When I first started this blog, my goal was to share my bunnies’ antics and try to get feedback to see if I’m doing this whole bunny thing “right” (doesn’t every parent wonder that from time to time?). It’s been a while since I actually told you how Fitzi and I wound up together. Today we’re going to fill in the gaps.
When I was 22 – nine years ago, for those of you keeping track – I was fresh out of college at the University of Illinois. I had just received an offer for an editorial assistant position at a small, independent publishing house in Naperville, Illinois (a western suburb of Chicago). I was sure that the salary they offered me would allow me to live just like Carrie Bradshaw and her Sex & the City pals in my very own sprawling apartment with an abundance of chic touches. I was incorrect. My salary would get me a studio apartment in Lisle, Illinois. Granted, it was on the eighth floor and offered awesome views of a nearby forest, but it was still basically one big room (thankfully the bathroom was separate). My dreams of a big couch, entertainment center and basically anything larger than a loveseat flew out the window. And Manolos like Carrie? Fuhgeddaboutit.
I desperately wanted to get a pet. I had grown up in a house that over the years welcomed a dog, cats, hermit crabs, hamsters, turtles and fish. I decided I need a cat.
“No way,” my mom said when I told her my plan. “That apartment is way too small for a cat. That apartment is way too small for you, actually. How about something small that you can keep in a cage, like a dwarf rabbit?”
I’m sure you can see where this is headed. At the time, despite having ready access to Google, it never dawned on me to see if such a thing as a rabbit shelter existed. Shelters are just for cats and dogs, right? So off my parents and I went to Petco (where the pets go!) to find a dwarf bunny. A pimply teenaged employee led us to what was basically a glass aquarium with a few baby bunnies in it.
“We only have a few right now,” he said disinterestedly. “The rest of ‘em have the runs and we had to put them in the back.” There you have it – one of Fitzi’s most notable features off the bat was that she didn’t currently have diarrhea. While my parents and I played with the baby bunnies, one of them scurried up the front of my dad’s sweatshirt and settled into the hood, peeking out at us. “Aww, that’s so cuuuute!” I cooed. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
Pimple Face turned the bunny over, quickly scanned its hind end and told me it was a boy. “It’s a dwarf, right?” I asked. “I want to keep it in a little cage.”
“Oh yeah,” he replied. “Shouldn’t get much bigger than this.”
Confident that I had found a non-poopy, friendly and sure-to-stay-tiny bunny, I headed for the checkout counter. The bunny was placed in a small cardboard carrying case and run across the price scanner, just like it was a carton of milk or a Snickers bar. My parents sprung for the cage and some bunny food as a gift to their new “grandbunny.”
With the back of my car full, the bunny and I headed back to my apartment. By the time we finished the five-mile trek, it had already pooped and peed in its box…several times. I set it up in its brand-new cage before heading into the city with friends to go to a David Sedaris reading. Before I left, I crossed my fingers that the bunny would still be alive when I got home.
Almost nine years later, the bunny is still with me, although it’s neither a “he” nor a dwarf. I had dubbed the bun F. Scott Fitzgerald after my favorite author (Fitz for short) but switched it to Fitzi when I found out six months later that the bunny was a girl. I’m convinced that some of her present crankiness is due to gender issues early on in her life.
As you can see, I had a lot to learn. Keeping a bunny in a wire cage? Whoops! Going to a pet store instead of a shelter? For shame. Pellets as the main diet? Tsk-tsk. Like every other parent in the galaxy, I kind of stumbled my way through figuring everything out. Along the way, I met amazing “bunny people” (shout out to the Red Door!), welcomed more bunnies into my home and learned to be really grateful to my mother for insisting I bring a rabbit home with me.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it all began.
1 comments:
My story is almost exactly the same. I was 21, wanted a cat, my mom said no way, you don't have the time or the money or the space to care for a cat. So I went to Petland and bought my Biffy, without thinking to google "rabbit care" first. And it never occurred to me that there were shelters for rabbits. What were we thinking? I can honestly say it was the best stupid immature mistake I ever made, and it changed my life forever.
BTW, Petco stopped selling rabbits in all of their stores about 5 years ago, after persuasion by the HRS. And at least by me, Petco actively supports the local rabbit rescues. They've been a huge help allowing us to host weekly adoption events there and keeping two adoptable rabbits in-house at petco in two different stores in Manhattan alone. That frees up four cages at the rescue. They also make regular donations.
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