I (36m) lost my rabbit, Buddy, on April 12th. He was my best friend, and the only pet I’ve ever had. He showed up in my front yard on Easter of 2015, out of nowhere. My brother’s girlfriend at the time ran out into the yard with a blanket and threw it over him, caught him and brought him inside; our very own Easter Bunny! I named him Cadbury, after the eggs, but everyone just called him Buddy so that became his name. He was severely dehydrated, to the point that he was drinking his urine and kept doing that for the first couple of days that we had him. We were told by the vet that he was around two years old when he came to us.
Buddy never did learn to like being picked up or held. I always felt like that was because of whoever his first humans were. They clearly didn’t take care of him, in fact the only ways he could’ve shown up in my yard are if he were thrown out (abuse) or allowed to escape (neglect), both of which are equally unforgivable in my eyes. My family and I knew nothing about rabbits or how to take care of them but we learned really quickly. House Rabbit Society was our source for everything and they were incredibly helpful, having an answer for every question we had. And we found an awesome exotics vet only 10 miles or so from our house that took good care of Buddy for 9 years. If you’re in the Columbia, SC area, I highly recommend Sunset Animal Clinic in West Columbia!
Buddy loved to sit in front of the bathroom door anytime someone was in there, or in front of my bedroom door while I slept. I had to get used to leaving the door open at night because he would “knock” on the door (with his teeth) so I’d let him in. He was my mom’s number one helper at work (she sells paper crafts on Etsy and he helped her by “distressing” sheets of printer paper). And of course he had a real passion for interior decorating, removing wallpaper (even drywall in a few places) and forcing us to move furniture around to try and cover it up.
He was always a healthy bunny. His vet visits were pretty much limited to pedicures and routine checkups. But one day this Spring I noticed a growth on his belly. I got him to the vet a few days later, on a Monday, and by that time it had grown quite a bit. All they could tell me, after all the tests, was that he had a tumor. It was superficial, growing just under the skin, but it had grown too quickly and now it was too big and too dangerous to remove. At that point, he wasn’t in pain and was still 100% himself. But less than two weeks later, it was time to say goodbye. Buddy left us on Friday, April 12th. He was about 11 years old.
I hate that I didn’t take more pictures of him. I have dozens of them, but none of them seem good enough. I had Buddy cremated and I couldn’t have been more pleased with the way that was handled. My uncle was cremated several years ago and they just gave him to my mom in a plastic bag, inside of a cardboard box. And I thought that was just how it was done, so I was expecting the same for Buddy. But when I went to pick him up I discovered that there was no cardboard box! I was crying of course but once I stopped crying I realized that they had put him inside a very nice wooden box, with a floral design carved into the top, and it just made me feel like he was respected. I appreciated that, I know it seems silly but I did.
And even more surprising was the footprint they took. I had no idea, I didn’t even know that was a thing. But sure enough, they had made his footprint in a piece of clay, and that was with him too. So now Buddy lives on the hutch in the dining room, with his footprint right beside him. And I stop and say hello most days, sometimes talk to him for a few minutes at night. Having him there is a comforting thing, even after three months I still get emotional sometimes.
As someone who has several tattoos, I thought there could be no better way to always feel close to Buddy than to get one for him! So today (well it’s 2:48 AM so I guess it was yesterday, 12 hours ago actually) I went and got this tattoo, not of him but of his footprints. It’s probably the most unique tattoo I have, of which there are now nine, because I’ve never seen anyone with their pet’s footprints/tracks tattooed on them. I just unwrapped it and washed it for the first time, it’s barely begun to heal, but looking at it right now makes me feel good. It’s a reminder of him, not the kind that makes me sad (at least not right now) but the kind that reminds me of good times and the bond that I had with him.
A rabbit was never part of the plan for me. I didn’t want a pet and didn’t understand (or take seriously) people who loved animals, the bonds that a human could have with an animal, or the grief a person could experience at the loss of a pet. But I get it now. I loved that rabbit, it was really difficult for me to lose him. I cried for days, before I lost him, because I knew it was coming. And then I cried for days after, and after going a day or two without crying I’d cry again. I still sometimes look for him when I enter a room to make sure I don’t step on him. There are a few pee stains on the carpets but I still haven’t cleaned them. I found a piece of hay under the couch when I was vacuuming the other day, which was an instant reminder.
I’m not completely over this. But I’m trying to get there. Not to the point of forgetting him, I’ll never do that, but to the point where remembering him doesn’t hurt. I think I’m getting there.
I’ve tried attaching photos but Reddit won’t show them for some reason. So here’s an [Imgur](https://imgur.com/a/djMjcQz) link instead!
by Soonerpalmetto88
