Pipp
Well-Known Member
Pipp is my bonded mate. We're like an old married couple, I love her so much.
But Dill was my passion -- like atorrid affair on the side. I felt guilty, but as much as I loved (and still love) Pipp, Dill was my heart bunny. He was incredibly special in ways too hard to put into words.
You had to be there.
I don't know anybody who knows me and the upwards of 20bunnies who have lived here -- from every single roommate to Georgethe homeless schizophrenic -- who didn't notice how specialDill was. (George found him so special, he took off with him). He was everybody's favourite. He even won over the neighbourhoodbunny haters.
He was anything but sweet and cuddly -- he'd nip you if you didn't behave. He'd explode when held. He didn't understand why humans wore clothes and would try and dig or pull them off of you. He was the most opinionated bunny ever. Nobunny gave youthe bunny flick-off like Dill. But through all this he was unflaggingly cheerful.
And appreciative. He never forgot his roots. He was a house bunny before I knew him, but his guardian abandoned him -- which I find absolutely stunning. He spend a year or two years in a tiny, rustybare wire cage in a dark, unheated shed with no hay, no toys, not even a food dish to throw around -- just a metal feeding tray and a water bottle.
When he came to my place, he was in seventh heaven, and he never took anything for granted. He never grew tired of thelong nose rubs -- I had planned on gettingmy new room mate to help me get a good video of the look of utter ecstasy on his face. Again, it's hard to describe. You had to be there. It's gutwrenching I didn't get the chance.
I was so jealous when Sherry bonded with him. I didn't like her much, but she came into her own with Dill's guidance. He wasn't her mate as much as she was his 'pet rabbit'. We always thought Dill was a midget ina bunny suit.
I didn't take thesuit off of him last night, though.
Dill would ALWAYS come when he was called, right away. If you called Sherry, he'd pay no mind -- unless he thought hecould grab something from her mouth-- so it wasn't the tone he responded to, it was the words. Others in building thought I was over-reacting when I panicked after calling him once or twice and not getting a response. "He's either sick or lost, trust me," Isaid. I found him deep in his 'I don't feel well' spot.
He never took pain and illness well. He'd look like he was dying when he had a gas attack. (He was an adventurous bunny, he'd eat things he shouldn't have). I think he willed himself to die when the pain or dizziness in his head that caused his oh-so-slight tilt lasted more than a few hours. I asked him to hang on, but no. he always made up his own mind.
I had envisioned his death many times in my head, probablypreparing for my worst nightmare. He looked like I thought he would when the end was close. I declined the offer to view his body. I had seen it too many times in my head. I wanted to remember him more full of life than any living creature I had ever known.
I loved my baby Dill.
I'm going to miss him so very very much.
sas :sad:
But Dill was my passion -- like atorrid affair on the side. I felt guilty, but as much as I loved (and still love) Pipp, Dill was my heart bunny. He was incredibly special in ways too hard to put into words.
You had to be there.
I don't know anybody who knows me and the upwards of 20bunnies who have lived here -- from every single roommate to Georgethe homeless schizophrenic -- who didn't notice how specialDill was. (George found him so special, he took off with him). He was everybody's favourite. He even won over the neighbourhoodbunny haters.
He was anything but sweet and cuddly -- he'd nip you if you didn't behave. He'd explode when held. He didn't understand why humans wore clothes and would try and dig or pull them off of you. He was the most opinionated bunny ever. Nobunny gave youthe bunny flick-off like Dill. But through all this he was unflaggingly cheerful.
And appreciative. He never forgot his roots. He was a house bunny before I knew him, but his guardian abandoned him -- which I find absolutely stunning. He spend a year or two years in a tiny, rustybare wire cage in a dark, unheated shed with no hay, no toys, not even a food dish to throw around -- just a metal feeding tray and a water bottle.
When he came to my place, he was in seventh heaven, and he never took anything for granted. He never grew tired of thelong nose rubs -- I had planned on gettingmy new room mate to help me get a good video of the look of utter ecstasy on his face. Again, it's hard to describe. You had to be there. It's gutwrenching I didn't get the chance.
I was so jealous when Sherry bonded with him. I didn't like her much, but she came into her own with Dill's guidance. He wasn't her mate as much as she was his 'pet rabbit'. We always thought Dill was a midget ina bunny suit.
I didn't take thesuit off of him last night, though.
Dill would ALWAYS come when he was called, right away. If you called Sherry, he'd pay no mind -- unless he thought hecould grab something from her mouth-- so it wasn't the tone he responded to, it was the words. Others in building thought I was over-reacting when I panicked after calling him once or twice and not getting a response. "He's either sick or lost, trust me," Isaid. I found him deep in his 'I don't feel well' spot.
He never took pain and illness well. He'd look like he was dying when he had a gas attack. (He was an adventurous bunny, he'd eat things he shouldn't have). I think he willed himself to die when the pain or dizziness in his head that caused his oh-so-slight tilt lasted more than a few hours. I asked him to hang on, but no. he always made up his own mind.
I had envisioned his death many times in my head, probablypreparing for my worst nightmare. He looked like I thought he would when the end was close. I declined the offer to view his body. I had seen it too many times in my head. I wanted to remember him more full of life than any living creature I had ever known.
I loved my baby Dill.
I'm going to miss him so very very much.
sas :sad:
ink iris:
