I was in line at the pharmacy, having ordered an antibiotic compounded to combat a pesky chronic ear infection for my dear senior rabbit. The pharmacist paged me over the intercom to come to the confidential booth.
“Wasabi! Wasabi!” came the summons. I weaved my way through the line, aware of the scrutiny of strangers as they assessed this frizzy-haired, middle-aged woman named Wasabi—having no idea, of course, I was filling a prescription for my beloved rabbit.
“This is the first time I’ve put together something for a bunny,” the pharmacist said. “Before I do it, I want to make sure the cost is OK with you—because, you know, it is just a rabbit.”
As I assured him that the price was fine (in truth, is there a dollar amount that isn’t acceptable for a fur family member?), I found myself in that awkward territory of defending the worth of my small animal companion.
“She’s a precious rabbit. Very smart. Knows her name.” I bragged. I could have gone on, but the pharmacist clearly wasn’t all that interested, and let me know that the antibiotic was water-based and banana-flavored, had to be refrigerated, and would expire in two weeks. Fifty-four dollars was charged to my credit card and off I went.
On the drive home, I wondered how I might have handled the interaction differently. Countless times throughout the years as a bunny guardian I have found myself in the position of justifying money or time spent on rabbits. My attachment to them has been viewed as both unique and obsessive (crazy bunny lady!). In my enthusiasm to educate people about the wonderful world of house rabbits, I often find myself perhaps exaggerating their charm just a tad; fluffing the stories of their intellect, overpraising their Buddha-like qualities. All because I desperately want them to be recognized as being more than “just a rabbit.” I yearn to convince others to move backyard hutch-bound bunnies into the house to enjoy the same status as indoor cats and dogs. I’d love for people to never think of rabbits as “starter pets” again, nor stick them in small classroom cages or abandon them in parks two months after Easter. I share stories of their delightful antics not just because I am a proud rabbit mom, but because I want to elevate their status, and in turn offer them more protection.
Often, though, I fall prey (a word I shudder to use in reference to a bunny) to the idea that bunnies are “just rabbits.” I have had to cancel appointments when dealing with GI stasis or another rabbit emergency, and instead of telling the truth (my rabbit is sick), which does not seem quite justifiable enough, I’ve said that I am the one who is sick. There have been occasions when non-bunny friends and relatives were offended when I’ve had to zoom home to check on the rabbits. While nobody second-guesses veterinary treatment for dogs and cats, eyebrows are raised when I talk about being up at 3 a.m. administering sub-q fluids, or share details about camping out in a hot bathroom-turned-incubator to revive an ailing bunny. Once I revealed the amount of a vet bill to an acquaintance who, after a stunned silence, said “Wow. You must really love those rabbits!”
Is it love that makes a bunny more than just a rabbit? I think love is that magic flashlight that illuminates to others how special they already are in their own right. When I tell stories of how my rabbit Rufus pads down the hallway into our bedroom every morning to my side of the bed, then gazes up at me until I wake, hence alerting me to the fact that it is his breakfast time, I convey not only how smart the little guy is, but how much I love him and his daily routine. Sharing stories of living with house rabbits is important. It piques interest and illustrates the value of bunnies for those who think they’re just rabbits. As I type this, my elder rabbit Wasabi is under the table flopped at my feet. She occasionally raises her perfect round head to lick her front paw, or to inch forward and give my sockless foot some bunny kisses. Her black and white ears helicopter forward in response to the sound of the laptop keyboard. Her nose twitches adorably. She is perfectly attuned to her surroundings. She is doing what bunnies do; being just a rabbit.
Reviewed by HRS staff
Author: Diana RousseauPhoto Credit: Diana Rousseau
Journal Issue: House Rabbit Journal, Winter 2019
