Tag Archives: pets

Bunny Deux: Electric Bunnaloo

13 May

It took two weeks of caring for my wee baby bunny, Frankie, to realize a couple of things:

1.  I am a rabbit person. 

I love dogs. I tolerate cats (allergic to most, with the exception of Maine Coon Cats). I am obviously not a cat person (before anyone gets all knotty in the britches, I like cats if they belong to other people. I just don’t want felines of my own.)  I am surprised to find out that maybe I am not a dog person either.  I am a rabbit person.

2.  Baby rabbits have boundless energy.  I do not. 

3.  Having only my one kid (the human one) has been gnawing at me forever and as I have been closing in on forty it has been gnawing less idlly and more with the ferocity of a beaver on a dam mission or a wood chipper on a past it’s prime Christmas tree.

4.  No. 2 has helped emmensely in coming to reasonable terms with No. 3.

Still, No. 2 kept needling at me kind of in the way Frankie’s tiny baby bunny talons do as he climbs all over me like I’m the strategy board for his future takeover of everything that is and will be.  

I read up, like the diligent autodidact I am and came to realize that the guinea pigs were a gateway pet and now, to preserve sanity (mine) and improve the life of my newest little one, I would have to find a suitable, Lagomorph life partner for Frank.  Also, playtime with the piggies wasn’t cutting it (though it was adorable as there was a definite kinship and the piggies followed him around with the glee of toddlers after an older sibling, complete with adorable waddling and urinating during play) and as Frankie started physically eclipsing Oliver and Dave, the safety of the pigs was becoming a concern (guinea pigs are extra delicate when challenged by the strong hind quarters and boisterous boinging of a bunny). 

There were many considerations.  Most of them had much to do with avoiding the conception of a billion baby bunnies in my condo.  As I was planning on having Frank, and any additional rabbits, neutered/spayed, I decided another boy bunny would be the best partner for him, unless I could find a snipped cougar bunny and fast as he needed bunny companionship to help meet his energy.  

And then this showed up on Craigslist: 



There was a note on the listing saying that the last rabbits would have to be sold by 5pm or those baby bunnies would be heading for “Freezer Camp”.  The picture is of the blue Silver Fox buck/boy.  He was the same age as Frank. FREEZER CAMP. 


I knew I was in trouble.  I knew I, even though I am not a vegetarian, would not be able to withstand the burden of knowing this particular creature was killed because I didn’t take action.  (Don’t fret, herbivore friends, I battle with my own hypocritical thoughts and behaviors each and every time I slip on my shoes or raise a physician prescribed nibble of flesh to my lips. I do.)

I talked to my kid about it and read him the craigslist ad.  

“We need to go get that bunny, Mama.”

So we did.

We put Frank in his hamper, hopped in the car, and drove up to Port Charlotte to meet Otis.  

That’s when we learned that Frank is a really tiny, possibly dwarf, rabbit.

Otis is a meat rabbit.  READ:  very large.  Frank: 1.5lb  Otis: over 8lbs. (Frank has since grown quite a bit but is clearly the racing model to Otis’ utility/tank/steamroller body type). 

Here’s Otis, at home, the first week.



There is more to the whole Otis tale, but it just dawned on me that I have gone completely non-linear.  I think I failed to post anything about how I went to go get hay for the Guinea Pigs and there were baby bunnies and I put my hand in their enclosure and this little black and white bunny, who looked kind of like a Boston Terrier and a bit like a French Bulldog with bigger ears, immediately started licking my hand.  I asked to hold him. I did. And an hour later Frankie was settling into life at home and I was frantically reading everything about rabbits. 

Here’s baby Frank:  


And fast forward a couple of months…


Before you are pummeled by the irresistible cute of a baby bunny,  please please please do your research to prepare for their needs.  They are a joy and require very specific and constant, involved care.  One fantastic resource is the House Rabbit Society. 

