Bringing Up Bunny

Rabbits Don't Require Refrigeration

2012-01-23T08:15:00.001-08:00

True, I should not have left the refrigerator door open while Paddington was zooming about. But does anyone really expect to find a rabbit in the fridge, trying to dig his way into a box containing a cherry and cream cheese galette?

Welcome to Laura's Butt-y Parlor

2012-01-18T17:37:00.001-08:00

Ahh, the joys of loving an elder bun. If you had told me nine years ago when I adopted Fitzi that I would be spending future evenings gently washing, towel-drying and blow-drying the fur on her butt (sometimes she has a hard time staying clean), I would have said, "You're crazy!"

Now I say, "Anything for my precious girl!"

"Want to talk?"

2012-01-17T10:22:00.001-08:00

"I'm all ears!"

Bunny Butt!

2012-01-15T18:40:00.001-08:00

Paddington would be horrified to learn his butt is on the 'Net, but I thought this was too cute to not share! I love his amazing velvety fur.

My Velvet Elvis

2012-01-11T07:59:00.001-08:00

I've been uncharacteristically quiet about a health scare Paddington has been going through, but now I feel comfortable enough to share it with all of you.

About a month ago, Paddington started pulling back one side of his face. You can see how it looks in the picture above - although adorable, it's definitely not natural. I took him to the vet in late December, who ran a blood culture and didn't see any problems. He thought perhaps it was a palsy and sent him home with Metacam, which didn't seem to improve the situation - although I discovered that Pad LOVES the taste of Metacam and will suck it right out of the syringe.

Last weekend, he started drooling A LOT and it was quite foul-smelling. I got the vet on the phone first thing Monday morning and got him in for an appointment. This time, the vet (Paddington's regular vet, who wasn't available last time - I'm kicking myself for not insisting that we see him back in December!) ran a series of skull X-rays and saw that the root of a tooth was inflamed and pushing on a facial nerve. This is what was causing him to pull one side of his face back (the vet agreed that the expression was endearing and labeled him "Velvet Elvis"). This uncomfortable facial position was causing the teeth on one side of his mouth to dig into his tongue, causing some painful lesions and an infection (hence the bad breath).

The vet put Pad under anesthesia and filed down the teeth that were digging into his tongue. He also performed a laser treatment to help ease the inflammation around his mouth and gave him an injection of a pain med. When they brought Pad back to me, he was awake, but high as a kite. "He was asking us for Funyuns," the vet tech joked. We played with him a bit to get him more awake and then I took him home, along with Metacam, Baytril and a homeopathic remedy similar to St. John's Wort that is supposed to help ease the tension in his face.

When we got home, he was still a bit glassy-eyed from his painkillers and flopped over by the couch. That went on until I opened the refrigerator door - then he was right there and ready to beg for food. I gave him a baby carrot, but in his "altered" state, perhaps he would have preferred Taco Bell takeout!

That was Monday. Two days later, I'm happy to report that the drooling has stopped. It's hard to tell what else has improved because through all of this, Paddington has been his normal, happy-go-lucky self. Even when he was drooling, he was doing binkies and begging me for a piece of the Papa John's pizza that my boyfriend and I were enjoying. Those buggers do such a great job of hiding sicknesses, don't they? When I lost Hemingway, I had no idea anything was wrong until the day before he died, and apparently his system had been shutting down for months.

Pad is going back to the vet next Thursday for a check-up. If he hasn't progressed, the next discussion we're going to have is about pulling the tooth that is pushing on the nerve. The vet doesn't think it's progressed to being an abscess, thank God. I warned him that I didn't want to hear the "A word," and thankfully he didn't have to use it.

Paddington has this uncanny knack for getting sick whenever my finances are finally looking up a bit. Last year, the process of diagnosing him with a severe iron deficiency wiped out all of the money that I had been saving up for a new couch. This time, he wiped out the money I had saved up to spend on a cruise next month. Que sera, sera. In my mind, there was no question that I was going to spend the money to get my boy healthy.

I have to send a shout-out to the wonderful people at the Red Door Shelter for offering up suggestions on what might be troubling Pad, and for talking me down off the ledge I always climb on whenever one of the bunnies is sick.

I'll keep you posted on Velvet Elvis's progress. I'd be really grateful if you could spare a thought for him.

A Birthday Letter to My Fitzi

2011-10-13T03:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Fitzi,

I can’t believe it’s been nine years since the pimply teenager at PetSmart put you in a cardboard box, slid you across the price scanner and sent you home with me. In honor of your ninth birthday, I wanted to share nine of my favorite memories of time spent with you.

When I found out you’re a girl. “Definitely a miniature male,” the teen at PetSmart told me. I took his word for it because, truthfully, bunny nether regions are still somewhat of a mystery to me. It wasn’t until we went to the vet for the first time that I found out I needed to change your name from “Fitz” (named after F. Scott Fitzgerald) to “Fitzi.” I apologize for all those months I made you live as a boy and hope it didn’t create any identity crises for you.
Remember when I left the toilet seat up and you accidentally hopped in? I had one of those little tablets that turned the water blue and your pretty white fur had a blue tint to it for a while and you smelled a little bit like pine. There really was a learning curve with us those first few months, wasn’t there?
When Mom, Dad and I were choosing a bunny, you scaled the front of Dad’s hoodie and sat yourself in the hood. I loved your spunk and decided right then and there that we were meant to be together.
When Mom and I went on vacation to Hilton Head, we left you and Hemingway with Dad. You two hadn’t bonded yet, but when we came back, you were inseparable. It was the best “welcome home” gift ever.
When Hemmer passed away last year, I brought his body back into the apartment and put him in your pen for you to see. You stood vigil next to him and wouldn’t let me take him away until hours later, after you had said your goodbyes. I knew your heart was broken, as was mine, and I was so moved by your love for your mate.
A while after Hem passed, I took you to Red Door to see if you might be interested in another boy. You played along with it and even acted friendly toward Paddington – until we got home, when you made it clear that he wasn’t going to be getting any snuggles from you. You left the door open for Alex to make a move – and she did! I look back on it and think you were playing matchmaker. You little minx!
When you were so sick a few months ago, I couldn’t bear to be away from you. I even slept next to your pen. That scary weekend drained my bank account (and likely my tear ducts), but it made me realize there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you (though I’d prefer to not have to give you Critical Care very often since you have an uncanny ability to hold it in your mouth and then spit it back on me).
You have no fear and are blissfully unaware of your place on the food chain. I love that about you. Whenever my parents’ dog, your “Uncle Payton,” comes to visit, you bare your teeth at him and chase him around to let him know his place – and then you allow him to lick your ears. You are the HBIC (Head Bun in Charge) and you aren’t afraid to let others know it.
This isn’t a memory, but a thankfulness for what we’ll share in the future. Every morning, I’m thankful to see your sweet face and hold you in my arms. I love when you make that little “perka-perka-perka” noise that sounds just like a coffee pot when you’re happy. Just thinking of you brings a smile to my face, my sweet girl.

Happy ninth birthday, Fitzi. Mama loves you so much!

My Boy Is a Wuss

2011-09-20T09:48:00.000-07:00

I’ve come to accept that my darling Paddington is a wuss. A panty-waist. A scaredy-cat (scaredy-rabbit?). Don’t get me wrong, I don’t love him any less for it!

I was surprised to learn how terrified Paddington is of other animals. Back in February, I was planning a trip out of town to dog-sit for my parents while they were in Hawaii. Their dog, Payton, is a 15-pound shih tzu without an aggressive bone in his body. He’s not even readily recognizable as a dog part of the time, since his fur grows down over his eyes in between trims and you need to lift it up in order to see that he actually has a face. When you get a good look at his face, you see that he looks like an Ewok - not a particularly terrifying creature.

That particular weekend, Paddington was still on meds from a recent trip to the vet (we were trying to figure out why he was so underweight). Since he needed them twice a day, he had to come to my parents’ house with me. Since Pad is so friendly with humans (especially if they have food), I didn’t think he would have a problem with Payton. I was wrong. Whenever we let him out of his pen, he made a beeline for the couch and climbed to its very top spot so he could keep an eye on Payton (who was fascinated by the shaking, brown long-eared creature in his home). Poor dude. I thought he would enjoy running around my parents’ house since it’s so much bigger than my place, but all he saw was the length of the couch.

I thought that perhaps he just had a problem with dogs until I bunny-sat two little ladies for my friend Vanessa. Bianca and Seraphina are lion-head dwarves and are barely bigger than guinea pigs. I nicknamed them “the jumping beans” because of how high they could hop and how quickly they could run (especially when I was trying to catch them!). One day, while the girls were exploring the living room, I decided to let Pad out to hop around. I figured he’d probably just ignore them – that’s what he does with every other bunny besides his lady, Alexandria. Well, the girls thought it would be fun to play with Paddington – so they started chasing him! Poor Pad was terrified and ran straight for my boyfriend, who was sitting on the couch, and leapt on his lap. He stayed there until the little “terrors” were back in their pen.

Frankly, it amazes me that Paddington was able to bond with Alex given how scared he is of other animals – but when I think back on it, he wasn’t very active in the bonding process. He was sitting in “bunny room” (formerly known as my den) and Alex hopped up and started grooming his face. That was it – instant bonding. No scuffles, no fighting, no humping. Perhaps he thought Alex could protect him from the other bunny in my home?

At the end of the day, I’ve come to accept that Paddington isn’t a macho man. Truth be told, it’s endearing and I’m lucky that he does love snugglin’ with his mama!

Bunny People are Special People

2011-08-28T16:37:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I learned that two bunnies who were very special to friends of mine passed away. When I say "friends," I'm referring to a girl I met once in passing and someone I have never met, but whom I feel I know well. I've bonded with both of these ladies on Facebook over our shared love of rabbits.

Even though we haven't spent much physical time together, I know all I need to know about these women by the way they love their bunnies. In my mind, anyone who is willing to share with the world how much they love the long-eared is a gem.

What is it about bunnies that brings people together? Maybe it's that so many people don't understand how amazing rabbits are. They don't know how loving they are, or that they have their own little personalities, just like dogs and cats. They've never seen a binky or had a rabbit kiss them on the face.

Likewise, they've never known the complete and utter heartbreak of losing one of these precious creatures. When I lost my Hemingway almost a year ago, my "bunny friends" understood what I was going through. None of them said to me "It's just a rabbit," or "you can get another one." They understood that Hem could never be replaced, even though I could open my heart and home to other bunnies. Today, they understand that there's still a hole in my heart that will never be filled by any other bunny because Hemingway was one of a kind.

The ladies who lost their bunnies understand what I went through, and I want them to know that I understand what they're feeling now. Alex, Fitzi, Paddington and I are sending so much love their way - as are my two "visitor" bunnies, Seraphina and Bianca (more about them in a future post).

I completely believe that Catherine "Picklez" and Huddy are doing binkies with my beloved Hemingway on the Rainbow Bridge today, and I hope that the humans who loved and cherished them soon find peace.

Bunny Therapy

2011-08-05T16:16:00.000-07:00

I've been called a lot of things over the years by those who know me. Some of the names have been kinder than others. "Anal retentive" crops up a lot. So do "anxiety-ridden" and "uptight." I'm sure people have uttered other things behind my back.

It's true, I'm a worrier, and I know I'm not alone. All of us who get stressed out seek out ways to manage it. There's a glass of wine at the end of a long day. There are bubble baths. There's therapy (and I have to admit, having a psychotherapist for a boyfriend comes in handy).

And then...there are bunnies.

To me, there's nothing more soothing than walking through my door and seeing three sweet little faces looking at me expectantly. When I pick them up and snuggle them, whatever is on my mind melts away. Paddington is especially soothing, both by virtue of being very laid-back and affectionate and because his velvety rex fur is so soft.

I've read studies about the values of pet therapy in helping to ease anxiety and make people feel less lonesome, and I couldn't agree more. The bunnies are like long-eared stress balls - but don't worry, I don't squeeze them that hard. :)

Say What?

2011-07-21T04:49:00.000-07:00

When Fitzi was at the vet on Monday, I was cuddling her and patiently explaining that she was going to have to spend the night there again. My favorite vet tech, Nina, was in the room with us and said, "I can tell you're an awesome bunny mom because you talk to her like she can understand you."

I said, "Well, how do we know she can't? She's my baby, part of the family, and she deserves to know what's going on!"

Nina smiled and said, "Exactly!"

Fitzi's Please-Poop-Palooza

2011-07-19T14:12:00.001-07:00

If you follow me on Facebook, you no doubt know that the past week has been tumultuous at the Hopper Hotel (AKA my apartment). Here's the abbreviated version of what's been happening: Last Wednesday night, I noticed that Fitzi wasn't eating much and I didn't see any poops in her litter box. Concerned, I called Dr. Ness over at Ness Exotic Animal Wellness Center and was able to get an appointment for Thursday afternoon. Dr. Ness diagnosed her with mucoid enteritis, an infection that was throwing off the good/bad bacteria ratio in her digestive system (it also causes mucus to come out of the rectum - sorry for that mental image!). He prescribed five different meds (plus Critical Care) and kept her overnight for monitoring. She still hadn't pooped by Friday afternoon, but she seemed perkier and stable, so he sent her home with me.

