. We talked about what I was needing, and he invited me and Michael to come visit with him before we ordered anything so we could see some of his work. We ended up meeting with him on Mother’s Day.

This guy was a whole trip. He reminded me a lot of my dad, with his outrageous stories and his big ideas. But his work, like my dad’s, was excellent. So I ordered a custom, forest green picnic-style dining table from him. 

It came in early and we had some friends help drop it off at our house. The thing was enormous. Michael is convinced it is not going to fit in our little dining room. My mom is using her feet to walk across and guesstimate how big the room is across (she was way off). Michael is having me reach back out to the carpenter to see what options we have if the table doesn’t fit, can we shave a bit off the end or something, I am telling him I think it is going to fit.

Michael sure does hate admitting I was right. 

It is beautiful in the space, and I can’t wait to see it with all my Christmas decorations up. I think Rhonda and I need to go out on a special trip to plan my holiday centerpiece. 

I also decided that saving fancy china for fancy occasions that never occur in my house is a waste. Now every day is fancy, and Aunt Ann’s china with the pink and teal from Grandma Ruth and Gigi Roberts that match just fine make every meal a little more special. 

So that is our new house. I have been trying to decide if sending out new address cards is appropriate or if I should make a digital card or just not worry about it at all. I don’t know that I learned the protocol here. 

I can’t tell if I have talked excessively already and need to wrap it up, or if it just looks long because of the number of pictures I added. Either way, I am starting to droop, so I will leave it at this. Another day I will have to tell you about the overly exciting Father’s Day weekend with roadside assistance, a dogtor visit, and a broken butt. 

For tonight, though: Goodnight. 

--Andie

The Weirdest Thing Happened the Other Day....

 It started with a link. 

I had asked Mom to come over and watch the kids while I took Michael out to dinner. It had been a minute since we had a date, it was past due. Mom came over Sunday afternoon, and saw a house on Zillow that caught her attention. 

Mom: It’s five bedrooms! And it has a she-shed!

Me, not looking: Then it is outside our budget.

Mom: It just dropped in price. Everyone would get their own bedroom! And you could use the she-shed for Mike’s office! 

Me: Mom, stop saying she-shed.

Mom, whispering: ….she-shed.

I cave. Mom can be persistent. Whatever. Doesn’t hurt to look. Right? 

Michael and I first started thinking purchasing a house back in 2020/2021, when it looked like we were going to have to relocate to Arizona for Michael’s job. It was overwhelming, how fast the market was flipping. When we got there, we talked to the realtor who said there were 12 houses fitting our parameters that we could look at; by the next day, it was down to two; by the time we met with her to look, there was only one. Houses were being snatched up as soon as they hit the market. It was disheartening. 

The actual looking became tedious, too. Flipping through online listings, all the properties ran together. Nothing was standing out anymore, just a blur of open concepts and white walls and dingy carpet. The only time a house stood out was when it was truly odd, like a guest bathroom with saloon-style swinging doors, or a brick planter immediately inside the front door filled with wild herbs. It was all meaningless; we weren’t getting a house. It wasn’t the right time.

The other issue was of course, finances. I, as far as the credit world was concerned, did not exist. I had no lines of credit, no income, no nothing except student loans on deferment and a brief stint over a decade ago at a pet store. Banks don’t like people they know nothing about, and we didn’t want another big purchase in Michael’s name alone. We stopped looking. 

As you know, we ended up not moving. We stayed in our rent house where our landlord was nice and we focused on building equity. I finished college online, getting my degree in educational studies, special education. Started working at the school, the second highest-paying job in our marriage, after Michael’s current one. We got me two little credit cards; I would use them to buy gas, wait a couple weeks, then pay it off. Do it all again the next month. We talked about maybe moving someday, but it was vague, and the talk tapered off over time. We were holding steady. 

Mom won’t push me. Too hard, at any rate. She knows that I will dig in my heels and become obstinate, so she sent the link and left it at that. 

What the hell. I take a look.

It looks like a nice place. Little less square footage than we have in the rent house, but it uses the space better. Got a good backyard. Big established tree out in front of the house. No stupid bushes where stupid wasps could hang out. There are two sheds in the backyard, one for storage and the other has been outfitted as an office with heating and air, internet and electricity. 

Okay, sure. Why not. I send a quick inquiry about it, requesting a time to go see it. My enthusiasm is limited. Just another wander through another stranger’s house, but maybe it’ll be fun. We can get some ideas for what to do with our space, before someone else comes in and buys it. 

