Well, I am. To no less than three, so-called Dwarf and Lionhead Rabbits. Yes, “so-called”. Because the fact that Bosse supposedly is a Dwarf-a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, – really feels like a bad joke. Well, actually, maybe even a good joke, -but a joke, nevertheless.
Anyway. I have a beige rabbit, at the size of a cat, named Bosse. I estimate the age to be somewhere between 4-6 years. Again, I’m not specifically picky when it comes to measurements and such. It`s said age is just a number, -and I cannot even relate to that. I`m more a “Bosse is” kind-of-a-girl. He IS. Just like Eckhart Tolle, and all the other gurus, keep saying. That we are. We ARE. And that that is the main thing.
Rabbit number two is, fittingly enough, version 2.0, of original Bella. And for the sake of simplicity, this rabbit is also called, precisely, Bella. Bella 1.0 was brutally taken away from us, by something out of the wilderness (be it a fox or one of Bakkestranda’s many badgers) in the summer of 2018. Bosse lost his sister, and I can only assume; his soulmate, – and we lost, a highly regarded family member. Absolutely. So, we mourned. Every one of us. Young and old. Therefore, and naturally, the whole family was ecstatic when we could welcome Bella 2.0 to our home, the following year. The herd was, once again, complete.
Rabbit number three is probably what you would call a rehoming rabbit. Our foster son, really. Yes, I said “ours”, as my ex also share some parental responsibility for rabbit number three, Leo. The decision to adopt him was made by the both of us – and Leo has, just like our sons, kind of a shared household. Leo is a white, little angel. He looks like a baby – but he`s actually the oldest. And like all others, who’ve had a hard upbringing, a lot of paper followed along Leo, as well. They are in the drawer, somewhere, and I think they make out some sort of a pedigree. The date of birth, I believe, is there, also, – but I made an aforethought decision to focus more on the rabbit being approximately at the same age, as our oldest son. So that means Leo will be nine this year. A considerable age for a rabbit, I must say, – but chances are he could also have a couple of good years left. Probably way past my fortieth.
Yes, sure, this has taken me by surprise also. The fact that I still have rabbits. For let`s face it. They`re not the kids`. They are mine. I have tried to do some psychoanalysis on the matter, and I think it has something to do with marital status. It seems, everything has to do with marital status. Anyway. The thing is, I had rabbits growing up, apart from a practical break while being a student, in my 20s. Then, when I had my kids, it all broke out again (hell broke loose!!). Starting off, I guess I felt I did it for the children, – but in an “insightful enough” way. That is, that I fully understood that the responsibility would be mine (in two weeks’ time, at least). I would have to wash the toilets (yes, they go to the bathroom. So to speak. Technically speaking; a plastic box, with pellets in. For the sake of not getting too carried away, it is used 75% of the time – which I believe is a perfectly okay percentage, rabbitly speaking). I would have to give them the daily care. Water, food and cuddles. The kids’ contribution would only serve as a bonus. Yes, I understood this. I agreed to this. But nonetheless, I felt that childrens` interference with animals had so many benefits and I was convinced that my children would learn tremendously from it. Amongst other things, care and responsibility, – although on a subordinate level. You see, by the time the rabbits came into our lives, one home had become two, -and I guess that had something to do with it. If our boys no longer could have the privilege of growing up in one, common home, – at least, what I could do, was making the two places as idyllic as they come. So, I constantly bought interior gifts for their dad, – and filled house number one with pets.
Then there`s the break-ups. When I was nineteen years old, the-break-up-bag-syndrome first came to life. For each break-up, a new bag. And there`s been many bags since then, let me tell you. Small bags. Big bags. Some synthetic, – but most in leather. Without ANY doubt, it`s been soothing. I really don`t understand people who says happiness cannot be bought. I was happy, – at least for a month! As time passed, the break-ups became worse- and the bags even bigger. No, I`m just kidding. They really didn`t. The leather just CAME TO LIFE (!), – you might put it. The bags became Real Life Animals! Actual animals. Yes! And it`s not that strange, really. I mean. I have a lot of love to give. But with no man to give it to, – there`ll be a lot of extras. And after all, there`s only a limited amount of care you can give to children. Rabbits, on the other hand…That`s a whole other story.
I remember this guy from Tinder. He`d been down the same path as I. He`d been convinced. He`d googled. And he had bought. Not only one, but the amount one (whose worthy enough of calling themselves rabbitparents) should. Two. Two rabbits. So that they will always have this special rabbit friend. Because otherwise, they`ll get depressed (!). We could both appreciate the irony in that. But what wasn`t as fun for him, was the fact that he had had children late in life. Plus, the fact that he`d missed out on a thing or two on Google. For instance, life expectancy of rabbits. Which is 10-12 years (assuming “good care”. Which in 2020, isn`t even a choice,- given all the rabbitparents-online-groups, – where there`s an unspoken of rule that rabbits are treated like cats or dogs. Meaning they are supposed to be free-roaming -given access to all of the house. All of the time (just cover your wires with hard plastic sleeves or flex tubing, -and GIVE THEM ENOUGH CHALLENGES AND TOYS, SO THEY DON’T GET BORED !!!!!). All this, he had, apparently, tuned out, – and now he realized that his everyday life, as retired, not only would consist of sudoku and crosswords, but RABBITS too.
Throughout life, I`ve had one dear principle. To stick to rabbits, and never ever go for cat. It’s bad enough being single in your late 30s, if you`re not going to have cats too. It`s hardly coincidental that the words “cat” and “lady” have teamed up, – into the slightly descriptive word; “cat lady”. Let’s just assume that the owners share some features. But then again, life happens, -and in July a little gentleman moves into our home (!). A Devon Rex, it is. Yes. Probably nicer than me. And I guess the reality of me having spent half a month’s salary on a male cat (!), is better left for later.
Let’s just assume I’m glad spring’s over.