Thus began one of the worst weekends of my life. Fitzi would take her medicine, but she ABSOLUTELY. REFUSED. to have anything to do with the Critical Care. I tried everything I could think of - watering it waaaaaaay down, warming it up just a wee bit, mixing it in with her beloved banana baby food (a rare treat). Nada. She held it in her mouth and then spit it out as soon as I put her down. She also wasn't peeing much, despite my giving her big syringes of water three or four times a day. She was lethargic and would only move around when she saw me coming after her with a medicine syringe.

Perhaps I need to mention that Fitzi is a poop MACHINE. Whenever she gets out to explore, it's easy to find her by the trail of poops that she leaves across my carpet. It's like an ickier version of Hansel and Gretel. For her not to poop is downright scary. Then, on Sunday night, her tummy was so swollen that she looked like she had swallowed a softball. I got Dr. Ness on the phone first thing Monday morning and he told me she needed to come back in right away. After examining her, he told me it was a good sign that her guts were gurgling like they wanted to move things out and that her infection had cleared up. He gave her subcutaneous fluids and injected Reglan and Bactril and wanted to keep her overnight again to make sure we were finally on the right track.

I received a triumphant call from Nina, one of the vet techs there, a few hours later. "Holy blowout, Batman!" she expclaimed. Apparently Fitzi had had a giant mucus plug from the infection that had finally worked its way loose and was alllllllll over her pen at the vet's office (I have to admit, I was a little relieved that happened when she wasn't with me!). A week, I finally have a healthy bunnykin who is currently running laps around my apartment.

As horrible as this has been, it's also been a learning experience. Here's what I've learned from "Fitzi's Please-Poop-Palooza":

We bunny people are obsessed with poop. This makes sense, since it's so closely tied to our bunnies' health. We have no problem discussing texture, quantity, color, consistency...you name it. I also learned that non-bunny people simply don't understand this.
There are a LOT of very caring people out there, and I'm glad to know all of you. My friends rallied with me on Facebook. My parents prayed for their grandbunny. The wonderful crew at the Red Door were supportive and encouraging, especially Toni, who talked me down from the ledge on Sunday morning. My boyfriend brought Fitzi flowers the first time she got out of the hospital (they were put in a pretty vase for her mama to admire too).
Bunnies are so doggone delicate. They can go from zero to life-threatening illness in the blink of an eye. As a bunny mom, that terrifies me - and keeps me motivated to provide them with the best possible care.
I will sleep on the floor next to a bunny pen and wake up every two hours to check on my little lady. Paddington didn't care for this setup because I took away his jangliest (and therefore favorite) toys so I could try and get a little shuteye. I still have a crick in my neck from this, but I don't care.
Bunnies have some sixth sense of when their mamas have almost enough money to buy a new couch and will then have a medical emergency that sucks up not just the couch money but alllll money that was set aside. Paddington did this to me back in February, and now Fitzi is following his example. I am destined to have a sad, saggy couch from the '70s.
Pets aren't "just" animals. They are treasured companions who accompany us through our lives. Fitzi is almost nine and she and I have been through a LOT together. Boyfriends, homes, jobs, nights where it was just the two of us cuddled up on my couch and watching Lifetime movies. I know she's getting older, but there's so much that she's brought to my life that there is simply no way I wouldn't do everything in my power to keep her healthy, happy and with me as long as God will let me have her.

Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your thoughts, prayers and help during this difficult time. For someone who talks and writes an awful lot, I'm falling short in finding words that properly express how much I treasure your support.

A Thankful Heart

2011-07-09T07:53:00.001-07:00

As I sit here in the basement of my parents' house, I'm exhausted from a week of anxiety, heartbreak and ultimately jubilation. Some of you know what's been going on, some of you don't, so here's a quick recap.

Last Sunday, July 3, my parents were up at our family campground. They took their dog, Payton, with them, as they always do. They were all down on their boat when Payton became spooked by the illegal fireworks that the jerks (this is a much milder word than I would like to use) at the next campground over were shooting off the riverbank. Dad took Payt and put him in the camper to try and calm him down. Somehow Payt managed to nose the door open and ran off into the woods, terrified by the incredibly loud and close fireworks. He's never done anything like that before and usually sticks close by to my mom at all times - we joke that he's a "mama's boy."

For the next three days, he was nowhere to be found, despite an incredible outpouring of help and support. You know how much I love my bunnies? Well, I come by it honestly. My parents love this dog like he was their own child (they even had a professional portrait taken with just them and Payton and refer to it as the "family picture"). The idea that he wouldn't be coming back was simply unfathomable. My parents' friends know this and a half dozen or so joined my parents in tromping through the woods, hanging up signs, talking to people who live nearby and contacting shelters and vets. My friends and my brother's friends joined in as well, helping to spread the word through Facebook and phone calls. Perfect strangers even joined in the hunt for him - just because they knew how much a dog can mean to a family.

On Wednesday night, my parents got the call they had been praying for. A good Samaritan had seen Payton sitting in the middle of the road in a construction area and had stopped to pick him up. He was covered in burrs and seeds, but was otherwise unharmed. The woman who found him wouldn't accept the reward that my parents were offering. She said that if they wanted to thank her, they could make a donation in her name to the local animal shelter, which they did immediately.

So here I am, in the basement, with Payton napping peacefully next to me. My parents had to make a trip to Wisconsin today for a graduation party and didn't want Payton alone for a second, so I swooped in to cuddle and spoil him for the day.

This whole experience, while heart-wrenching and terrifying, has also really made me realize how many good people there are in the world and how many people really do understand that pets are like members of the family. For every person who scoffs that "It's just an animal," there is a person who knows how much love, joy and comfort a pet can bring. I'm so thankful to have so many of these people in my life and I look forward to meeting even more.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who helped bring Payton home, whether it was through walking through the woods or just sparing a positive thought or prayer.

It's time for me to wrap this up. There's a little doggy who needs some cuddling.

Is This Heaven? No, It's the Linen Closet

2011-06-21T05:46:00.000-07:00

My angel bunny Hemingway was a champion eater. The boy never encountered a meal he didn't like. He even enjoyed noshing on things that aren't traditionally food - you know, like Fitzi's tail.

When I was living in my tiny studio apartment with Fitzi and Hem, my grandpa bought me a giant 50-pound bag of rabbit pellets at Farm & Fleet. Since the bunnies only got a few pellets here and there as a treat, I figured the bag would last me until, oh, forever. I cleared out space in my linen closet for the giant bag and hit it out of view.

One day, I couldn't find Hemingway. Keep in mind, we're talking about a 600-square foot apartment and a very round rabbit. I stood in the middle of the room and listened intently. I could hear a very faint munch munch munch sound. Listening even more closely, I traced it to the linen closet and flung open the door.

There sat Hemingway. He must have snuck into the linen closet earlier when I was putting away towels. He had managed to eat through the side of the giant bag of food and crawl right in! He was sitting on top of the 50 pounds of pellets and looked like he would have been content to just stay there until he ate his way to the bottom.

He was not happy to be removed from Food Heaven. Every so often, I would catch him staring wistfully at the door to the linen closet. I imagine he was thinking to himself If only I was taller and had opposable thumbs...Food Heaven would be mine!

Blue Bunny!

2011-06-17T05:36:00.000-07:00

This week I've been doing a lot of reminiscing about when Fitzi was a baby bunny and she and I were still figuring each other out. Do you want to hear a silly story from when both of us were younger? Good, because I have one for you.

Fitzi has always loved to be involved with whatever is happening around her. If I'm watching TV, she gets on the couch next to me. If I'm cooking, she's underfoot in the kitchen and waiting for something (preferably green) to fall to the floor. The point is, she doesn't want to miss anything.

In my first apartment, she loved to come into the bathroom and sit on the closed toilet seat while I was putting on my makeup in the morning. She would sit there and make a "perka-perka-perka" noise at me, which probably translated to "you don't need that much eyeliner" or "nice girls don't wear that shade of lipstick. It's a good thing your mother isn't here!"

One morning, I had pulled out my Caboodle of makeup and was starting to apply it when Fitzi came hopping into the bathroom. As was her routine, she hopped up on the toilet...only I had forgotten to close the lid. SPLASH! I grabbed for her immediately and pulled her out of the water. She was fine...but she was also blue. I used to use those little tablets that turned the toilet water a lovely shade of turquoise, and Fitzi's pretty white fur was now tinted blue!

She got a bath right away, and I got a funny story out of it. For her part, Fitzi was undaunted by her swim in the toilet and still likes to comment on my makeup application in the morning...from the safety of the floor.

I still smile every time I see Blue Bunny ice cream in the grocery store.

Fitzi's Love Bite

2011-06-16T05:42:00.000-07:00

I was cuddling with Fitzi this morning stroking her little ears. A gray spot on her ear caught my eye and I was reminded how that spot came to be. I thought you might enjoy the story behind it.

Fitzi and Hemingway didn't have the easiest time bonding (mostly because of Fitzi - she adored Hemingway when she met him at the Red Door, but once he was on HER turf, she turned snarly and snotty). The two of them had some epic scuffles, even with me doing my best to stay between them and keep the peace.

During one such scuffle, Hemingway bit clean through Fitzi's ear. I rushed Fitzi to the vet, who treated her war wounds with an antibiotic and told me not to worry about her ear. I did, though - I felt like an awful mother. Slowly, the hole started to heal - and when it did, the fur that grew in was a soft gray that exactly matched Hemingway's fur. Fitzi's fur is all white, except for a few gray spots on her back. By this time, Fitzi and Hem were bonded and hated to be away from each other.

That little gray spot on Fitzi's ear always makes me recall the beginning of their relationship and how Hem managed to soften the cranky old girl into a loving, adoring bunny. And now that Hemingway's gone, the tiny gray spot is a constant reminder of him. The gray reminds me of him, of all the love that he brought to her - and to my life as well. Even though it started out with a bite, it now seems like a kiss from an angel bunny.

For the Love of Fitzi

2011-06-15T13:09:00.000-07:00

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.

Happy Rabbit Awareness Week!

2011-05-29T05:34:00.000-07:00

In honor of Rabbit Awareness Week, I asked my rabbity friends what they love most about their bunnies. Here's what they told me!

"Their feisty personalities behind all that cute fluff." - Laerke
"I love them both for different reasons. I love my sweet little Bunbun because I don't care what kind of day I have had, when I scoop her up and nestle her in my neck she calms me instantly because she is so very timid that my focus changes to calming her and reassuring her and in that act itself, I become calm. We breathe together and comfort each other. My feisty Chubs is such an aggressive girl(sometimes) that she teaches me patience and perseverance and how to earn trust. She has taught me also that sometimes what appears to be aggression is just masking fear and that translates into humans as well. So slowly the 3 of us are just making our little way together, and I love them for being my life teachers." - Ann
" I love everything about them...and I honestly can't come up with a #1 reason!" - Kathy
"The bromance when they snuggle together stretched out feet out." - Cera
"Their spirit." - Bean
"Their personalities. They are full to brimming with unexpected spunk and sweetness." - Ginger
"Everything about them! I can be having a horrible day - a few minutes watching them in action and my day suddenly becomes wonderful!" - Gail

I second what everybody above said! When I brought Fitzi home almost nine years ago, I had no idea what I was in for - in the best possible way. She's so full of spunk and personality! Hemingway, Alex and Paddington also brought their own unique personalities into my life and made it so much better. Sure, I provide them with hay and food and greens (and have cleaned more litter boxes than I care to think about), but I'm the lucky one to have them in my life. The love they give and the joy they bring is boundless.

A Precious, Then Piddly, Moment

2011-05-19T05:50:00.000-07:00

I don't think there's anything more precious in the world than a binky from an elder bun. Fitzi will be nine in October and she's definitely slowing down. She has arthritis in her hips and moves around more gingerly, so when I catch her in those moments of unabashed joy when she leaps into the air and twists her hind legs, it warms my heart.

When I was getting ready this morning, Fitzi was "helping" me. She was underfoot in my walk-in closet and happily making a "perka-perka-perka" noise as she explored my shoe rack while I tried to find something to wear. Then she leaped straight into the air in a top-notch binky.

"Aww, Fitzi, that's my girl!" I exclaimed. I reached down to pick her up for a cuddle...and she peed on my foot. Did I mention she's starting to have more accidents as she gets older? In true Fitzi style, she also managed to pee on a pair of pants and a dry-clean-recommended sweater.

So there you have it. In a singular moment, I saw the young bunny still inside my elderly girl and was reminded that she's becoming more fragile. After I got the pee off my foot and tossed my clothes in the washer, I took time to give her a long snuggle with extra kisses on her sweet head.

