A real story of incest, pregnancy and medical skill
When we lived in the village and the children were small, we had a female miniature rabbit who gave birth to two babies on Easter Sunday in 1992. One of them was sturdy, the other a little runt. Both of them were incredibly cute. There is nothing sweeter than baby rabbits. We called them Bozo and Priscilla, naturally assuming that the little one had to be a girl. We gave Bozo away after a while and kept mother and daughter together.
Much to our surprise, Priscilla also turned out to be a boy. We noticed because his mother started giving what looked like practical sex education lessons to her offspring. Priscilla was renamed Oedipus, and we kept mother and son separate from then on.
Being sickly, Ed stayed in the kitchen with us, while Bunzilla, who was robust and healthy, stayed in a stall outside. She had developed a nasty temper and could only be touched with leather mittens (hence the name).
However, they managed to get together long enough once, and she got pregnant. She gave birth to a dead baby but seemed uncharacteristically listless for days after the delivery, so we took her to the vet’s. It was amazing to see how this unfriendliest of all rabbits seemed to realize that the vet was trying to help her, and how she cooperated with him as he pushed and massaged her sides to eventually get another dead little rabbit out.
Bunzilla recovered quickly and became her usual ferocious self. We gave her away eventually. Ed, who was smart, loving, musical, funny, had a hay allergy and crooked teeth that needed to be cut regularly – horrible handicaps for a bunny –, remained with us until he died in 2002.
L.B.
I doodled the bunny drawing this morning for no particular reason. When
Inspire Me Thursday came up with a request for medical art today, I added the sentimental rabbit memoir above to make it all faintly – very faintly – medical. Or veterinarian, I should say.
For Anna Carson's Project Green / Take Seven.