Almost immediately, I get a call from the realtor. The house owners are on a time-table and ready to sell. No major defects on the sellers disclosure. Not in the flood zone. Do we want to come look at it at 5? 

Meh. Sure. Why not? 

Michael and I get ready for our date. I think I wore jeans and a t-shirt. I told him I would rather be warm than cute, I already did enough to impress him. He laughed and said fair enough. 

Beforehand, we went and walked around the bookstore, killing some time. It was irrelevant to the story, but I think I would want to remember for later. But the house is over in Wylie district, so the mall is a good place to spend some time on the way. 

The neighborhood is full of families with kids; it looks quiet and safe. That big tree in the front is alive and healthy. 

We get there, and it is better than the listing pictures. There are tall ceilings. It is clean and spacious. There are these shelves way up by the ceiling for decoration that I couldn’t help but wonder “how does one clean up there?” There's a stone fireplace. The Christmas tree would look good there, I think. That was always Rhonda’s question: where would you put the Christmas tree? 

The pantry has a door that can be locked, which is important for Grubby-Hands Gabe. Of the four smaller bedrooms, one has laminate flooring and the other three have carpet. I know exactly where each of the kids will be. There’s a doggy door. I can see Gabe wedging himself in it. A lot of my considerations were about Gabe. The other three are basically stow-and-go kids--there really aren’t a lot of requirements for any of them that are abnormal. But Gabe, we have to worry about him escaping, him getting into food, him tearing things up or destroying, his loud vocalizations making the neighbors think our house is haunted (as one bright and brave child from down the street boldly inquired one day here). But…we think he could be good here. We think he could like it here. They all would.

So we get some information, thank the realtor, and head over to Red Robin, where Michael gets to hear (what probably felt like) an uninterrupted hour of me talking about the books I have been reading lately. 

It was a lovely date. 

But Michael’s still got that house on his mind. A few days pass. The realtor reaches out and asks if we filled out the pre-approval application. I tell her no, we are still working on it. Couple more days, she asks again. I text Michael. It is his day off, he’s got some time. 

Why not, right? 

While I am trying to work on Friday, I get a text. We have been pre-approved. Would we like to make an offer on the house?

What? Umm...I guess? 

The offer has been accepted! You are under contract. Would you like to hear about next steps? 

I suppose so?

This whole process is feeling absolutely surreal. This isn’t how this was going to go. The bank was supposed to say “be gone, poor people! You miscreants cannae buy a house!” (Why the bank is Scottish in my head…probably because I read too much, but who knows.) And even if we were approved, they won’t let us buy a nice house. We surely have to go and look at something that says “diamond in the rough” or “fixer upper!” We aren’t “move-in ready” family, we are more “has potential”, know what I mean? 

But that...it’s just the mindset. I did the math, and from our take home, the house and all it’s little costs will only make up 26%. And the strangest thing, we can do the down payment and things. Us Weardens, who had to budget and scrimp to buy a family dinner at Taco Bell a few years ago…but this might be happening. 

One funny story was the bank reached back out during the underwriting with a question. They said “Mrs. Wearden, we noticed that your income substantially changed between last year and this year. Can you explain that?” I sent back a reply that said “Well, I was an unpaid stay-at-home-mom for nearly 15 years, and then I got a job. So…that probably did it.” 

This all was about two weeks ago. We paid our earnest money and had inspections done. The option period came and went…

And now it looks like in June, the Abilenian Weardens are moving into their own home. 

With its very own she-shed. 

Wild. 

--Andie

Health Updates

 The last few weeks been a little too exciting for my taste.

This is C.S. Lewis.

He is the last bunny we have. 

We had thirteen rabbits. The three original, and then Sans gave birth to a litter of ten. Some were rehomed, others we lost to a fox that broke into an unsecured hutch overnight. C.S. was the one that Mikasa picked up and carried around in her mouth for a little bit back when he was still just a nugget, so he was overly attached to us. We decided this one could go ahead and live out his life with us instead of elsewhere. 

More on him later.

Last Thursday, Michael had an endoscopy scheduled. It was a routine procedure so insurance would continue to cover his GERD medication. I took off because he needed to driven to and from, as he would have to be under anesthesia.  

Lately he’s been having some stomach issues. He feels uncomfortably full all the time, and barely eats. This was how he felt ten or so years ago, when his ulcer ruptured and his stomach herniated; he started throwing up blood and ended up in the hospital. I was understandably concerned when it looked like it was happening again. The doctor ran some tests, bloodwork and ultrasound, and didn't see anything. But Michael still lost 25 pounds in three weeks. It was troublesome. I was hoping the endoscopy would yield some results.