Clothes (and feet) can be washed. Precious moments need to be treasured.

Ice, Ice Paddy

2011-05-12T05:57:00.001-07:00

It's HOT here in Illinois. In grand Midwestern tradition, it has gone from 60 degrees to 95 degrees in the space of a week. I had a coworker who was a transplant from California and couldn't understand how temperatures could shift so quickly. I explained it with one word: "Illinois."

It was a comfortable 61 when I left the house this morning, so I didn't turn on the air conditioner. I feel like as soon as the A/C goes on, it doesn't come off until September, and I find myself missing the fresh air blowing in through the open windows. Throughout the course of the day, the temperature crept up to 95. I was in a cool office building, but the bunnies were stuck in my apartment all day. When I finally got home, I was greeted by three warm, cranky long-eared monsters.

I immediately went to get them ice cubes. Alex and Fitzi immediately set to playing with and licking theirs, but Paddington regarded his like it was some sort of foreign being. Is it possible he never encountered ice cubes in his last home?

Pad approached his cube and gingerly stuck out one paw. It must have chilled his toes because he leapt back immediately. He hid in his cardboard playhouse and stared at the cube. Twice more he ventured out and swatted at the cube, only to beat a hasty retreat. While he considered his plan of attack, the cube slowly melted. By the time he had a foolproof plan for conquering his frosty foe, it had disappeared completely and left behind nothing more than a small puddle.

Padding peered around, wondering if maybe the enemy had snuck into his litter box or hidden under his blanket. He's still not sure what happened, but he's darn sure he doesn't like it.

Not Everybunny Wants to Be the Cadbury Bunny

2011-04-20T13:10:00.001-07:00

In honor of Easter, I present Izzy. Izzy was a bun I fostered from Red Door a few years back. I thought it would be fun to pose her with a few Cadbury Creme Eggs for an Easter portrait. Let's just say she didn't feel the same way. The disapproval is searing.

Spring to Life and Help Support the Bunnies!

2011-04-12T05:43:00.000-07:00

My very favorite shelter in the world, the Red Door in Chicago, is in the midst of their annual Spring-to-Life Rescue Raffle! From now until April 23, you can buy $1 raffle tickets that will help the shelter save as many animals as possible who are hurt, hungry and in need of a lifeline. The proceeds from the raffle will help the Red Door provide critical care, shelter and adoption service for rescued animals - including lots of wonderful bunnies! Alexandria, Paddington and my darling Hemingway are all Red Door alumni! I can't say enough good things about the work the shelter does - they truly are angels for animals in need!

There are also great raffle prizes to be had, including $1,000 cash, a case of mixed international wine, a Kindle, a weekend getaway at the Double Tree Suites, movie and dinner gift certificates and Vosges Haut Chocolate (have you tried their wasabi chocolate? A-ma-zing.).

To purchase the tickets online, click here. The bunnies and I thank you for helping animals in need!

Check. Your. Facts.

2011-04-07T14:56:00.000-07:00

It really steams my clams when people don't do their homework on rabbits before shooting their mouths off. This letter was in my hometown paper today:

I see People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is at it again. Lindsey Pollard-Post may be right that you should buy your kid a stuffed bunny, but not for the reasons she stated in her letter in the SV Weekend on April 2. First of all, rabbits are not so fragile that a toddler can break their bones. They do not need daily brushing (we have had rabbits and never brushed them). They don’t mind being in a cage in the backyard, so you do not have to litter-train them; nor will they whittle your wooden furniture or electrical chords, or eat your houseplants. As far as spaying or neutering, why would you do that to a lone rabbit? I have never known anyone to take a rabbit to a vet. Rabbits are very low maintenance, and kids can learn how to care for animals by taking care of them daily, making sure they have water and food such as pellets and grains. They also love dandelions and other greens and bread crust from the end of a loaf. Also, as most people don’t realize, you can do as PETA does when it gets too many animals – euthanize them.

I just sent this letter in response. I hope it gets published, and I have to tell you that I was being polite with my teeth gritted and my blood boiling.

To the editor, I want to thank Mr. Kelsey for taking the time to write in and share that rabbits can make great pets (“Bunnies, stuffed or real, can be low maintenance,” April 7). However, there are a number of factual errors in his letter that I wanted to share in the event that any readers choose to bring rabbits into their homes. I am not a member of PETA and do not support many of their strategies for bringing attention to animal rights issues. I am simply a proud houserabbit owner who would like to see other rabbits cared for properly.

1. Rabbits need to be brushed. Rabbits shed regularly and if they ingest too much fur, they can develop “hairballs” in their stomachs. Rabbits are not able to vomit, and these hairballs can be deadly. Grooming rabbits regularly helps to prevent this.

2. Rabbits should never be placed in a wire-bottom cage. This can cause a condition called sore hocks. Basically, the fur wears off the rabbit’s feet and the feet can become inflamed and infected.

3. Rabbits should not be kept outdoors. In extreme conditions like the ones we see in Illinois, rabbits can easily overheat or freeze to death. There are many wonderful indoor habitats available.

4. Rabbits chew. Their teeth grow continuously throughout their lives, so it is essential that they are given toys to chew so that they can grind down their teeth and prevent painful, sometimes deadly, abscesses. Yes, a rabbit that is left unattended in your home will chew cords, or baseboards, or whatever strikes its fancy. This is why they need to constantly be monitored – and a reason they’re not great pets for young children with short attention spans.

5. All rabbits need to be spayed or neutered, even if they are kept alone. Female rabbits have a very high likelihood of developing uterine cancer if they are not “fixed.” Male rabbits can become aggressive and engage in behaviors including spraying and circling if they are not neutered.

6. Rabbits should only be fed pellets in very small doses. Pellets were developed originally for “stock” rabbits that breeders wanted to fatten up quickly so they could be slaughtered. Pellets contain far too many calories to be a rabbit’s main source of nutrition. A rabbit’s diet should be composed of timothy hay and an assortment of fresh greens. Additionally, rabbits should never be fed any bread products.

When properly cared for, rabbits can be wonderful companions for 10 years or more.

Alexandria, Architect

2011-04-04T16:54:00.000-07:00

I've always encouraged my bunrabs to pursue their passions. Fitzi, for example, dreams of one day finding the weak bar in her pen that will allow her to escape and make the person who fenced her in very, very sorry. Paddington seeks to try each and every non-rabbity food that comes into my home (he's partial to pizza, but much to his chagrin he's never been offered any, even though I was quite impressed that he managed to drag a slice out of a box when I had my back turned).

What about Alex? Her pursuits are decidedly more scholarly. Alexandria, you see, has developed an interest in architecture.

It all started when I bought Alex and Paddington a Cottontail Cottage, a three-story cardboard structure complete with windows, doors and a winding staircase. The happy couple loved it. Paddington spent his days relaxing on the second floor while Alex spread out on the first floor. She dragged several blankets into the foyer to "carpet" it. She pulled in a phone book to serve as a combination end table/chair.

From there, Alex took a long, hard look at the structure of the cottage. She thought it was a little too tall, so she shaved a bit off the top with her teeth. There wasn't enough light coming in, so she widened the windows. The planks on the stairs were too thick, so she worked on thinning them out. She then made a critical error - she chewed off one of the supporting beams on the bottom of the cottage, sending the cottage toppling over and a sleeping Paddington out a cardboard window.

"Uh-oh, Alex," I told her as I surveyed the wreckage. "I don't know - you can't just pull up the foundation of a house and expect it to keep standing." Still, we tried. I wedged a shoebox under the short leg of the house. Alex nudged it back out, sending Paddington toppling out again. After about a week of experimentation - and an increasingly grumpy Paddington - I sat Alex down.

"Look," I told her. "We're getting to the point where the structure isn't safe. There's a lot we can still use in there. The carpet is in good shape. The phone book is missing part of the yellow pages, but there's a lot we can salvage. Unfortunately, we're going to have to admit that the house has to go. The good news is that I have a nice shipping box that I think we can work with."

Alex looked at the box with distaste. True, there were no stairs. There were no windows. There was only one level. But it was a start. After some scissor-wielding (by me, not Alex) and a little decorating, it was still just a box with doors...but I'm confident that Alex's talents will shine through and she'll make it into a place she and Paddington are proud to call home.

Mama's Proud of Pudgy Paddington

2011-03-29T09:17:00.000-07:00

First off, let me clarify that I am not attempting to strangle Paddington in the picture above. I was merely trying to get him to stand up and show off that round little belly. Why am I so proud of his bunny gut? It’s because it was so hard-won!

A few months ago, Paddington was looking really skinny, which alarmed me because his appetite is legendary. Since he moved in with us in September, Paddington has tried to help himself to Papa John’s pizza, beer, Diet Coke, coffee, lemons, tortilla chips – you name it, he wanted to try it and he wasn’t going to wait for someone to offer it to him. One Saturday, he even climbed up the front of my boyfriend’s shirt, stuck his head in Nate’s mouth and plucked a piece of Gardetto Mix out to enjoy. He’s basically a long-eared garbage disposal.

Despite his voracious appetite, Paddington was becoming skin-and-bones skinny. I took him to the vet, who was baffled. (I also took Alex to the vet with Paddington in case Pad had something contagious that Alex would need to be treated for also. The vet weighed Alex, raised his eyebrows and said “Are we sure the problem isn’t that she’s eating all the food?” I said, “Leave her alone, doc. She’s in love. We girls sometimes gain weight when we’re really happy.”)

Preliminary blood tests revealed that Pad had an excess of calcium in his blood, which is commonly an indicator of cancer. The doctor told me not to panic until we could get more tests done – easy for him to say. As soon as the C word is brought up, it’s pretty tough to stay calm. Luckily I only had to endure one night of freaking out. The next day’s tests ruled out cancer, but revealed that Paddington was severely anemic. The vet gave him a prescription for an iron supplement that he was to take twice a day for a month.

Have you ever had to give your rabbit medicine? I remember an email forward that went around a few years ago titled “How to Give a Cat a Pill.” I cracked up at the descriptions of pulling a cat down from curtains and bandaging wounds inflicted by an animal who had no interest in being medicated. Little did I know that giving bunnies medicine has its own unique set of challenges. I wound up making Paddington into a “bunny burrito” by wrapping him tightly in a towel with only his head sticking out. Don’t for a second think that being immobile was going to make him any more willing to open his mouth, though. I was finally able to get the medicine in the side of his mouth…and he spat it out. The next time, he let it ooze out of his mouth. This medicine, I should add, smelled and looked exactly like soy sauce. Paddington and I both wound up covered in it and looked like we had come from a particularly messy Chinese dinner.

Along with the medicine, the vet recommended a “Let Paddington Eat Whatever He Wants, Whenever He Wants to Eat It” diet. Paddington was thrilled by this, of course, but it went over like a lead balloon with the other two resident bunnies. I wound up feeding Paddington in a separate room because if Alex saw him eating food that she wasn’t offered, she would have the bunny version of a hissy fit, flinging her toys and stomping her foot. “I’m sorry, Alex,” I told her. “The doctor specifically said to not let you get any fatter. He doesn’t care that you’re in love.” This was met by Alex crawling under a blanket…and stomping her foot again.

After a month of bunny burritos, an angry Alex and spending all of the money that I was planning to use on a new couch on Paddington’s lab tests, I was ecstatic to discover that Pad was filling out and even had a round little belly to show for it. I have to admit that I’m a little jealous of him – I don’t want to take the icky medicine, but I’d love to try a “Let Laura Eat Whatever She Wants” diet!

Paddington Says "I Hope You'll Like Me!"

2011-03-29T08:25:00.001-07:00

I've created a Facebook page for Bringing Up Bunny! I'll be using the page to stream my blog posts as well as other rabbity goodness. If you're on Facebook, I hope you'll consider "liking" the page. Click here to check it out (and click the "Like" button while you're at it). Thanks so much for your support!

Make Mine Chocolate!

2011-03-22T05:44:00.001-07:00

I'm sure that you, like me, support the "Make Mine Chocolate!" campaign. It's so important that parents understand how much of a commitment is involved with adopting a houserabbit, and it's not a decision that should be made on a whim. Sure, bunnies are cute in Easter baskets, but are you prepared to care for that rabbit for the next 10 years and give it all the love it deserves?

I saw this ad in InStyle this morning and think it's the recipe for a perfect Easter! Bunnies! Godiva chocolate! Flowers! Target! What's not to love? Make mine chocolate!

You can learn more about Make Mine Chocolate by clicking here.

Happy St. Paddy's Day!

2011-03-18T05:47:00.000-07:00

"'Wearin' o' the green?' I thought you said 'Eatin' o' the greens!'"

Happy St. Paddy's Day, a holiday that Paddington thinks was created just for him!

A Poem by Alex

2011-03-08T11:10:00.001-08:00

Life can be awful funny
When you're just a little bunny
My husbun hogs the timothy hay
And the other bun rattles her pen all day
But I have to say that life is rosy
When I have someplace warm and cozy.

