iShiznitch
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- Sep 14, 2011
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I never knew how aptly I named Indy until approximately 1 minute and 35 seconds ago. That is, of course, reliant on the idea that "Indy" and "Indie" are of the same meaning, and simply shows that I am an inadequate speller.
Further looking into the definition reveals that I am actually completely wrong as well, as Indy is neither a pop group nor an independent movie, and I have successfully (although unintentionally) wasted a good 30s to a minute of your life, depending on your personal rate of word-readage.
Don't run away yet! I promise to get somewhere.
I suppose I should begin at the beginning. While I am relatively new to rabbits, I have owned rabbits in the past. 2 Dutch rabbits ran free on our property when I was a tiny child, and they were not friendly in the least. All things considered, they lived surprisingly long lives. Unfortunately, I do not remember a lot of their time with our family, but I do have recollections of gazing out the window and seeing a little black and white figure idly grazing in the yard. Not an ideal situation, as I know now - but one that did actually work quite well in the end.
More immediately relevant is Finnigan I honestly cannot remember how I came across Finnigan, or when my interest in rabbits began. I was 100% a dog person before this past summer, and owning a rabbit was not very high on my to-do list (although to be fair, owning and rescuing animals is a lot higher of a priority to me than other, more functional past-times).
Finnigan was owned by a âbreederâ and located in a small, privately owned pet-store that was advertised on Kijiji. It was love at first sight. For me, anyways. In all actuality he was a rabbit returned to the store because he had an attitude. And boy, did he have an attitude.
There's an entire novel hidden in the few weeks that Finny and I were together, but one day I brought him in to a vet (I had extensively researched) to be neutered and he never came home. Figuratively, that is. It was not a pleasant time for me. I did not look into it too deeply, but I was told that it was likely a blood clot - he had actually made it through the surgery just fine, woken up and eaten, only to be gone 15min later.
(R.I.P Finny </3)
He was a handsome *******.
A little down the road, in an effort to cheer me up, my mother brought me out to lunch in a nearby town and "somehow" we ended up at the nearby humane society. It may come as a shock, but playing with puppies is excellent therapy as long as you're not deathly allergic. It was here though, that I got captivated by a giant caterpillar.
Enter Indigo.
I desperately wish I had taken a photo of what Indy looked like in her XPen at the shelter, because "Fuzzy Caterpillar" does not even begin to describe it. Her favourite hideout did not fit her long body, but that's okay, because she couldn't see us and that was good enough for her.
That was Wednesday.
Thursday afternoon was Indy's first day in her new home, and the first steps in the TOTAL DOMINATION OF MY BEDROOM.
(I promise once I get everything I've missed in the past 2 months out of the way this will be less of a novel and more of a picture book)
Further looking into the definition reveals that I am actually completely wrong as well, as Indy is neither a pop group nor an independent movie, and I have successfully (although unintentionally) wasted a good 30s to a minute of your life, depending on your personal rate of word-readage.
Don't run away yet! I promise to get somewhere.
I suppose I should begin at the beginning. While I am relatively new to rabbits, I have owned rabbits in the past. 2 Dutch rabbits ran free on our property when I was a tiny child, and they were not friendly in the least. All things considered, they lived surprisingly long lives. Unfortunately, I do not remember a lot of their time with our family, but I do have recollections of gazing out the window and seeing a little black and white figure idly grazing in the yard. Not an ideal situation, as I know now - but one that did actually work quite well in the end.
More immediately relevant is Finnigan I honestly cannot remember how I came across Finnigan, or when my interest in rabbits began. I was 100% a dog person before this past summer, and owning a rabbit was not very high on my to-do list (although to be fair, owning and rescuing animals is a lot higher of a priority to me than other, more functional past-times).
Finnigan was owned by a âbreederâ and located in a small, privately owned pet-store that was advertised on Kijiji. It was love at first sight. For me, anyways. In all actuality he was a rabbit returned to the store because he had an attitude. And boy, did he have an attitude.
There's an entire novel hidden in the few weeks that Finny and I were together, but one day I brought him in to a vet (I had extensively researched) to be neutered and he never came home. Figuratively, that is. It was not a pleasant time for me. I did not look into it too deeply, but I was told that it was likely a blood clot - he had actually made it through the surgery just fine, woken up and eaten, only to be gone 15min later.
(R.I.P Finny </3)
He was a handsome *******.
A little down the road, in an effort to cheer me up, my mother brought me out to lunch in a nearby town and "somehow" we ended up at the nearby humane society. It may come as a shock, but playing with puppies is excellent therapy as long as you're not deathly allergic. It was here though, that I got captivated by a giant caterpillar.
Enter Indigo.
I desperately wish I had taken a photo of what Indy looked like in her XPen at the shelter, because "Fuzzy Caterpillar" does not even begin to describe it. Her favourite hideout did not fit her long body, but that's okay, because she couldn't see us and that was good enough for her.
That was Wednesday.
Thursday afternoon was Indy's first day in her new home, and the first steps in the TOTAL DOMINATION OF MY BEDROOM.
(I promise once I get everything I've missed in the past 2 months out of the way this will be less of a novel and more of a picture book)
