These past two weeks have been hard on me. My childhood rabbit became ill a little over a week ago, and I knew the end was near for him. I’ve had him for almost 10 years, and I knew he wasn’t going to be around for much longer, as I was told he had a lifespan of 3-5 years when I originally got him, but you can never prepare for the loss of someone no matter how much time you have to prepare.
My childhood home was basically a circus. There were always a few animals like cats, hamsters, guinea pigs, frogs, snails, and even rats running around while I was growing up. My sister had a rabbit for a few years, but I was too young to get to know it and it ended up only living for a short time. Back in 2011 at the age of 10, I became obsessed with rabbits. Like the child I was, I began to beg my parents for a rabbit. I did lots of research and even made a slideshow on why I needed one. For a persuasive paper in my fifth grade English class, I wrote about why I needed a rabbit and later presented it to my parents. My parents decided that while I couldn’t get a rabbit, I could get involved in a club about rabbits.
Living in Lancaster County, it wasn’t hard to find a rabbit and cavy (guinea pig) club through our local 4H. I joined the club in the fall of 2011 with my mother and went every week to the meetings. I had decided that I wanted a male Lionhead rabbit, but I was soon persuaded otherwise by our president who said it would be too much for me to care for. Instead, she suggested I look into mini breeds such as Dwarf or Dutch rabbits. I immediately fell in love with the bi-color design of the Dutch rabbit and decided that was what I was going to get one day.
While my mother and father still said I could not get a rabbit, they let me participate in the 4H club by going to the county fairs with the club and eventually going to the annual American Rabbit Breeders Association (ARBA) convention in February of 2012. My mother (who wears the pants in our household) wasn’t able to go with me, so my dad ended up taking me. My dad (who I should note is HORRIBLY allergic to rabbits) and I spend most of our day at the convention. Members of my 4H club were there and they introduced us to different breeders they knew and showed us some Dutch rabbits. I asked my dad if I could get one and he of course said no, but we had agreed to maybe talk to my mom about it when we got home. We then proceeded to look at all of the rabbits and cavies being shown and walked through all of the shops that were set up.
While we were there we ran into the adult who was in charge of my 4H club. She was meaning the raffle table and encouraged us to buy some tickets. The raffle table had a variety of goodies from desserts, to toys, to gift baskets. After my dad had bought a few tickets for me she also told us that the tickets were also good for the auction in the showroom of 20 different rabbits. My dad and I walked into the showroom to “just look” at the rabbits and my eyes landed on #13: a beautiful baby Dutch rabbit. His breeding certificates said he was only two months old, yet he was up for auction like all of the others. I only had one blue raffle ticket left and while my dad said he would not buy me any more tickets I could put my last one in the rabbit’s bin, a Tupperware container with the number 13 on it, if I wanted to.
After I dropped my ticket in the bin, my dad decided we would grab some food while waiting the hour until they drew the tickets and we could go home. I remember my 4H leader telling me “not to hold my breath” because the chances of me winning were slim to none. Not only was that a purebred rabbit, but the raffle tickets were also only 50 cents each meaning that a lot of people put tickets in. I also remember her telling me that he was a breeding rabbit which met that he would only live for 5 years at most because he was bred to be shown. My dad thanked her and got ready to leave but I asked for us to stay until the number was called. With my one ticket in my hand, I waited patiently until they got to his bin. They called out a number and no one claimed him. They called out the number again and I checked my ticket to see that I was the winning number. I ran up to claim him and they opened the small cage he was in and plopped him into my hands, took my winning ticket, and moved on to number 14. I returned back through the crowd to my dad who had no idea what had just happened to him.
We then had to go and buy a cage and a travel carrier and all of the essentials for a rabbit, as we were not at all prepared, but there was one problem– you can’t bring animals into the shop area of the convention. So my dad handed me 5 twenty dollar bills as he was holding a baby bunny in the palm of his hand and sent me, an 11-year-old, off to buy everything we needed. As we began our drive home in the snow with a new family member, I began brainstorming names. My dad turned on the radio to play Broadway hits, and I’m not sure which song it was, but the musical Cats was playing. I began to sing along as I looked down at the rabbit in my lap and exclaimed to my dad that he was wearing white spats, due to the distinguishable markings of a Dutch rabbit. My dad and I laughed together as we drove home to surprise my mother with our new family member, Bustopher Jones (in white spats).
From that day forward Bustopher Jones (or Buster as we nicknamed him) was a part of my life. For a long time, he lived in my bedroom where I would play with him and let him free-roam once I got home from school, and then later he moved down to our computer room where he could be next to our guinea pigs and look out the back window. When I left for college Buster was 7 years old, long past his initial life expectancy. My parents took care of him while I moved to Florida for school, and even when I transferred closer to home after the pandemic hit.
I no longer live in my childhood home, but he resided in my parent’s house for most of his life until I moved him into my house with me a little over a year ago. I was so excited for a new chapter with him. He got his own room in our house that he stayed in during the winter, and then he got to stay in a back room with windows all around and lots of bunny-safe plants during the warmer months. I had switched his cage from a standard style to a free-roaming gate that he would hop over to be all around the room when he thought I wasn’t looking. When I’d peek through the kitchen window into the back room I’d see him running all around, but as soon as I opened the door to the room he would hop back into the large “enclosure” made up of a short puppy gate as if he had never left it. He was a very smart rabbit who was so stubborn that he would not eat any treats except his carrot yogurt drops that they ended up discontinuing everywhere but at Walmart. Every now and then whenever my mom, dad, or sister would go out to Walmart, they would stop by and drop off a few packs for him, so he never had to go a day without getting a treat. (Once I accidentally ran out and he was NOT happy with me.)
While Buster lived far past his life expectancy, his passing has still been very hard on me. He was the only childhood pet I remember getting, and he was my best friend. He was with me when I lost my childhood best friend to social constructs, when I struggled to adapt to high school, when I had my first heartbreak, and when I experienced my grandmother and friend dying within the same 6 months. While Buster is no longer here with me to start my days, I know that I will never forget all of the years I had him by my side. He was the best rabbit a girl could ever ask for.
HCXO,
Charlotte