Alex is One of THOSE Girls

2011-03-02T11:15:00.000-08:00

Alexandria and I used to be tight. She was the odd bun out - Fitzi and Hemingway were happily paired up and she was woefully single (I usually was too). When Fitzi and Hem would do couple-y things like lick each other's ears and snuggle, Alex would be content to cuddle on my lap and let me pet her pretty ears. We watched movies together. We hung out. It was good.

That all changed when she met Paddington.

Suddenly, Alex wanted to spend all of her time with Pad. She only wanted Paddington to snuggle her, not me. When they roamed the apartment, she stuck close to his side and evaded my efforts to pick her up. Sure, she'll still come up to me when I have treats, but that makes me feel like I'm being used for my papaya tablets.

The other day, I realized that Alex has turned into one of THOSE girls - you know, the ones who only want to spend time with their boyfriends. Sure, they'll feign interest in you when you have something they want, but that's it.

Luckily, she's adorable and I love her unconditionally - even if she's so in love that she can't see that a little "girl time" with her mama would be a good thing for both of us.

A Discussion of Disapproval

2011-02-27T05:03:00.001-08:00

Paddington: "Pssst, Alex."

Alex: "What? Can't you see I'm busy trying to carpet the downstairs level of our home?"

Paddington: "She's trying to take a picture of us. Put your disapproving face on."

Alex: "My WHAT?"

Paddington: "You know...that face all bunnies can make where our lips are pursed up, our eyes are crazy and we jut our chins out."

Alex: "I have a feeling I'm making that face without even trying. You say all bunnies do this?"

Paddington: "Yep. It's our way of showing humans that even though they care for us, feed us, cuddle us, trim our toenails, spend all of the money they were saving up to buy a couch with on vet visits, buy us cardboard castles to romp in and love us unconditionally, we can still play hard to get with our affections."

Alex: "Should we let her know that we really do love her and are grateful she takes such good care of us?"

Paddington: "Nah, this makes for a better photograph."

Home Renovation with Alexandria

2011-02-19T08:11:00.001-08:00

Alexandria is remodeling her "estate." You'll notice that she has dragged a cardboard box over to one entry of her Cottontail Cottage, in essence creating a porch from which she can survey her land and grab a piece of hay to chew at her leisure. She is also working on dragging a blanket into the main level of the cottage to provide a soft, carpeted entry for visitors.

Paddington's Spiritual Side

2011-02-17T06:04:00.000-08:00

"God bless Mama and God bless carrots and God bless Alex and God bless pizza. Amen."

When One Door Closes...

2011-02-17T05:50:00.000-08:00

I'm beginning to understand how much Paddington values his privacy. I get where he's coming from - he's the only boy in a home with three women. But his quest for a little "alone time" isn't without roadblocks. The other day, we had this discussion:

(Scritchy-scritchy noise comes behind a closed bathroom door. Laura opens door to find Paddington sitting alone in the dark.)

Laura: "Hey, buddy. I noticed that you taught yourself to hop into the bathroom and close the door behind you. I have to admit, it freaks me out a little when I'm home alone and I see the bathroom door closed when I'm sitting in the living room. It makes me think I'm living with a very modest ghost."

Paddington: "Yeah, I'm just looking for a little privacy. Sometimes I need to get away from Alex, you know? She always wants to smother me with kisses."

Laura: "I understand. Nate does the same thing to me."

Paddington: "So I figured out I can close the door by nudging it with my nose. There's just one problem."

Laura: "Oh, are you afraid of the dark?"

Paddington: "No."

Laura: "Do you want me to put a ramp next to the toilet? I have to admit, I've always been fascinated by those cats who can use the toilet."

Paddington: "No, but I'm not willing to completely rule that out."

Laura: "So what seems to be the problem?"

Paddington: "I can't reach the door handle to get back out. I assume cutting a doggy door in the bathroom door is out of the question?"

Laura: "You assume correctly, sir."

Paddington: "Phooey."

I CAN HAZ CHRISTMAS?

2010-12-07T06:58:00.000-08:00

I'm at home today, resting up from a bout with the flu. I'm lucky that I have three furry nursemaids here to help me feel better. Two of said nursemaids are currently washing their ears - I have no idea how they get such dirty ears when their days tend to involve little more than eating and making me laugh.

I've had a few people ask me how Paddington is reacting to there being a Christmas tree in my living room. The answer is...he's not. This is weird. We're talking about a rabbit who has climbed into a dryer, dishwasher and refrigerator. He stuck his face in a lit candle and singed his whiskers. He even managed to email someone when I was foolish enough to leave my laptop open within leaping distance. For him to show no interest in something, anything, is...weird.

I can only believe that he's slowly and methodically developing a plan for scaling to the very top of my seven-foot faux spruce. I am preparing myself for the day when I'll be admiring the blown-glass angel that hangs at eye level on my tree and come face to face with two bright, curious brown eyes. When that happens, I'll be sure to let you know.

Oh, and I HAVE discovered one thing that Paddington dislikes and would prefer to never encounter again - his Christmas sweater. Maybe he can hide it in my Christmas tree on his journey to the top.

Furry Potter

2010-11-22T05:43:00.001-08:00

"No, Paddington, you've got it all wrong. I was explaining that Harry Potter can speak parseltongue, not parsleytongue."

Things I Never Thought I'd Say

2010-11-20T06:27:00.000-08:00

Since I've had the bunnies, I've heard things come out of my mouth that I never thought I'd utter. I'm sure any parent, no matter what they're parenting, could say the same thing. Paddington, especially, has me saying the strangest things.

For example:

"NO! BUNNIES DON'T DRINK BEER!" (See also: "Paddington! Get your face out of that glass of champagne!" and "NO! NO! NO! No whiskey!") He's also gone after juice, Gatorade and Diet Coke, so I don't think I need to find him a 12-step program just yet.

"If you're good for the picture, I'll take your clothes off!"

Finally, one of the strangest things I've ever uttered: "Stop that! Dishwashers are for dishes, not rabbits."

As the Carrot Turns

2010-10-22T08:22:00.000-07:00

Ever since Hemingway passed away, I had been torturing myself over whether she was lonely. She was certainly mourning Hem. She was droopy and uninterested in things that normally made her happy. So, on October 6, I packed her into her bunny carrier and headed into the city to go visit the Red Door.

At the shelter, Fitzi met a parade of nice young boy bunnies. She took a shine to a dark brown rex named Parker and enjoyed nuzzling him and cuddling him. Encouraged, I invited Parker to come home with us and optimistically renamed him Paddington because his velvety fur reminded me of the stuffed bears that I loved as a kid.

Fitzi and Paddington snuggled on the way home and I was convinced that theirs would be world’s easiest bonding. Wrong. Once Paddington was on Fitzi’s territory, she was no longer interested in being nice and snuggly. She nipped and lunged at him. I chalked it up to Fitzi being Fitzi – after all, it took almost two months for me to bond her with Hemingway and there were lots of scuffles between them before that happened. What I didn’t take into consideration was Alexandria.

Alex and Paddington both have “out-of-the-pen” privileges and are allowed to roam my apartment when I’m home. For the most part, their interaction consisted of Alex chasing Paddington and Paddington leaping into my arms to get away from her. Until the other night, that is. I happened to look over at them during House on Monday and saw Alex grooming Paddington’s ears! Holy cow – apparently I was bonding the wrong couple!

Alex has never had a boyfriend before, and her reaction to male attention has been a delight to behold. After she licked Paddington’s ears, she hopped away and rolled around the floor, kicking her legs in the air. She then ran around the apartment and binkied high into the air. She had her first crush!

For the next couple days, I hosted bonding sessions in my bathroom. While Alex was smitten with Paddington, Paddington wasn’t quite sure how to react. I can’t say I blame him – he had gone home with one woman, and now another was trying to steal him away. I finally got him to groom Alex by putting food on her head for him to lick off. I guess that old adage about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach is true!

As of last night, the happy couple has moved into a pen together, complete with a cardboard three-story castle. Alexandria is thrilled to finally have a prince after years of watching Hemingway and Fitzi cuddle.

The only part of this love triangle who currently isn’t happy is Fitzi. She wasn’t sure she wanted Paddington, but she certainly didn’t want Alex to have him! Could another husbun be in her future? You’ll have to stay tuned to find out!

A Precious Morning Moment with My Lady

2010-09-29T05:41:00.000-07:00

When I get ready in the morning, I bring either Alex or Fitzi into the bathroom with me to roam and play while I'm showering. This morning was Fitzi's morning. From the moment I set her down on the floor, she insisted on repeatedly head-butting my foot. Exasperated, I finally got down on her level and looked her in the eye.

"Why, exactly, are you head-butting my foot? What's your problem?" I asked her.

She responded by sticking her head right under my mouth. It turns out she wanted kisses on the "sweet spot" right in between her eyes - where Hem used to kiss her. I know I'm no replacement for the lovin' and snugglin' that Hem gave her, but I hope the kisses I gave her on her sweet little head this morning helped.

There's One More Star in the Sky

2010-09-27T05:01:00.000-07:00

I haven’t had the strength to write this until now.

On September 9, Hemingway left us. It still doesn’t seem real to me. Each time I walk through the door to my apartment, I expect to see his fuzzy gray face pressed up against his pen, begging for papaya treats, or a piece of banana, or some greens.

That afternoon, I came home to a very lethargic Hemingway. He hadn’t eaten the day before, but he was prone to bouts of tummy upset. Typically, a dose or two of simethicone and some unsweetened pineapple juice was all he needed to turn things around. When he was still droopy for the second day in a row, I called the vet. I was able to bring him right in, so I put Hem in his carrier for what would turn out to be the final time.

At the vet, I expected to hear that he had some sort of tummy blockage that was easily fixed. Instead, I learned that his system was failing. His kidneys had shut down and his body temp was 10 degrees lower than what it should have been. They took him into the back right away to begin an IV – but he suddenly started seizing and passed away. They tried epinephrine and oxygen, but nothing could bring my sweet boy back.

They wrapped him a towel and brought him out to me to say my goodbyes. Thankfully my friend Kelly was able to join me at the vet to help comfort me and assist me in making decisions. What did I want to do with the body? I was asked. I want it to come back to life, I thought. I decided that Hemingway should be taken to my parents’ house in Dixon to be buried with the other pets who have meant so much to my family over the years.

“What about Fitzi?” I asked the vet. They had been bonded for years. The last time Fitzi saw her husbun, he was snuggling up against her. Now he was gone. The vet told me it would be helpful to Fitzi if I put Hem’s body in their pen for a while so she could say her goodbyes. That was the most heartbreaking part of the night. When I placed Hem in the pen, Fitzi started making what sounded like a guttural moaning noise. Then she stood guard over her beloved husbun’s body for hours. Every time I would try to remove him, Fitzi would nip at me. So I left him with her until she was ready to let go.

We buried him in my parents’ backyard with his favorite fleece Illini blanket and his toy of choice, a paper towel roll. I painted his name on a large, flat stone and placed it where we he now rests.

Fitzi hasn’t been the same since. Neither has Alex. Neither have I. None of us want to believe that something so precious could be taken from us so quickly. But I’ve never really believed that a soul goes away when a body gives out. The other night, I saw Fitzi and Alex staring intently at the same empty spot under the rocking chair in the den – one of Hem’s favorite hangouts. When I looked, nothing was there – but I want to believe that, just for a second, he was looking in on his ladies.

The night he died, I kept repeating the final line from my favorite book, A Prayer for Owen Meany, over and over again — "O God – please bring him back! I shall keep asking You."

The Pajama Game

2010-09-03T12:36:00.000-07:00

Every morning, after I hit the snooze button on my alarm clock a few times, I make my way to the bathroom for a shower. I take something rather unexpected into the bathroom with me - a bunny. That's right, I start my morning off with a shower and Alexandria starts it off by roaming around my bathroom.

I've never claimed to understand bunny likes and dislikes. For example, my crew refuses to try zucchini, yet they'll spend hours grooming each other. I have to think that zucchini tastes better than having fur in your mouth, but what do I know? Alex is particularly weird. She loves blankets, but she hates carpet. She has a nice, big pen, but she prefers to be wedged in between the wall and her litter box. During our morning showers, I've learned that she hates pajamas.

After I set Alex down on the bathroom floor, I ditch my pajamas and they, too, end up on the floor (I know, it's lazy. My mother would have a fit.). One day, I got out of the shower and I could have sworn the pajamas weren't where I left them. I chalked it up to confusion caused by an early-morning lack of caffeine. The next day, I caught Alex in the act - she was extending her little front paws and, like a snowplow, pushing my pajamas across the floor.

Since then, I've delighted in watching her play the "Pajama Game." The other day, I got out of the shower to find my top behind the toilet and my pants bunched up by the door. I've also found her scooting around under my pajama top, like a locomotive pile of laundry.

I'm not sure what she has against pajamas, but camisoles and pants must tremble when they see her coming. Then again, maybe she, like my mother, just disapproves of laziness.

