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And Then There Was One

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November should have been a month of celebration surrounding Thanksgiving and the upcoming winter holidays, but ours was marred by the loss of our rabbit Bugs, who passed away peacefully at home. It was an unexpected loss, both shocking and sad.

While there were no visible signs of illness or distress, we never knew exactly how old he was. Being an unknown small (presumably mixed) breed, I expected him to live into the double digits; and there was every good chance that he did. In my experience with bunnies over the years, I found that smaller breeds tend to outlive larger bunnies. (Upon further recollection, Bugs was approximately 4 in 2018, so that would have made him around 10 years old when we lost him). The little buns do seem to be blessed with longevity.

I remember the day that I met him and brought him home. I was finishing a volunteering shift and was in the parking lot walking toward my car when a friend told me there was someone looking to rehome a bunny. She knew all of mine had passed, and although I wasn’t looking for another, would I be interested?

And that’s how I brought home a bunny on a Sunday afternoon. Bugs (an unoriginal name that I kept) was a small fawn colored bun with straight ears. He was even tempered throughout his life, never exhibiting the tell-tale signs of an angry bunny, grunting and thumping a back foot. He may have been one of the smartest and friendliest rabbits I ever shared my home with, other than my girl Cleo (gone but never forgotten). The phrase “dumb bunny” is a misnomer, as I’m sure any rabbit parent will agree.

Bugs arrived litterbox trained, and he kept his habitat pristine. He showed me how nice it was to have a trained bunny, with a home base far superior to the wire cages with metal trays of old. How primitive in retrospect! Miss Poppie isn’t quite as cleanly as Bugs was, and requires more extensive sweeping, but she has gotten less messy since she has been here. Bugs loved head rubs, and would stand up asking for one whenever he saw me, a little gentleman in a fur coat. He did have an odd trait that no other bunny I ever had possessed—he didn’t like yogurt drops. The vanilla drops had been my go-to occasional treat for years. Bugs turned his little nose up at them every time. He was strictly a pellet, hay, and veggie bun, but perhaps this diet served him well, as I said, he passed away peacefully, never showing any signs of ill health.

I hope he was greeted by all my previous bunnies who crossed the Bridge before him. He will have no shortage of friends to romp with! Hop free Bugs; we’ll never forget our parking lot rescue bunny.

End of An Era

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It was inevitable given their ages, so I was somewhat prepared. Although it’s been over a year, my heart remains broken. It hurts more than I ever thought possible to announce that both Moose and Red have passed away.

Moose lost his battle with kidney failure on February 9, 2022. Sadly, it was also his Gotcha Day, having brought him home that day in 2003. He was in the end stages of the disease for a year and a half before succumbing to it at age 19. He remained status quo for quite some time, but he declined rapidly and the decision to let him go became obvious. I was the first person to hold Moose so long ago, and as I promised him, I was the last to hold him when the time came.

We worried about how Red would react to losing his buddy of almost 17 years. Red did better than we expected. In fact, for a while it looked like he was on track to outlive his brother. His appetite increased, and he even gained a bit of weight. His mobility had been more limited, but it was improving. His senior bloodwork was fine. We believed we had more time with Red, so it came as a shock when he passed away in his sleep at home. Maybe it was a broken heart, not wanting to go on after the loss of his brother. Red passed on April 6, 2022, exactly eight weeks after Moose.

It was one thing to lose Moose. Even though we anticipated it, we were still devastated when it finally happened. I had hoped he would see his 20th birthday, and for a long time it seemed possible.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be, as he left us nine months before.

Just when we were beginning to resign ourselves to a one-dog household, as awful as it was, we lost our beloved Red. Losing one was terrible, but two in such a short time frame, after so many years, was devastating. It all played out how we assumed it would, when one passed, the other would soon follow. I had hoped there would be more time in between, however.

I’ve titled this post End of An Era, because in a way it is. Moose and Red lived far longer than I ever would have expected. Eighteen and 19 is impressive for any dog. I miss them both every day. There are no more pills to cut up, no acupuncture appointments to keep. Yoga mats no longer line slick floors. The bumpers to keep the boys safely in bed are now stowed away.

My heart breaks every day. I cry for my boys, wishing we had more time, yet knowing we had longer than most pet parents are afforded, and for that I am grateful. I only hope they knew how much we loved them. They meant more to us than they’ll ever know, or that I can express in words. As I held Moose for the last time, I told him it wasn’t “goodbye.” It was just “until next time.” Goodnight, sweet princes.

Shattered

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I could barely see anything through the stinging haze of my tears, as I slid into the passenger seat of my vehicle. The radio turned on as the engine started, and I didn’t think it was possible to cry any harder than I already was. Slaughter’s “Fly to the Angels” filled my ears, and I switched it off with a trembling hand. How apropos. Now sitting in the shadow of my vet’s office, only moments before, I sent my beloved cat Ozzy to fly to the angels.

Ozzy had been chronically ill 11 of his 14 years. Through it all he stayed the same gentle soul everyone loved; from several medical interventions peppered throughout the years, to his strict medication and prescription food regimen, he was always a happy guy.

Nothing got my boy down. That’s why it was strange in the weeks leading up to his death, that he fought me when I tried to medicate him. I asked him if he was trying to tell me that he was done with it all. He just looked at me with his usual expression, always appearing to smile.

When he showed signs of illness soon after, I didn’t think much about it. Surely it was another setback and he would bounce back from the vet, as good as he could possibly be. As my better half secured him in his carrier for the trip to the doc, I assured my boy he would be home soon. Little did I know one of the last things I told my baby was a lie.

The baby vet called with a diagnosis that I was not expecting. I say baby vet because she was new, and not one of the two senior vets that I normally dealt with. Ozzy had end stage renal failure, with maybe a week left. My heart broke in a million pieces. Is this really the end? Despair turned to anger when baby vet said that his kidney values were normal in December, but now (June) they were awful. Did he get into anything he shouldn’t have? It took every ounce of strength not to scream, “Are you kidding me?” into the phone. Eleven years of enemas, xrays, MRIs, hospitalizations, prescription food, and medication from various places. Again, are you kidding me? Most likely several years of meds took their toll on his kidneys. It was a double-edged sword, if it weren’t for them he would have been euthanized at age 3 at the suggestion of our prior vet. He made it to 14, much longer than was expected.

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We were given the option to bring him home (our regular vet would later tell us that was not possible), or give him another day of fluids to see how he responded. We made the difficult decision to euthanize him.

When the techs brought him to us, one glance at him told us it was time. He looked so tired, he’d had enough, and he had been trying to tell me. It was heart wrenching. My boy needed the gift of peace, but it was painful. I told him how much I loved him, and what a good boy he was, and how I tried for so long to keep this day from coming. I begged his forgiveness, his fur damp with my salty tears. I told him I wanted to stay with him until the end, but I was a coward and could not. (It’s the same with humans, I don’t get the point of viewings. I want to remember the person alive, not dead in a box).

Fortunately my petsitter and dear friend held him as he took his last breath while I sobbed outside the building. She told me he was at peace, and had closed his green eyes. I will be forever grateful to her for staying with him. All I could say between heaving sobs was, “my baby is gone.”

I have to believe that a Rainbow Bridge does exist. I told Ozzy when I get there I will look for him first. My boy was deservedly at rest, but where did that leave me? Shattered.

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