My first rabbit was a dutch rabbit named Rosie (who later turned into Roosevelt when he became a little too interested in the guinea pig).
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I’ve been struck by lightening. Twice. Yes, lightening, uhm, thrown by bunnies.
Let me explain.
I was ten years old when my parent’s divorced. My mom and I went into a pet store and I fell in love with a little black and white dutch rabbit. Rosie (who later turned into a Roosevelt) came home with me that day, and forever changed my perception of rabbits. That was the first time I got struck by lightening. I had raised a stable of bunnies until I was in my twenties until adulting took hold, and one-by-one the rabbits (Himalayans and Holland Lops) went into hibernation. The second time I was hit by lightening was when I my husband and I met two blue Rex rabbits in Napa, CA: Elwood and Leroy.
Fast forward twelve plus years later, and I’m full blown in the fluff (and so is my gracious and tolerant husband). You know what I mean - it doesn’t matter how many times you wash and dry your clothes you’ll always find stray rabbit hairs everywhere. Raising rabbits is not an easy feat. They do not breed like rabbits (at least the ones that you want to breed and produce). Proverbial Murphy’s Law here. Raising rabbits hard work. They depend on you to take care of them and pay attention to their needs. Their well-being is your utmost concern. Rabbit raising challenges you, breaks your heart, draws blood from painful scratches, bites and sometimes bloody noses from stray hind-leg kung-fu moves.....and, it’s therapeutic. Not necessarily in that order. And fortunately, the therapeutic part takes precedence over all the other stuff.