Please welcome…

12 Feb



& Dave!


Kid has been talking about adding a furry critter to our family for quite some time. I’ll admit that I have been entertaining that idea for a very long time too. 

I really wanted to adopt a rescue pup, but right now I’m barely coping with the second bout of severe iron deficiency in under 6 months (this one is non-anemic iron deficiency) . I feel lousy. Walking a dog a few times a day just is too much to ask of this sore body with it’s tired blood.

Not that these cutie pies don’t require lots of care and attention.

They need so much more EVERYTHING than I would have ever imagined, even after reading everything I could set my eyeballs on.

They do not need to be walked, though.

Everything else can be spread throught the day, especially the snuggles and playtime and the neverending supply of hay and veggies.

So far, so wonderful.

Kid is over the moon and we are all very attached to our new family members and they are settling in nicely.

Pigs, butts, photographs…

8 Sep

Alex wanted me to take a picture of the pig’s butt (everything is butts and gas lately.. Oh and Captain Underpants, of course…). So I told him I would, but only if he got in the picture too. Here you go…


Changes are afoot.

28 Jul

Make that two feet!  Two froggy legs!


(drumroll please)


Make that two JAZZ HANDS!

Cannot believe how epic this transformation has been.  Bouncy Billy (who until now was the ironically bounceless Rana sphenocephala of the pair we received way back in late winter 2010) just keeps amazing us.

Here’s Billy (who had been a frog for at least 14 months)…


I am forever thinking (and occasionally singing aloud) “who lives in a Pineapple peeking at me?”  He likes to hide and just has one eye visible through the window.  He’s much more aloof than his soon-to-be bouncy counterpart.


Long ago, pre-kid, we had a Betta fish named “Pants” who we adored and probably got more emotionally attached to than would be considered a normal adult reaction by anyone, but we did.  Not quite as much as the furry pets of my youth, but yeah, when he died I cried cried cried until my eyes threatened to swell completely shut and the snot factory had run dry from dehydration.  *sniff*

And now I have my very own human kid.

Every step of the way has been like one of those dreams where you step in concrete and it quickly sets around you and while you can still move every step is muscle tenderizingly arduous and sooo slow.

But respect and love for my kid has made me able to take those steps, and to take them with such joy that I occasionally bust out with a somewhat off-key yet somewhat operatic “Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” straight from my tippy toes to the top of my head. “Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”  And yes.  It often startles my sensory defensive little guy, but really, there is no other way for me to accurately describe this joy.  It’s just “Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

So to some folks in the outside world, our life may look too darkly serious and lacking in light and fun.  To some folks it may look like we take things too seriously and overthink each and every step of the way.  Don’t get me wrong, we definitely overthink everything.  When you are raising a different needs kid, you really learn to pick your battles and causes and goals and to take baby steps with everything, little steps broken apart from gigantic and seemingly insurmountable goals, not as much to keep you motivated, but it is mostly due to the simple fact that correcting a little misstep can happen with a little more grace and less of a delay in moving forward than a big mistake.  It’s the difference between repairing a pothole at 4am and closing two lanes of traffic during rush hour so you can repave the whole shebang.

So what does this have to do with frogs?

Something.  I’m sure.

Oh.  That caring for and watching our little mutant tadpole/tad frog/nearly a frog “froglet” has been one that has, in a very focused and microscopic way, paralleled raising a child who is different from his typically developing peers.  It has also, surprisingly, offered up a parallel to my own journey in becoming the authentic me.  The warts and all me, if you will.  The me that isn’t dictated by internalized scripts of my upbringing, or internal monologues trying to make sense of what has gone wrong and my role in it or apart from it.   Just me.

Jazz hands, laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!, and all…



UPDATE:  As soon as I finished typing this, I went out to the kitchen and saw something amazing in our little vivarium.  Bouncy Billy WALKING.  Yup.  Not swimming but walking along the bottom of the tank.  Like a big frog!

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