I didn't publish this at first, because the bunny died the next day, and it was too painful. My sentiments still remain the same, though; I couldn't just put her back into the wild, because another cat could find her just as easily as her biological mother could. If I had it to do over again, I would give her goat milk twice a day, not once a day, because in this case she was choosing how much she drank, not me, so I probably wasn't in danger of overfeeding her. That still may not have saved her, though, as rabbits are fragile creatures.
"You know, it will be a year next month, since we found Marshmallow," my mother said to me this past Father's Day, referring to the kitten we found with a shattered pelvis and a normally fatal feline disease. The vet wanted us to put him down, but we refused, nursed him back to health, and today he enjoys a full and active life, with a slightly uneven gait but no limping or "knuckling" under of his foot, like he used to have.
Last month we took him to that same vet for an "accupoke" (as it was advertised) and chiropractic appointment. The vet had not seen Marshmallow in a while.
"You're going to be amazed at our Marshmallow," my mom smiled, as I took him out of his carrier.
"Holy Jesus!" the vet cried. "He's huge!"
"Yeah, he's a big baby!" I laughed.
But Marshmallow was not the end of the story; apparently, fate has decreed that we are given a free baby animal every summer now. I've won Mother Nature's lottery!
Another of our cats, a young black-and-white tom named Panda, was in the field, and my mom reported that he had been carrying something in his mouth. She was worried, because we had seen a mother turkey with two babies in the same field earlier.
So I ran down there, while she followed. At first I thought the tiny bunny was dead, because it wasn't moving at all, then realized that it was still alive. As I picked it up, I saw wet fur on its haunch, but no apparent injuries. It did not resist or try to run away at all.
"Don't pick it up!" my mother yelled, irritated that I would pick up a dead carcass. "Is it dead?"
"No, it's alive!" I said excitedly, carrying it with my shirt, like a closed, safe little hammock. (I have often carried Marshmallow like this, when his pelvis was shattered, in order to put as little stress as possible on his broken bones. He still likes it when I carry him like that.)
We couldn't find any other rabbits around, big or small, or any kind of burrow. Later we would watch Panda to see where he went, but he only walked around the pond--and rabbits are not aquatic, to my knowledge.
It was so very tiny. I found an empty plastic tote, with no lid, and put in some timothy hay, which I fortunately already had for my guinea pigs to eat. As soon as I put it in the high-sided tote, it tried to jump out and get away, which made me feel a little relieved, for its health.
I put a bowl of water in with it, though I didn't see it drink. I covered part of the tote with a towel, to make it feel safer, and put a leaf of lettuce in there, which though it had teeth, I haven't seen it eat.
I wished I had a "snuggle sack" (like a tiny sleeping bag) to put in with it, to keep it warm, but later thought to substitute one of my beanie hats, reasoning that though the rabbit might not like the fact that the hat smelled like me, it was at least some place warm to burrow in.
"I'm your mama now. I know I'm different than you, but I still love you," I told it. "I'll still take care of you and keep you safe."
I shut the rabbit in my room, without any cats or other animals, while my mom and I did our evening chores, giving it a chance to get over its shock. Panda kept following me around, demanding attention.
"He knows you have his rabbit," Mom remarked.
"It's almost like God knew you were stingy and wouldn't let me get a bunny, and said, 'Nope--she can have a bunny if she wants one,'" I teased her.
"Yeah, that's coming from an atheist," she snorted.
I'm not sure what the point of that was. I don't see any harm in indulging in a little "what if" scenario. My practical side will keep me grounded, I think.
I think it is a female, since I haven't found any little nuts, but it may be too early to tell for sure. I would guess her age at about two weeks, though what I've found for how to tell by their sizes is not that comprehensive with pictures or scale objects. In any case, she is small enough to still require milk.
The internet sources said that Meyenburg goat milk was an acceptable rabbit milk substitute (I'm not sure why the brand name is special, though in my area, it seems that that is the only brand of goat milk available, unless you want to get to second base with a goat, yourself). Strangely enough, my dad had bought a quart of it for me that very day, since I like goat milk myself.
We watered it down, and had some success, though it was hard to hold her still while my mom syringed it into her mouth.