The doctor said they found a minor hiatal hernia, small enough that they decided not to fix it right then. I asked if it would get better on its own; he said no, but it would take years for it to get worse. They also found polyps; they removed three to biopsy, but one started bleeding. They had to inject it with epinephrine and clamp it to get it to stop bleeding. They biopsied a spot they are pretty sure was caused by the GERD. We are awaiting the results of those, but the doctor says they are probably not worrisome.

I get Michael home and settled, go and run some errands, pick up some kids. When we come home, Emerald gets upset and calls me. 

C.S. Lewis is bleeding from his nose and mouth, is making this strangled wheezing sound, and is running from us like he doesn't recognize us at all.

In the week leading up to this, he was getting a little more aggressive with Emerald, which was very much unlike him. He was born at our house and we handled him every day--he's never been a biter. But he was nipping Emerald nearly every day. Not hard, but enough. 

I stuff C.S into the pet carrier and call the vet down the street that sees rabbits. That's the thing--most vets don't see rabbits; they are considered "exotics". But we are not established patients and they have a waiting room full until 8. It is 4.45. I call Sweetwater Animal Hospital, where we took Timmy the Destroyer (C.S. Lewis's father) to get neutered. They closed at 5 and we are 40 minutes away, but when I describe the problem, they tell me to get there as fast as I can, they'll wait for me.

Ben and I were terrified. He was sobbing into the bunny's fur, we could hear him struggle to get in each breath. But talking to him calmed him down, made him turn toward us and stop shaking. So we talked the entire way there. 

It was very somber for such a silly little thing as a rabbit. But Dr. Bud told us that C.S. had caught Rabbit Hemorrhagic Disease. They had seen it a lot in our area; it has a 90-100% death rate. It was wiping out cottontail populations and 4H stock, and now my little guy had it. My funny little guy that puts his cheek on yours and makes kissy sounds because that's what people do to him; who stands on his hind legs when the gate opens and binkies out of control when I walk through. 

The compassionate thing to do is usually to put the rabbit down. They are hurting, and are most likely not going to get better. But we wanted to try. Normally the bloody nose doesn't present until death, and here he was, holding on. He was breathing through his mouth because he was in respiratory distress, and his lungs crackled horribly. There were apneic moments where he would run because he couldn't draw breath at all. There were burst blood vessels in his eyes. He was scared. But he was still holding on. 

So Dr. Bud prescribed an antibiotic to prevent a secondary infection from taking him out. He said the antibiotic was as likely to kill him as the disease, but at this point it was better than nothing. 

That first night was so scary. He was exhausted but couldn't sleep, there was dried crusted blood on his face. He looked like the rabbit from Monty Python and sounded like there was fluid in his lungs. I fully expected to see a corpse in the cage in the morning. 

But there he was, swaying on his feet and still hanging on.

At work the next day, I was so noticeably distraught that it brought the people around me down. I was a dark little storm cloud, and I didn't know how to act okay. 

Emerald and Ben stayed home from school with him, so that if he passed, he wouldn't be alone. They texted me updates, telling me he got up and was moving around, trying to be closer to them. He drank a little water. He even tried to bathe himself! I thought they were being overly optimistic, willing this bun to pull through.  

Sure enough when I got home, this weak little guy hopped over to me for pets. He got winded from the exertion but it was a start. 

Slowly, he started getting better. We had fewer periods where he couldn't breathe at all. His lung sounds got clearer, and he started being able to breathe through his nose again. He was jumping up and down off of things, running around, acting like his old self. 

The only problem was that he couldn't eat.

While he was very interested, and would hop over to investigate pellets or grass or hay or fresh produce excitedly, he wasn't actually eating anything, even preferred foods. Rabbits can only go around 12 hours without eating before they go into GI stasis, and C.S. had antibiotics knock out all his healthy gut flora.

He dropped down to 5 pounds, about half his body weight from before. We had to bathe him because he had made a mess of himself and to get rid of the blood. That's when we noticed the right side of his mouth drooped. I am still not sure what caused it. At the recommendation of the vet, who was quite invested in this little rabbit's survival at this point, we started syringe feeding him yogurt to stimulate his digestive system and repopulate that bacteria. He was so hungry that he would lap it up, even if it was a very strange way to eat for him.

Today, Michael had to take him back in to get a steroid shot and NSAIDS which should hopefully get little CS eating again. 

I can't believe he made it through. I can't believe how much it mattered to me that he did. He is my quiet happy place, where I go when I get overwhelmed and need to get away. 

This probably wasn't interesting to most people. But I wanted to remember it, our little warrior. 

--Andie