My Little Old Lady

2010-08-04T17:33:00.000-07:00

I hate being reminded of Fitzi's mortality. She'll turn eight in October, but most of the time I still see her as the spunky little ball of fluff that I brought home in a tiny cardboard box. Then there are moments like the one I just had that absolutely break my heart.

As Fitzi has gotten older, she's had a tougher time keeping her hind end clean, so she periodically gets a "butt bath." Tonight she was the messiest - and stinkiest - that I've ever seen her. As I picked her up out of her pen, she shuddered. Her arthritis has made her steadily stiffer over the years, and I could tell that I was hurting her. I set her gingerly into the sink and started washing her. Her front legs stiffened as she strained to get away from the water, making it look like she was reaching toward me, like a child reaching toward its mother. At that moment, she was both my darling little girl and my aging sweetheart. It reminded me just how circular life is - you come in depending on others to help you get by, and in the end, that's how you leave.

But for now, I can still wrap my little lady up in towels and snuggle her while helping to dry her wet fur.

Give the Lady What She Wants

2010-08-03T15:48:00.001-07:00

Just like I've done for other "single" bunnies before her, I bought Alexandria a humpalump, which is exactly what it sounds like. Over the years, I've procured humpalumps shaped like rats, guinea pigs and armadillos - anything that is vaguely bunny (that is, eggplant) shaped.

Alexandria's humpalump was a stuffed lamb that I called Lamby Friend. Oh, Alex and Lamby Friend were GREAT pals. Alex systematically tore off Lamby Friend's legs and tiny nub of a tail, then she went to work at pulling her stuffing out and strewing it around her pen. She also, ahem, had her way with Lamby Friend. At night, she would settle down with the stuffed lamb carcass and cuddle it. They were the best of friends - until I went and screwed it up.

Last Friday, I was in PetSmart picking up some bunny supplies. I decided to check out the toy section and see if I could find a new humpalump to replace the sad sack that Lamby Friend had become. I found a stuffed hedgehog that was about Alexandria's size. When I squeezed the hedgehog, he grunted. I figured Alex would like it. I was wrong.

When I got home, I took the tragic remains of Lamby Friend and threw them away. I then placed Hedgie in Alex's pen.

"Look, Alex," I said. "He grunts!" I squeezed the hedgehog so that he let out a sad, nasally grunt. Alex immediately started stomping her foot and backing herself into the corner of her pen. Figuring they just needed time to get to know each other, I left Alex and Hedgie alone. The next time I checked in on her, Alex had buried Hedgie under two blankets and was sitting on top of the hedgehog-shaped pile with a murderous look in her eye. Two days later, Hedgie is still out of sight.

So, what have we learned? Apparently one woman's misshapen, abused trash is another woman's love connection. My apologies, Alex.

A Sneak Peek at Last Weekend's Red Door Photo Shoot

2010-07-21T18:34:00.000-07:00

I give you Hemingway and Fitzi, starring in The Good, the Bad and the Bunneh. If you could hear our stars' thoughts, you might hear something like "As soon as we find a way to ditch this hat and this boa, we're going to come after our mother with the miniature rifle they have over there."

The Face of Addiction

2010-07-10T04:39:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I am sharing my home with three addicts.

It started innocently enough. Each night, I would approach them with tiny broken-off pieces of their favorite treats, these brightly colored rods called "Petzel Sticks." (Yes, I know they shouldn't have treats. Clearly I am at fault for creating this problem.) They took the Petzel Sticks from my hand, unsure of what they were about to taste. Soon, their taste for Petzel Sticks grew and they were standing up and begging for them when I came near their pen.

Now, I'm afraid that Petzel Sticks were just a gateway drug. Now they'll beg for tiny pieces of papaya, pineapple and romaine hearts. I even caught Hemingway stealing a tortilla chip off my plate one night. I snapped the above picture as I was approaching them with a piece of banana.

Curses, what have I done? Are they going to start stealing my jewelry and pawning it to buy bananas?

Bunny Lovin' is Not For Me

2010-07-02T11:25:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I'll glance into the Bunny Room (which used to be my den) and see Fitzi and Hemingway snuggled together into a furry gray and white yin-yang. "Aww," I'll think. "They're so sweet and peaceful. I wish I could do that."

Other times, the ways they show affection leave me thankful that humans haven't taken a page out of the Big Book of Bunny Lovin'. For instance, when I left for work this morning, Hemingway was chewing on Fitzi's butt. "Hemingway," I scolded. "That's not polite. She's not a buffet." Fitzi didn't seem to mind a bit.

Then there's the whole ear-grooming bit. Hemingway and Fitzi love to groom each other's ears, sometimes spending five minutes on an ear to make sure it's nice and clean (though I don't understand how they could possibly get them dirty since their days consist of eating and staring at me, begging to be let out of their pens). It's cute to watch, but believe me when I tell you that a Wet Willy is no way to get me feeling amorous.

Finally, they love sitting on each other. When Fitzi is ready to clean her feet, she hops over to Hem and sits on his head. Once she's nice and comfy on her perch, she lifts her hind foot to her mouth and licks her toes. When she finally climbs off his head, Hemingway typically responds by kissing or nuzzling her. That's not the reaction someone would get if they sat on my head - or any other part of me.

Still, it seems to make them happy and they've been "together" longer than I've ever been with a guy. Perhaps it's me who needs to broaden her horizons.

Hemingway is a Cheater

2010-06-11T12:26:00.001-07:00

Last night, I let Hemingway and Alexandria out to run around the apartment at the same time (Fitzi has been spending a lot of time in her pen lately because she's decided that litter box training is more of a suggestion than a requirement). Hem and Alex never scuffle, even when they're inches away from each other. Instead, they just kind of stare at each other curiously.

Now, Hemingway and Fitzi have been bonded for three years. He's infinitely patient with her and typically spends his days grooming her ears, licking her face and looking the other way when she's in a bad mood (which is most days). What a devoted guy, right?

Until last night. I glanced up from Ace of Cakes to see Hemingway licking Alexandria's ears! And right in front of Fitzi! Fitzi stretched herself up on her hind legs in her pen and rattled the pen bars with everything she had. If I was Hemingway, I would have been terrified.

As it was, when I put Hemingway back in the pen, Fitzi barreled over to him and bit him in the ass. I can't say I blame her.

My Suddenly Picky Piggy

2010-06-07T12:56:00.000-07:00

Non-food items that Hemingway has attempted to eat in the last month: His pen, his plastic litter box, a section of decorative trim along my floorboards, Fitzi's tail, a balloon, a pillow.

Actual food item that Hemingway is refusing to eat today: The timothy hay that I just bought him. I switched brands because this new stuff was on sale - is it possible that a rabbit who once tried to eat a washcloth could possibly have a discriminating palate?

I broke down and bought a bag of his favorite brand and the problem is solved. Sigh.

I should add that Fitzi and Alexandria liked the sale hay just fine. Maybe ladies just intrinsically understand the awesomeness of getting things on sale?

Savvy Savannah

2010-05-20T14:54:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, I was thinking about Savannah, a bunny I fostered a few times for the Red Door. Sav was the most beautiful bunny I've ever seen (shh, don't tell my crew), and also a real spitfire.

She could go from doing her precious "Blanket Monster" imitation...

To showing her stuffed guinea pig, Humpalump, who was boss.

Sav's Humpalump, by the way, was $1.99 at IKEA. She loved it, and it actually played a pivotal role in her bonding sessions with her husbun, Bun.

I miss little Sav. She loved to bite, grunt, circle and charm the pants off anyone who met her.

Ballsy Bunnies

2010-05-14T16:15:00.000-07:00

I can't decide if my rabbits are astoundingly daring or simply have no idea of which link nature assigned them on the food chain.

Shortly after adopting Fitzi, I adopted a ridiculously large cat named Gatsby. He was quite enamored by Fitzi, and one day decided to try expressing it by, ahem, mounting her. He had at least a 15-pound advantage over her, but Fitzi reared back, bared her teeth and slapped Gatsby across the face with her claws. He let out a frightened "MROW!" and darted under the chair. I felt bad for Gat, but I have to admit that the proud mama part of me thought Good girl, Fitzi! Don't you take that nonsense from a man! For the rest of their time together, Gatsby continued to admire Fitzi...from a distance.

Fast-forward to last week. I was cat-sitting for my friend Vanessa. Kaitlyn stayed with me for two weeks and is, as far as I can tell, one of the most perfect cats on the planet. I dubbed her "Velcro Cat" for her affinity for staying by my side at all times.

Alex took a shine to Velcro Cat. While Fitzi and Hemingway have each other for companionship, poor little Alex flies solo. For the two weeks Velcro Cat was here, Alex had found her soul mate...in the form of a furball that she could boss around. While Velcro Cat was intrigued by Alex, she was also terrified of her. Alex figured this out early on and and for two weeks enjoyed lunging at Velcro Cat, chasing her throughout the apartment and generally being world's tiniest bully. Keep in mind that Alex is about a third the size of Velcro Cat. Needless to say, Alex has been peeved at me since Velcro Cat went back to Vanessa's house.

I don't know where they get the cajones, but my bunrabs have repeatedly shown me that you're every bit as big as you believe you are.

Ample Bunny Buns

2010-04-23T14:42:00.001-07:00

Hemingway and I both need to work out more. Last night he tried to crawl through his cardboard tunnel and got stuck with his head and front paws out one end and bunny butt out the other. I had to shake him out...after I got done laughing so hard that I had tears rolling down my cheeks.

Fitzi, My Furry Senior Citizen

2010-04-21T11:17:00.001-07:00

F. Scott Fitzgerald Bunny, or Fitzi for short, was just a baby when I adopted her on October 13, 2002. In our seven and a half years together, she’s gone through a lot of phases – the “Aww, what a precious baby bunny!” stage, the “I really need to get her fixed so she’ll stop growling at everybody” stage, the “My little girl found a boy to love!” stage. Now we’re entering the senior citizen stage.

Don’t think bunnies age like humans do? Au contraire. In Fitzi, I see a lot of the same traits that my 84-year-old grandfather has started to exhibit in his twilight years. For starters, both of them have bladder control issues. While my grandfather can’t seem to help his, I’m pretty sure that Fitzi has just decided that she’s almost eight years old and, darn it, she doesn’t have to use her litter box if she doesn’t feel like it. Oh, she still spends hours sitting in it. But when she needs to pee, she lets fly at random in her pen.

On Easter, I picked up my grandfather from his nursing home and brought him to my parents’ house for lunch. On the way there, he asked me to stop at Walgreens and pick up a bag of Depends. As I stood in line at the checkout behind a woman whose arms were laden with last-minute Easter basket fixins, I found myself wishing they made Fitzi-sized Depends too.

Neither Fitzi nor my grandfather can manage to eat a meal without wearing part of it. The other day, Hemingway’s tummy was acting up, so I gave him a little bowl of carrot baby food, which usually tempts him enough to take a slurp. When I checked in on him later, Fitzi had baby food on her face, her whiskers, her ears, her paws and her tail. Likewise, with my grandfather, you can tell what he had for breakfast, lunch and dinner on any given day because there will be spots of it dotting his shirt and his face.

They have other similarities, too. Both of them have a little more trouble getting around. Fitzi’s joints are sometimes tender to the touch and my grandfather uses a walker. Both of them are a little forgetful. Fitzi sometimes looks at Hemingway like she has no idea who he is. She doesn’t know why he’s in her pen, but she’s pretty sure she doesn’t like it.

They have one last thing in common, too – even though they’re aging, I can’t bring myself to imagine a life without them. Hopefully, I won’t have to for a very long time.

Bunpocalypse

2010-04-10T12:47:00.000-07:00

I think the bunnies and I are on the same page today. It's beautiful outside - I know this because I emerged long enough to walk to Starbucks and back - yet I'm stuck inside working on a freelance editing project with a looming deadline. Instead of frolicking in the sunshine, I'm parked on my couch with a stack of manuscript pages.

The bunnies, it would appear, do not want to be penned up today either. I woke up this morning to a loud crash coming from my den, AKA the bunny room. I investigated and found Hemingway covered in pee, Fitzi glowering in the corner with a chunk of Hemingway's fur in her mouth and Alex glaring at the both of them - in the safety of her own pen - from underneath an overturned litter box.

Sorry, kiddos, but we're all stuck here while Mama earns the money that puts hay and papaya in your pens.

Hoppy Easter from the Resident Cadbury Bunnies!

2010-03-28T07:23:00.001-07:00

This morning, we had a little Cadbury Bunny-inspired photo shoot!
First up is Fitzi.

Next we have Hemingway, who always manages to look like somebody is pulling his tail.

And finally, here's Alexandria!

Hoppy Easter from our warren to yours!

You Know It's Spring When...

2010-03-19T06:03:00.000-07:00

It's a sure sign of spring when the walking path behind my place is crowded with strollers! Alex and I took a nice, long walk - and got a few odd looks - on Thursday night.