"I think you should give her some more before you go to bed," Mom suggested.
"I'm not sure how I'll do it by myself," I answered.
"Every time that syringe gets near her mouth, she wants to nurse. Just try."
So as I was feeding her for the first time by myself, a little milk dropped out of the syringe and onto my hand. To my astonishment, she started licking it off my hand!
I kept syringing more into my hand, and she kept licking it off. It tickled my hand, it warmed my heart, and it made me think that she was healthy and was already starting to trust me. Maybe human palms feel just like rabbit nipples.
Finally, she had had enough, and disappeared back into the folds of the beanie hat, in which I had picked her up and in which my mother and I tried to feed her. So I put the hat, with her in it, back in her tote, shutting her tote in my closet (after checking the closet for cats) so that the cats that like to sleep on my bed would not have to give up their room.
I am hoping that she will be more friendly and less afraid than rabbits and guinea pigs that I've adopted as adults or teenagers. When she's an adult, I plan to have her spayed, or neutered, as the case may be. I think she will be happier that way, less restless.
She's a "wild" rabbit, though not wild now, and may even grow into a hare or jackrabbit (we have those around). But I cannot imagine ever "rehabilitating" my new baby into the dangerous wild. I just can't do it, no matter how much the game wardens (I have one in my family!) may moralize. I don't think they could rightfully fine us or take it away, either, because it's not an adult rabbit.
I remember visiting a friend of my mom's who had a tortoise named Oscar. I brought Oscar rose petals from my garden, hearing that he loved them. Surprisingly, when his owner picked him up to show him to me, he drew his head and arms back, and hissed at me. I had no idea that tortoises hissed.
Oscar's mommy said that her daughter had gotten him in Nevada, where they were being given away next to the airports, so that the planes wouldn't run them over. He had been sick once, and she had taken him to a vet, who had cussed her out and preached at her about the "need" to release him into the wild, because the vet claimed that he was of an endangered species.
"But what if he gets hit by a car?" I asked.
"Exactly," Oscar's mommy replied. "She called to ask if we had released him in the wild, and I said, 'Yes, ma'am, I took care of it.' He can live with us for as long as we're alive," she added.
I think that people often buy into doctrines about animals that are good for the authorities, but not necessarily for the individual animals. During WWII, the British government urged its citizens to "destroy" its animals, in order to have more food to feed the troops and citizens. I believe that that's where a lot of the doctrine about "putting an animal out of its pain" came from. If owners aren't giving extra care, food, and medicine to an aging or ailing pet, then there's more resources for humans and other animals.
We kill our "imperfect" pets for our own convenience, and that of the authorities. (And ironically, the very eugenicist Nazis, who did this very thing to humans, were huge animal lovers, Hitler the biggest of all.)
Same goes for "wildlife rehabilitation." The goal isn't just to "rehabilitate" an injured or sick animal, but to release it back into the wild. The same "wild" that humans, with their dogs, cars, and guns, are encroaching upon more and more every year!
Some animals are naturally prey animals, too. Even if my rabbit became a happy, healthy, fully adult wild bunny, she could still be eaten by dogs, hawks, and cars.
This is an insanely cruel system, and one that is only good for those, human and beast, that wish to hunt these animals. Even carnivores like bobcats and foxes could be killed by coyotes and domestic dogs.
The safest place for an animal is under a human's care. Even for a deer, I have lactating goats (though the milk is not as rich or plentiful as store-bought goat milk, with which I could supplement it). An orphaned deer would have a ready-made mama, for goats are more related to deer than sheep, and the mama would recognize her baby once it poops and smells like her milk (I've forced a goat to nurse her babies before, every hour during the day, and it "took" after a day or so).
(I wish I had an orphaned deer, in fact; it could run with the goat herd as an adult, though I don't know where I'll find a vet to neuter or spay it.)
If I find an animal, I get to keep it--that's the rule, for the laws of nature (including that of fatal diseases) just don't apply at my house. I may not be able to help many "wild" animals, though I am very grateful for this one.
As I later told my grandfather, my cat may be a little confused about what a father actually is, but he was still so sweet to give me a Father's Day present. I guess single moms can be like dads to their kids.
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