Rabbit, eat

[sam]

Thanks to a potentially sick rabbit, I missed my opportunity to go to Shoreham last night in the company of what I’m going to assume turned out to be very soggy cyclists. This was after seeing the lurgy (mostly) off, so it was a ride that just did not want to be ridden, by me at least.

The beastie in question


Helping clean – note the Brexit stash in the background

has been acting odd the last few days, which puts alert rabbit owners on high alert, their charges being creatures of habit. You get quite attuned to their behavior when they live in the house. Among other symptoms, his appetite hasn’t been normal [normal = almost always hungry]: this sets klaxons blaring. It came to a head shortly before I was to catch the train to London.


Bags inside of bags packed

Offered his usual dinner,


Nature green in tooth and paw

he expressed no interest. Our little bundle of energy was listless as a teenager on a rainy Sunday afternoon suffering a power cut.

If you know how fast rabbits can go downhill, you’ll know it doesn't take long to feel like you're sitting in the ICU. After a very anxious period, he bounced back. We're not sure all is definitely well – rabbits can turn the corner from ill to fine and back again in the blink of an eye, and they have the world's best poker face – but we're much more optimistic about the state of his health today. Current opinion is he’s been having intermittent difficulty processing the fur that he naturally laps up while grooming and which we've apparently not been doing a good enough job brushing away. Unlike cats, bunnies can't regurgitate hairballs: it's all got to find a way through that hardy if problematical digestive tract. Which is probably enough about hairballs.

Chompsky is currently behind the couch. I'm off for a ride soon, into the rain, as penance.