Bunny Hall of Fame, Vol. 1

2010-03-13T14:39:00.000-08:00

A big "thank you!" goes out to all of my wonderful bunny friends who let me put pictures of their hoppers on here and told me why they love them!

First up, we have Chester and Sarafina. Their mama, Catherine, calls them the loves of her life!

Next, we have Hannibal and Marie. According to their mama, Laerke, their personalities even outshine their cuteness!

Harlem's mama, Jinting, says he's quite the ladies' man.

Liz tells me that her bunnies take treats from her teeth and are being trained as assassins for the next time someone blocks her parking spot. I think they also need to be commended on their excellent spelling skills!

Last but not least, we have Amelia Bedelia Bunny! Her mama, Kristin, says she's awesome because she can sit up and give kisses on command!

Thanks again to everyone who let me feature their beloved bunrabs! If you would like to see your bunny's picture up here, just send me a picture and a short description of why your bunny is awesome (of course, we know that everybunny is!).

My Oscars Date

2010-03-11T11:06:00.000-08:00

Fitzi Bunny joined me on the couch for the Oscars this past Sunday! Right when Charlize Theron hit the red carpet, Fitzi let out what sounded like a combination sneeze/snort/hack...which was close to the reaction the rest of America had when they saw Charlize's pink-cinnamon-bun-boobs dress. Atta girl, Fitzi.

Your Friday Smile: Meester Wheeskers

2010-03-05T13:48:00.000-08:00

This is Mr. Whiskers (he also answers to Meester Wheeskers). In his natural state, Wheeskers is a puffball of an Angora. His mama, Sophie, needs to trim his fur periodically because, as she put it, "He stores hay in his fur (food for the road, mostly)."

This is Wheeskers after his most recent haircut. He might not approve, but I think he's one of the cutest darn bunnies I've ever seen!

My Missing Maternal Chip (or, Hemingway, Don't Scare Mama Like That!)

2010-02-25T13:53:00.000-08:00

I remarked to a coworker a few days ago that I’m missing “the maternal chip.” I don’t think babies are adorable. I don’t see teeny-tiny clothes and say “awwww!” The sound of a crying baby sends shivers down my spine. It’s just not – pardon the pun – my bag, baby. Then Hemingway got sick, and I found myself in a position I’ve been told new parents are all too familiar with.

On Tuesday night, I came home to a lethargic Hemingway. He was flopped on his side and his nose and ears felt warm. He also wouldn’t eat. We’re talking about a rabbit who is the furry, four-footed equivalent of a garbage disposal. He eats cardboard. He chews on the bars of his pen. I once caught him trying to eat his litter box. Hemingway views the world as his buffet and isn’t ashamed to go up for seconds. For him to not eat is alarming.

I tried everything I could think of. I offered him papaya tablets, which he normally stands up and begs for. No interest. How about ice cubes, which he loves to push around his pen with his nose? Nope. Hay? No. Water? Nein. He just wanted to stay in the corner of his pen, on his side. Fitzi sat next to him like a long-eared guard dog, refusing to budge from her post. She didn’t want me to touch him and nipped at me when I tried to coax Hemingway into eating some fresh papaya. “Can’t you see he’s sick? Leave him alone!” her bright black eyes warned me.

I spent most of the evening sprawled on the floor of the “bunny room,” AKA my den. Finally I retreated to my room and set the alarm to go off every two hours so I could go check on Hem. The problem with that plan is that you never really fall back to sleep when you’re getting up every two hours. Finally, at 4 a.m., Hemingway ate a piece of lettuce. It felt like a miracle of biblical proportions.

When the alarm went off at 6, it was time for me to get up and stay up. I spent some time evaluating Hemingway, who was definitely perking up and inhaling romaine hearts like they were going out of style. I decided he looked healthy enough for me to go to work. So off to work I trudged, sleepless and panicked about my bunny rabbit.

I spent all day worrying about Hemingway and then rushed home right after work. On the recommendation of my “bunny friends,” I gave Hemingway some baby simethicone. He fought me on that one, and I’m pretty sure there was more medicine on my sweater and in his fur than in his mouth. But his appetite had returned and he was perky and chewing on everything, including Fitzi’s hind end. I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

I was telling my coworker about my ordeal with Hemingway and how worried I was about him, and he said, “And you claim you don’t have a maternal chip!” I think what I have is a caring chip – I love my bunnies and would do anything to keep them happy and healthy.

But I still don’t want to hold babies, bounce them, burp them or, god forbid, change their diapers. I’ll stick to my furry children, thank you very much.

On Bunny Time

2010-02-22T13:13:00.000-08:00

3 months: The amount of time it took me to save up for a brand-new, flat-screened HD television.

One week: The amount of time it took Alexandria to locate my HDMI cord and chew through it.

Sigh.

Hoppy Valentine's Day!

2010-02-12T13:42:00.000-08:00

Hoppy Valentine's Day, fellow bunny lovers! Thinking about Valentine's Day makes me think of love, which of course makes me think of past failed relationships. And then I happened to glance a picture of Fitzi and Hemingway on my desk. I thought to myself, Now there's a couple who has it figured out. They've been together longer than I've ever been with a boyfriend. Sure, they squabble, but at the end of the day, they can always be found snuggling together in their pen. What do they know that I haven't been able to figure out? Let's see....

Hemingway knows to pick his battles. The older she gets, the more batshit crazy Fitzi becomes. She started off as an "eccentric" bunny, but as she's aged, she's just become nuts. She bites. She growls. She prowls and pounces. She can projectile urinate. If she was in a horror movie, her head would spin around and she would speak in tongues.

Yet Hemingway sticks faithfully by her side. Fitzi likes to use him as a chair and sit on his head. Fine. She burrows under his tummy, ostensibly to find a nice warm place to hide. Whatever. Hemingway rolls with the punches. The only time I see him challenge her is when food is involved. Last week, he didn't feel like sharing HIS greens and sat in the food dish to try and prevent Fitzi from getting to them. That didn't go over well, but Hemingway got his way (mainly because Fitzi couldn't budge his sizable bunny butt). When Hem cares enough to stand strong, I think Fitzi knows it must be important.

Fitzi likes lovin', and Hemingway likes givin' it. Hemingway's favorite pasttime is grooming Fitzi. That rabbit must have the cleanest darn ears in the county. When he's not grooming her ears, he's licking her face or her rump. I've even caught him cleaning her toes. Now that's love right there. And Fitzi, the normally combative, teeth-baring little minx, just sits there, closes her eyes, and lets him do his thing. Apparently we all have our soft spots.

They don't let a third party come between them. Almost a year ago, I brought home a foster bunny from the Red Door Shelter. Her name is Alexandria, and she looks like a smaller, younger, sweeter Fitzi. At first, her arrival in our household caused some dissention in the ranks. Fitzi and Hemingway were each flirting with the "new girl." Fitzi snuggled her. Hemingway snuggled her. But at the end of the day, they reunited in their pen and decided that they really just needed each other. That seems to be fine with Alexandria. Recently, she's been carrying on an illicit affair with my houseplants.

I think they might be on to something. Who knew I'd take notes from creatures who periodically eat their own poop?

Sunny Bunnies on a Sunday Afternoon

2010-01-31T15:07:00.001-08:00

My motivation for snapping pics of the bunrabs this afternoon was twofold. One - they looked so precious in the sunlight that was streaming through the windows. Two - I had just scrubbed their pen from top to bottom and could finally snap a few shots without poop in them.

For Fitzi and Hemingway, love is a litter box built for two.

Hemingway and his favorite toy (well, next to Fitzi).

Fitzi looked so pretty in the sunlight. You'd never guess this was the same rabbit who, when I put her back into her freshly cleaned pen earlier, looked me straight in the eye...and peed on the floor.

Out of Reach

2010-01-17T18:32:00.000-08:00

Alex: "IZ BEHIND YR WASHING MACHINE! U CAN'T REACH ME!"

Me: "Okay, fine, you're right. I can't reach you. But how much fun are you going to have sitting behind a washing machine?"

Alex: "IZ FUN WATCHING U TRY TO REACH ME!"

Hemingway Doesn't Share

2010-01-11T13:56:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I caught Hemingway trying to keep Fitzi away from HIS greens by protectively parking his fat bunny butt in the food dish.

I mentioned this on my Facebook page, and my friend Toni thought that maybe Hemi needed to see a shrink to help him deal with his issues. Truth is, Hemi doesn't need to see A shrink, he needs TO shrink. Buddy boy has a double chin. He also apparently needs lessons in sharing. Ever since Fitzi and Hemingway paired up, he's gotten chunkier and she's gotten thinner. It's like he's all comfortable in his relationship so he's letting himself go. Fitzi is still trying to impress her man...possibly because I brought Alexandria, who is sweet and petite, into the house.

I'd try to reason with Hemingway if I didn't suspect it would be like trying to teach a pig to sing. (If you've ever tried, you know it just wastes time and annoys the pig.)

Hoppy New Year!

2009-12-30T12:32:00.000-08:00

Last night, I found out that just because Hemingway loves playing with my vacuum cleaner hose, that doesn't mean he wants me to use it to suck off his loose fur.

Poor Hemingway is molting something fierce this week. He looks so raggedy and has loose pieces of fur sticking out all over the place. He also hates being brushed. So when I was vacuuming around his pen and he was having fun playing with the hose, I said, "Hmm...I wonder." Well, after sucking off one loose chunk with the vacuum, Hemingway bolted to the corner of his X-pen and stomped his foot for the rest of the night.

Somebunny is getting bribed with extra papaya tabs to try and get him to love Mama again. Sorry, big guy!

Fitzi, Hemingway, Alex and I hope that you have a wonderful New Year!

Rest In Peace, Drake Greetis

2009-12-21T13:46:00.000-08:00

I learned today that Drake Greetis has passed away. Drake was an incredible bunny rabbit who was down on his luck and endured mind-boggling mistreatment before he found his way to the Red Door Shelter and eventually into the home of the shelter's vice president, Toni.

I was fortunate enough to meet Drake at the Red Door's most recent Walk for the Animals. He was there, along with his lady, April, greeting walkers. He let me hold him, and in my arms he relaxed and snuggled like only a bunny who is truly loved can.

Drake was so fortunate to come to live in Toni's home. She's kind, giving, enthusiastic and will do absolutely anything for her bunny rabbits (and other animals, for that matter). Though his life had a sad beginning, Drake knew that he was loved and surrounded by admirers. I'm so happy I got the chance to spend some time with this gentle giant.

My Bunnies Save Me Every Day

2009-12-16T11:39:00.000-08:00

I just read this article in USA Today and immediately headed over here to write a reaction. You should really read it for yourself before you continue reading what I have to say. Go ahead, I'll wait for you.

Do you need a tissue? I did. That article left me thinking about how much my rabbits have helped me through since coming into my life.

I've always tried to keep this blog upbeat, lighthearted and breezy and infuse it with humor, but I also believe that in order to appreciate the humor in a situation, you need to know and appreciate the dark side of life.

I wouldn't begin to compare what I've gone through to what Ruby Angel's owner has endured. Comparatively, I've been fortunate. I've always had a roof over my head. I have a caring family. No man I've loved has ever raised a hand to me, let alone to one of my pets (though you can bet that if someone tried, it would be the last thing he did - at least with an intact skeletal system).

My parents bought Fitzi for me when I was 22. Over the years, she's been by my side through a wonderful relationship that went sour (I should add that she never liked the guy and often bared her teeth at him - maybe I should trust her judgment more). She wound up covered in tears while I held her after both of my grandmothers died in a short period of time. When work stressed me out, she made me smile. When one terrible night cost me my best friend and fractured another close relationship, her fur and soft heartbeat were the only things I could stand to feel against my skin.

Since childhood, I've suffered from frequent nightmares. It's always the same nightmare, and it plays out in black and white while the rest of my dreams are in color. In my nightmare, I'm running down an alley away from someone pursuing me. I never see the person who is chasing me, I only hear them breathing heavily. Then they catch up to me, plunge a knife into my back and I die. Then I wake up.

I can't tell you how many times I've woken up from this dream and grabbed Hemingway from his pen. Hemingway is big and round and soft, and his blue eyes look at me and say, "What's wrong? It can't be anything that a piece of papaya won't fix."

There isn't anything I wouldn't do for my little "family." There have been weeks I've eaten ramen noodles while they've had organic romaine hearts, when I've shelled out money for timothy hay while waiting a few days to mail my cable bill.

Maybe that sounds crazy, but having pets means that you're responsible for another living thing's life. My rabbits didn't choose to come live with me, I asked them - and in doing so, I made an unspoken promise to be there for them. And if I need to make sacrifices to ensure that these furry little lives are well cared for, I will - just like Ruby Angel's owner wrapped her bunny in her only coat and shivered in the cold.

For those of you who are tempted to roll your eyes and say, "It's just a rabbit," I ask you this - do you have somebody in your life who will offer you unconditional love and never pass judgment? Do you have somebody you can reach for after a long day at work, who won't ask questions and just let you hold their warm body against yours?

