Warning: If you like bunnies and don’t like death, just stop now and save yourself. But if you have a sense of humanity and can stand some sad, go ahead and read on.
I have said, and believe, though not in a cynical sort of way (because if it was I probably wouldn’t do much of what we do) that farming is one tragedy after another and people just don’t tell you about that before you start.
Maybe that’s silly since I definitely think, as do many people, that commercial farming is entirely one big tragedy, so it makes sense that farming could be one tragedy after another. But I say that, not meaning that it is entirely a tragedy, but that there are a lot of them in the learning curve that is starting a lot of things without any real teacher standing over/next to/with us to tell us what we are screwing up terribly (a lot, I’m sure) or what we are on the right track with.
So we wake up many mornings, or more mornings than we should, go out to do farm chores (feed, water, etc.), and end up crying on top of all that muck that’s already out there in the coop.
A few nights ago was just like that when Hubs hollered at me for help and by the time I could actually get out of bed and prepared enough to be outside he came in telling me about what happened. The nesting boxes we got at auction were actually intended for chickens (we realized this later) and two of Paula’s kits crawled out of the nest and along the caging next to a cage full of young male bunnies and when they reached the edge of their cage, they were just stuck. They were too big to get out of the wire, and their eyes are still closed, so they weren’t able to find themselves back into the nest. Without getting too gory (difficult not to), the little black and white rabbit didn’t make it, and the white one ended up basically with a shoulder and part of it’s belly and back skinned alive. Best we could figure was the boys next door managed to nip and nibble at them through the small wires and pull the skin right off. It was horrendous and sad to see, but mostly because the white one was still alive, raw, and had been crying profusely when Hubs helped it out of its awful situation, wedged trying to get out of the cage, but unable to get out and unwilling to go backwards.
Thankfully, the little white bun is still alive. I have been super paranoid about it, checking on it often to make sure it isn’t getting worse and mom isn’t eating it. She hasn’t (why did I doubt her? She’s such a good mom) and I have been peed on so many times by that little half-skinned bunny when checking on it, but I couldn’t even be the slightest bit upset since I am just hoping so hardcore that it lives.
Nate and I both made a little bunny vow that if it lives it will have the happiest bunny life possible, ending (we hope) in old age and timothy hay overdose rather than on our dinner plate. While we eat rabbits and some people think that makes us heartless, we have a great deal of humanity and recognize that the karma of buns is not something to be reckoned with, since it is only outweighed by their adorbz.