If you do, and that warm body happens to belong to a human, that's wonderful - I wish I had that, too. But I'm willing to wager that the love I receive from Fitzi, Hemingway and Alex is every bit as sweet.

Hoppy Holidays from Our Warren to Yours

2009-12-10T14:50:00.000-08:00

Alexandria says, "Putting a cat toy on my head does not turn me into the Heat Miser from The Year Without a Santa Claus. It does, however, turn me into a bunny who wants to pee on your stupid couch."

Hemingway says, "Mom should have taken into account when she bought me a scarf that rabbits don't really have necks."

Fitzi says, "Yep, I'm perky and pretty in my princessy pink hat. I'm so glad I'm not wearing a ball on my head like Alexandria."

Bunny Therapy

2009-12-07T11:14:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately. I don't have any specific symptoms, I'm just really tired and run down. Naps didn't help. Tea and orange juice didn't help. Complaining about it didn't help. Here's what did:

As far as I can tell, bunny snuggles solve just about all of life's problems.

2009-11-22T19:51:00.001-08:00

Hemingway is humping Fitzi's face. Probably not his best decision, given her fondness of nipping.

Don't You Love It When Someone "Gets" You and Still Likes You?

2009-11-20T09:11:00.000-08:00

This is my new bunny sweater. It came into my possession after my friend Kate saw it at a resale shop in Chicago and snagged it for me. It's always nice to find out that I have friends who embrace and encourage my love of all things bunnies. Oh, and Alexandria seems to approve of the sweater. You can see her in the lower right-hand corner of the shot.

The Top 10 Reasons I'm Thankful for My Bunnies

2009-11-17T13:53:00.000-08:00

10. Whenever Hemingway's running around, he makes sure to stop and head-butt me in the ankle. It's his way of saying "Hey, I'm here and I love you!"

9. Alex has shown me how to deal with a foe. In her case, the foe is her stuffed lamb, Lamby Friend. She spent months shoving Lamby Friend into the corner of her pen and flipping it in the air before last week, when she decided to "up" her game and chew Lamby Friend's ear off. So, I've decided that if I'm not getting anywhere with stubborn people, it's time to take a different approach.

8. Scars give you character, right? Well, then Fitzi has given me character...on my wrist, on my fingers and on my forearm.

7. I've learned that to be happy in life, all you really need is a slice of banana. Or a piece of papaya. Or if you really want to go hog-wild, try some pineapple juice.

6. I'm thankful to Fitzi for helping me weed out the "bad" guys. Every boyfriend I've had that she doesn't care for, she's peed on. Her judgment has never been proved wrong. I should just start bringing her on first dates as a litmus test.

5. I wouldn't have Hemingway or Alex if it wasn't for the great people at the Red Door. I'm thankful to them for all they do. They're absolute angels to bunny rabbits.

4. I'm thankful to the bunnies for showing me that there really is somebody out there for everybody. Fitzi bites. She pees on things (and people). She growls. She makes a noise that sounds like a coffee pot percolating when she's happy. She's selfish. She always has leftover food on her face. And yet Hemingway loves her unconditionally.

3. When I'm sad or crying, the fastest way to make myself feel better is to scoop Hemingway into my arms. He's a big boy and is more reassuring to snuggle than any stuffed animal I've met.

2.I'm thankful that I've been able to witness that most precious of sights, two bunnies snuggling and nuzzling each other when they think you're not looking.

1. Most of all, I'm thankful for the unconditional love the bunnies have shown me...as long as I keep their hay box filled.

Alex Got Back

2009-11-12T11:14:00.000-08:00

Last night, I was snuggling with Alex on my couch. She decided she wanted to sit on my shoulder. Fine, I thought, she's being cute. So for a while she sat and sniffed at my face. Then she decided she wanted to turn around. WHAM. She slammed her bunny butt into my nose. I might be the first person in the history of the world to have a sore nose courtesy of a three-pound rabbit slamming her butt into my face.

Alex Does Her Best Heat Miser

2009-11-09T06:51:00.000-08:00

This is the Heat Miser from The Year Without a Santa Claus.

This is Alexandria from our Christmas card photo shoot.

Only one of them is vaguely demonic.

Hemi Needs a Health Club

2009-11-04T07:35:00.000-08:00

Last night, I tried to take some pictures of the bunnies for my Christmas cards. I expected them to be uncooperative. The last time I dressed Fitzi and Hemingway up for Christmas pictures - in jaunty red and green sweaters - they tried to unravel the sweaters with their teeth. I'm sure they actually wanted to unravel me.

This year I was going to use simple props. I found a pink Santa hat with the ears cut out that I thought would look adorable on Fitzi. Alex was going to pose with a red tinsel ball. For Hemingway, I found a fleece scarf with mittens on it that was designed to fit a medium-sized dog.

Fitzi's hat looked precious on her, when she wasn't trying to pull it off. Alex looks like a deer in the headlights in all of her pictures and is still angry at me for pointing the silver flashy box (AKA my camera) at her over and over. But Hemingway stole the show.

Like I said, his scarf should fit a medium-sized DOG. I couldn't get it around his bunny neck. Actually, I'm not sure he has a neck. I think his head might just be plopped on his eggplant-shaped body. I wound up draping it over his shoulders like a prizefighter's towel. He also hates having his picture taken, so all of the photos I got show him with a pained expression, like somebody was pulling his tail.

It looks like there are two of us who need to spend more time in the gym.

Hoppy Halloween!

2009-10-30T07:20:00.000-07:00

Just in time for Halloween, I give you Fitzi, Hemingway and Alexandria doing their best "Bunnicula" at the latest Red Door Shelter photo shoot!

I Have a New Nickname

2009-10-29T07:18:00.000-07:00

My coworker Cali has come up with what is quite possibly the best nickname of all time. She has dubbed me "Hopperazzi" because of my penchant for taking pictures of my rabbits and sharing them with/forcing them on other people. I am humbled and flattered. :)

I'm Likely the First Person to Utter This at a Car Dealership...

2009-10-27T12:29:00.000-07:00

Me to the car dealer: "Wow, this SUV will be great for hauling around bunny rabbits!"

When Fitzi and Hemi are Away...Alex Will Play

2009-10-27T10:54:00.000-07:00

Last night, I decided the bunnies needed a change of scenery. I put up the baby gate in the kitchen doorway and let Fitzi and Hemingway have the run of the kitchen. It's the only room in my place that isn't carpeted. Therefore, it is bunny-safe.

Side note: I think I've mentioned to you before that Fitzi loves terrorizing carpet. I think she confuses it with grass and thinks that she can pull it up by its roots and eat it. When she's not chewing on it, she's peeing on it. Thus, her carpet privileges have been indefinitely suspended. Hemingway is a perfect gentleman and can be trusted to roam around the apartment largely unsupervised. I've never seen him so much as poop on the carpet. But he and Fitzi stick together like magnets and refrigerator doors and the two of them go everywhere together. Hence, they went into the kitchen together last night.

With Fitzi and Hemingway safely ensconced in the kitchen, I took Alex out of her cage and gave her free run of Fitzi and Hemingway's larger pen. Oh, what a treat. Alex binkied. She rolled in and out of Fitzi's blanket. She got in their box and flung hay. She drank out of their water bottle. She scooted their food dish around. she reminded me of a little kid whose parents have left her alone for a few hours. It was so hard for me to take her out of the pen later in the evening and put her back in her own cage. Literally, it was hard. She dug her little claws into Fitzi's new dog bed and tried to resist being picked up.

Fitzi and Hemingway must have sensed that something was "off" when they got back into their pen. They spent the rest of the evening scooting things around and suspiciously eyeing Alex, who refused to meet their gaze and instead was suddenly very interested in grooming herself. Little minx.

2009-10-22T18:58:00.001-07:00

I just saw Hemingway's first binky in our new place. He's settling in faster than I am!

I Can Haz Groomin'?

2009-10-19T09:04:00.000-07:00

Fitzi: "Yo, Hemingway, over here. I have two ears that need some groomin'."

Hemingway: "I just cleaned your ears, lady. But since it's easier to please you than put up with you when you're cranky, I'll do it again. What do I get out of this, by the way?"

Hemingway: "Oh, that's right. Groomin' gets me lovin'. More than a fair trade."

In-Cat-Nation?

2009-10-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

Disclosure: This post only peripherally involves bunnies, but the experiences described herein happened at a "bunny event"...so I thought it was appropriate to post this here. And hey, it's my blog, I can post whatever I want. :)

I spent today helping out at another great Red Door Shelter Spa-Di-Dah Day. Today's theme: Vampire Bunny. The rabbits looked absolutely adorable in their capes and mini bottles of True Blood. I'm going to wait to show you the pictures because the only ones I have right now were taken with my BlackBerry and they're just not as good as the professional ones - plus, the don't have the fangs Photoshopped in yet.

I should mention that Fitzi really got into the spirit of the day. When Toni, the shelter's VP, tried to tie a cape on her, she bit her. Sigh. She was good ALL DAY in her pen with Hemingway, but she just couldn't resist being an imp when the opportunity presented itself.

The reason I'm sitting here tonight, with a bottle of Strongbow cider to my left, is that today I fell in love and had my heart broken at the same time. Three years ago, I had to do something that haunts me to this day. I had a cat at the time. His name was Gatsby. Ever since I had adopted him, Gat had health troubles. He was diagnosed with megacolon, a condition that made it difficult for him to defecate. A regimen of lactulose seemed to help, but he still had to see the vet periodically to have enemas when it was too tough for him to pass a stool. I would look over to him at the litter box and see him straining and hear him howling from the pain. I can still hear the horrible sounds he made.

Eventually, Gatsby's colon burst from his inability to pass stool. I was with him at the vet when I was presented with the most difficult decision of my life - have him put to sleep and let him pass away peacefully or wait for an infection to set in from the ruptured colon and see him die in pain.

And that's how I found myself holding Gatsby in my arms while his vet, who had tried so hard to make him healthy, slid a needle into his paw. The first time, he missed. Gatsby yowled and tried to pull away. At that moment, my heart broke. I gripped him tighter and kept repeating "I love you, Gatsby. I love you Gatsby." I wanted the last thing he heard to be that I loved him, and I hope he knows that I did everything I could to try and save him.

My heart still breaks when I think about it, and I'm sitting here right now with tears rolling down my face. Time for another sip of Strongbow.

That brings me to today. I had seen on the Red Door's PetFinder page that they had a cat who looked just like Gatsby, and I was looking forward to meeting him today. His name is Ollie. As excited as I was to see him, I wasn't prepared for how it would make me feel.

Ollie looks exactly like Gatsby. He even had his mannerisms, his gentleness, his affectionate nature. So help me, he even smelled like Gatsby. I looked into his tiny face and something in me wanted so bad to take him home, almost like doing so would give me another shot at showing all the love I was never able to show Gatsby because he left me so soon.

Right now, I just want to get in my car, drive back to shelter and scoop Ollie into my arms. I know he's not Gatsby, but I don't think it would be wrong of me to bring him into my life and show him all the love I was never able to give Gat. I don't think Gatsby would mind.

2009-10-16T19:46:00.001-07:00

The bunrabs are brushed and had their toenails trimmed. They're all ready to become vampires at tomorrow's Red Door Shelter Spa Di Dah Day!

I Just Don't Get It

2009-10-15T08:57:00.000-07:00

I have come to accept the fact that I just don't understand where bunnies like their "things." Every week, I wash all the rugs and blankets in their enclosure and place them back in their pen while they're still nice and warm from the dryer. They then proceed to make a big production out of scooting their blankets around until they're in JUST THE RIGHT SPOT, all the while giving me looks that say "Good lord, how could you even THINK that a blanket should go in THAT corner?"

Hey, bunnies - if you want to start doing your own laundry, that's just fine with me.

Me and the Birthday Girl

2009-10-14T06:38:00.001-07:00

Fitzi had a wonderful birthday yesterday. She got a new doggy bed to lay on. As soon as I gave it to her, she peed on it, so she must like it. :) She also got treats and a wonderful mixed greens salad, which she kindly shared with Hemingway and Alex. We spent the evening cuddling on the couch and watching Ace of Cakes. Happy birthday, little lady!

Hoppy Seventh Birthday, Fitzi!

2009-10-13T06:46:00.000-07:00

My little lady is seven years old today! Seven years ago today, my parents and I stood in a pet shop. (I know, I know. At the time, I wasnt't aware that awesome bunny shelters existed.) We were oohing and ahhing over baby bunnies when one of them scurried up the front of my dad's hooded sweatshirt and sat in the hood. That's how I knew Fitzi was for me.

Over the years, she's found love with her husbun, Hemingway. She's been rushed to the vet when she was making a noise that sounded like a coffee pot percolating (the vet diagnosed her as being "weird." She still loves to make that noise.). She stands up on her hind feet to greet me every morning. She poops indiscriminately, bares her teeth whenever she feels like it and destroys her toys. I love her more than I can say.

Happy birthday, Fitzi!

I Need Your Advice - Bunnies On the Move!

2009-10-08T07:47:00.000-07:00

After a month of packing and nearly needing a tranquilizer a few times, the buns and I are finally moving this weekend! (As you can see from the image above, Fitzi and Hemingway have been filling a few boxes themselves.)

Does anyone have any advice on getting bunnies through the move smoothly and getting them accustomed to their new home? Fitzi is getting up there in age (she'll be 7 on October 13) and I don't want to upset her any more than necessary!

Also, would this be a good time to try bonding Fitzi and Hemingway to my foster bun Alex again? For the past few months, I've had a lurid love triangle going on in my home. When Fitzi is out, she wants to snuggle with Alex. When Hemingway is out, he wants to do the same. Everybody wants to snuggle with Alex - they just don't all want to do it together! If they're in a new environment that "nobunny" has claimed, might this be a good time to try and get them together again?

You Know You're a Bunny Parent When...

2009-10-05T06:28:00.000-07:00

You take a tour of a new apartment, see that it has a den and say "Wow, this could be the bunnies' room!"

I then took it to the next level by renting the apartment largely because it has a "bunny room."

It gets worse. I then went home and told the bunnies "You guys are going to have your own room at the new place!" They didn't seem quite as excited about it as I was.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night...

2009-10-02T18:56:00.000-07:00

When suddenly a cuddle session broke out!

Nothing Brightens Up a Dreary Day Like a Bunny Commercial

2009-10-01T11:06:00.000-07:00

Hey Chicago Bunnies - Come to the Red Door's Spa-Di-Da Day on October 17!

2009-09-29T11:05:00.000-07:00

On October 17, the Red Door Animal Shelter (the wonderful people who introduced Fitzi to Hemingway) will be having their next Spa-Di-Da Day! These events are a great way for rabbit slaves (and guinea pig slaves and cat slaves too!) to pamper their pets with brushings, nail trimmings, massages and more. But in my humble opinion, the crowning glory of the Spa-Di-Da days is the photo shoot (I've included an example above for you to enjoy). Each shoot has a theme, and this one is a real humdinger: "Vampire Bunny."

Does your rex rabbit harbor Bunnicula tendencies? Does your lop lust for Edward? Is your flemish in a frenzy over Bill? If so, come join us!

It'll be a great time that buns and humans alike can really sink their teeth into!

Learn more by clicking here. See you there!

Bunnies Love Snuggies

2009-09-25T08:15:00.000-07:00

Continuing our very own Fashion Week here on Bringing Up Bunny, we bring you Alexandria, who is modeling a basic blue Snuggie. She has since seen the new Snuggie commercials and is requesting that her bunny slave upgrade to a pink or zebra-print model. While Alexandria doesn't go to a lot of football games or read books - popular Snuggie-wearing activities - she does enjoy curling up with her foster mama on the couch and watching TV (Supernatural is her favorite show) from the comfort of a Snuggie sleeve.

Bunnies are the New Black

2009-09-22T10:44:00.001-07:00

We have breaking fashion news, straight from the couches of Schaumburg, Illinois. A bunny can take any outfit - even a circa-2000 Phi Mu/Phi Kappa Psi football block hoodie - and make it into an adorable fashion statement. In our feature photo, Laura is wearing Alexandria, a small female bunny of the hotot variety who doesn't mind being zipped into a sweatshirt and cuddled. Those ears! Those eyes! Bunnies are sure to have staying power.

Hemingway's Top 10 Signs It's Love

2009-09-17T14:01:00.000-07:00

10. Your mate doesn't mind that there's a younger, foxy foster bun in the house (possibly because she has a same-sex crush on said foster bun).

9. She shares her treats with you. Hey, it counts as "sharing" if she drops one and you grab it before she notices.

8. She doesn't mind that you have a double chin and a paunch.

7. When she has a cold, she sneezes on you because she thinks the two of you should share everything.

6. She grooms you (even though her method of grooming leave you looking like a lawn mower mowed a stripe down your back).

5. When she's sleepy, she lets you be her pillow.

4. She pulls your tail to remind you she's there and that she loves you.

3. She doesn't mind that you're three years younger than her.

2. She uses your head as a chair while trying to groom herself.

1. She lets you give her Wet Willies when you groom her ears.

For the Love of Shelter Pets

2009-09-14T11:57:00.000-07:00

Earlier today, I overheard a conversation that made my blood boil. A woman was talking about how she planned to get a purebred dog from an "exclusive" litter in which one parent was from the UK and one was from Sweden.

Let me make sure I have this right - somebody is going to all the trouble of buying dogs plane tickets so that they can get together in some European country and have doggy sex that will hopefully produce highly desirable dogs?

Gag me with a spoon. This is the animal equivalent of the It Bag.

Full disclosure: I bought Fitzi at a pet store. I didn't know that I could find amazing bunnies at local shelters. Now I know, and I won't make the same mistake again. The time I've been lucky enough to spend at the Red Door has shown me how many wonderful animals are already here and waiting patiently for wonderful homes.

Here's the thing, people. Animals aren't like cars. They aren't less loving because they're "used." In fact, when you adopt a shelter pet, you're also getting an animal that will love you unconditionally for giving it a second chance.

Fact is, people can do some horrible things to their pets. If I remember correctly, Hemingway's mom was found hopping around the parking lot of a strip mall, heavily pregnant. A Good Samaritan took her in and cared for her until babies and Mama were old enough to be transferred to the Red Door. The shelter then worked hard to find great "forever homes" for each of the kits and their mother too.

I've also heard of rabbits being abandoned in parks, having beer poured over them and even one who came hopping right up to a Red Door volunteer on the street, almost as if she had a "sixth sense" about this woman being someone who would help her.

Of course, these are mild stories about the kind of cruelty that can befall animals. Other animals come to shelters when their owners pass away, or when the family is forced to give up pets because they're moving to a new apartment that doesn't allow animals. The one unifying factor among all shelter animals is that they did nothing wrong. They are not "defective" because they fell upon hard times.

I think it takes a bigger person - in both heart and conscience - to help a homeless pet instead of trolling the pages of Dog Fancy to find an "exclusive" breeder who will charge them upwards of a thousand dollars for a dog that will still poop, pee and chew up shoes. Frankly, if people are looking to spend that kind of money on animals, I know of a lot of shelters that would be grateful for the assistance.

I'm not saying that the people who buy purebred dogs don't love their pets; not at all. In fact, my parents have a purebred dog who is wonderful and sweet and whom my parents spoil rotten. But I'm positive that shelter pets can love their people just as much as purebreds and vice versa. I also understand that some people have allergies (such as the First Family) that prevent them from adopting the majority of shelter dogs. At the end of the day, I'm always happy when people choose to open their hearts and homes up to animals.

I just wish that more people would understand that a pet is a tiny life for which you are responsible - it is not a status symbol and shouldn't be treated as such.

Fitzi: The Face of a Carrot Serial Killer

2009-09-10T10:46:00.000-07:00

Apparently slaughtering carrots also causes one's ears to disappear.

So Precious, So Fragile

2009-09-10T10:26:00.001-07:00

Fitzi will be turning seven on October 13. She's actually a few weeks older, but that's the anniversary of when I ambled into PetSmart and decided my life wasn't complete without a creature that would chew up my carpet, pee wherever she feels like it and incessantly make noises that sound like a coffee pot percolating.

In the past few months, Fitzi has been slowing down. She's a lot more sedentary than she used to be. She's having a tougher time controlling her bladder. She's relying on Hemingway to clean her more and more.

The other day she caused my heart to stop for a few beats - I looked over and she was lying on her side, her eyes closed, and I couldn't tell if she was breathing.

In that moment, I caught a glimpse of what my world would be like without her. It would be a world in which Hemingway was utterly lost. It would be a world in which I wouldn't wake up each morning to the sound of cage bars being rattled. It would be a world I would absolutely crumble.

When I saw her seemingly motionless, I jumped to my feet and screamed "FITZI!" It brought her out of what was actually a deep sleep and probably, truth be told, knocked a few more months off her life. She looked at me expectantly, wordlessly asking me, "WHAT?"

"Mama loves you," I whispered to her.

2009-08-18T18:59:00.001-07:00

Built-in benefit of having a bunny: the exercise you get when chasing and trying to capture them for 20 minutes. Thanks for the cardio, Alexandria!

Hemi Says Relax

2009-08-18T10:55:00.001-07:00

As I've alluded to before, I'm in the midst of making a Major Life Decision. I'm a person who freaks out over small things - whether or not to try a new laundry detergent, for example, or Target being out of the tiny cans of Diet Coke. So when the BIG things actually happen, I'm prone to pacing a hole in the carpet and wringing my hands.

Normally, I love living alone (I mean, with no other human companions). In times like this, though, I wish I had someone here to talk to. Since this isn't the case, I talk to the rabbits. I haven't gone so far 'round the bend that I think they're talking back, but I have a pretty good idea what they'd say if they could.

Fitzi and Hemingway's Five Rules for a Happy Life

1. "As long as there's food, you'll be okay."
Each morning, I wake up to the sound of Fitzi and Hemingway rattling their cage bars. They work themselves into a lather hopping around and periscoping up on their hind feet. This is all done in anticipation of me feeding them. As soon as they have their hay and tiny scoop of pellets, all is right with the world.

Lesson learned: It's the little things that get you by and make you happy.

2. "Other people might create problems, but you can fix them."
Every weekend, I wash Fitzi and Hemingway's blankets from their pen. Inevitably, I put them back in the absolute wrong place. Hemingway then sets about hunching up the blankets and scooting them where he wants them. It might take him a while, but eventually he's happy.

Lesson learned: People will always come in and screw up your life in some way. You can un-screw it; it might just take a while.

3. "If you don't like something...piss on it!"
This is Fitzi's golden rule (bad pun, sorry). Unfortunately, the target of her ire tends to be the pen of whatever foster bunny is staying with us.

Lesson learned: Don't anger Fitzi. Oh, and don't be afraid to let someone know when what they're doing just isn't going to work for you.

4. "If something's in your way, just head-butt it until it moves."
Hemingway doesn't just inhale food like a goat, he also has a goat's mannerisms. When I let him hop around, it never fails that I'm standing where he wants to sit. To let me know, he head-butts my ankle until I move.

Lesson learned: Persistence pays off.

5. "There's nothing like a good snuggle to make you forget your problems."
Whenever something is bothering Fitzi (her pink couch, my foster bunny, a toy that doesn't seem to know she's boss, life in general), Hemingway can always soothe her with a few kisses on her little head and some snuggling.

Lesson learned: Affection can soothe the savage beast. So, who wants to kiss and snuggle me?

Where's Hemingway?

2009-08-17T05:59:00.000-07:00

"If she can't find me," reasoned Hemingway, "she can't brush me."

Brushing It Off

2009-08-16T10:22:00.000-07:00

Late summer is always rough for Hemingway. He has thick, thick fur, and come late August it starts to fall off of him in chunks as his fall coat starts to come in. It doesn't matter how many times I brush him. I can turn my back on him for a second and turn back to find him looking shabby.

This morning, I tackled Hemi and came at him with my Furminator. He was not a happy camper. As I brushed handfuls of fur off him, he stomped his hind foot (luckily not on my fingers like he did last week). He wriggled and huffed and generally was a pain in the butt. But in the end, I had a somewhat sleeker bunny who didn't resemble a moulting chicken quite as much as he did 10 minutes earlier. In the end, he was also a happier bunny. It can't be fun being covered in loose fur and having annoyances clinging to you and weighing you down.

While I don't have to deal with fur myself, there are certainly things I want to scrub off myself. I've tried coming after my issues with a loofah and passionfruit-scented scrub, to no avail. They're still there even after my skin is buffed to a sheen.

There's someone in my life that I've allowed to have way too much control over me. This person has made me doubt my worth. They've made me question my sanity. They've made my life, for at least the past three months, absolutely miserable. This person has made me feel like I'm walking on eggshells - actually, I've felt like I was walking on broken glass, with every step sending splinters into me. Too many nights I've gone home and cried over the way this person has made me feel.

But at the end of the day, part of the blame rests on my shoulders because I had allowed myself to feel this way. I have let this person make me feel worthless, and that makes me angry. Dammit, I have a good heart. I have talent. I have value. This past week, a stranger reminded me of that. At first, I didn't know how to handle it. I figured that since this person didn't know me that well, they must be mistaken. And then, I slowly realized that it was the other way around - he saw something in me that was glimmering, albeit dimly. And the ability to make my light shine brighter is 100 percent in my own hands.

I can't change the way this bitter lamprey feels about me, but I can control my actions. I can make a change and walk away. And I think I just might. I'll brush this person off the same way I brushed those handfuls of fur off Hemingway. At the end of the day, I'll feel the same way he does - lighter, and ready to face change for the better.