The Adventures of Tiny R
A Bunny's Tale
Att-choo!!!!
The first time I heard the noise I didn't know what it was or where it was coming from. Then I heard it again. It was coming from Tiny R. It sounded like a little cough or a sneeze.
"Oh, no," I thought! "Tiny R is getting sick!"
My attention was immediately riveted on Tiny R. He was sitting on the fireplace hearth, one of his favorite hangouts. I decided to watch him for a few minutes to see if I could spot any symptoms that I needed to report to the vet.
But as I watched Tiny R, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary except for the "cough". He was sitting up on his hind legs like a squirrel and everytime he had to sneeze, he first put his two little front paws over his face.
"My goodness," I thought. "He's covering his mouth before he coughs. What a polite, health-conscious little animal."
Coming from a health-care background, I was quite impressed with Tiny R's obvious attempt to keep his germs from spreading. He was handling the situation a lot better than a lot of humans I've been around.
But then I noticed something else. After each cough, Tiny R either grabbed one of his ears and started stroking it or else he began rubbing his face. Tiny R wasn't sick. He was just grooming himself. He was giving himself a spitbath.
After I realized that Tiny R wasn't sick, I relaxed and sat back to watch. He continued to spit on his front paws and carefully wash his whole face and both ears. His ears were the most fun. Tiny R is a lop so both his ears hang down where they are easy to reach.
Tiny R always washes his ears using the following technique. First he spits on his paws. Then he grabs the ear at the base near his head with both paws. Tilting his head to the side, he slides his paws down the whole ear to the tip. He repeats the routine until his ear is cleaned to his satisfaction.
Watching Tiny R clean his ears always makes me smile. Because every time his pulls on one ear, the other ear pops up. It's like watching a seesaw. One ear goes down and the other one goes up. It's obvious that there is some sort of muscular connection on top of his little head. Whatever it is, it's funny to watch.
Tiny R's Imaginary Playmate Tiny R is an "only rabbit". Of course there's no way of knowing for sure, but he doesn't seem to be lonely. I have a suspicion that he thinks he's one of us.
When he's feeling really frisky, he makes up games. And the way he races around, jumps, dodges and does his little happy kicks, I think he also has an imaginary rabbit friend.
I'll have to admit, I just love watching Tiny R at play. It makes me feel like a kid again just basking in the exuberance he radiates. We give him a good home and he makes us feel young. How can you possibly beat a deal like that?
Playing sneaky games comes naturally to Tiny R. He's already wearing a solid black furry ninja suit so he has the perfect disguise for covert activities. And when he's out running around the living room, you can tell that he's acting out make-believe scenerios. He ducks down behind things, peeks out, makes dashes across the room doing spectacular leaps and kicks as if evading some sort of monster. Then he dashes behind something and hunkers down for a minute until the imaginary enemy/playmate has moved on. After he's sure the coast is clear, Tiny R bursts out from his hideout and the frolic is on again.
It has become quite obvious that Tiny R loves an audience. He always seems to wait until he's sure we are watching him before putting on his biggest performances. Do you get the idea that he's a show-off? If so, you'd be right!
The Loss of a Dear Friend Although Tiny R doesn't have any rabbit companions, up until a few weeks ago he did have a good canine pal. Chamois, our elderly female yellow lab, became as close a friend to Tiny R as I would ever expect a dog and rabbit to be. But Chamois' health had been failing steadily over the last year and finally the time came we all dreaded. The time to say goodbye to a good and faithful old friend.
Chamois was part of our family for almost 11 years. She was an excellent dog. English was her second language. And she brought the paper in every morning, even the huge Sunday edition with all the ads. Sometimes she couldn't get her mouth around the paper so she would grab one corner and drag it in. She loved to play in the water, her second most favorite activity. The only thing that could beat the water was riding in the pickup. She'd leap three feet off the ground, bouncing like a yellow-furred ball when you shook the keys and asked, "Chamois, do you want to go for a ride in the truck?" Going for rides was the highlight of her life. Just use the words "go" or "truck" in a regular conversation and she'd immediately snap to life, do her bouncing act and then head for the front door. Quite an old gal, that Chamois dog.
I still glance in Eric's room when I pass by during the day, expecting to see Chamois curled up taking a nap on the carpet. I feel a little stab in my heart when I see she's not there.
Does Tiny R miss her? I don't know. I don't see any indication that Tiny R is even aware that Chamois isn't around anymore. But I know that Tiny R will never have that kind of relationship with a dog again.
Without getting sappy about it, Chamois was the most tuned-in dog I've ever known. She relished her position as one of the leaders in our multi-mammal family pack. But she understood her position in the pack hierarchy and never challenged Eric or me. We were the leaders and she was second in command. Although she clearly dominated the other canine and feline members, she was a gentle, compassionate dog. And extremely smart.
Chamois' relationship with Tiny R was almost too good to believe. I never expected it to turn out that way but I underestimated Chamois. When Tiny R came to live with us, we took the time to include Chamois right from the start. Made "formal introductions", so to speak. Chamois always was a stickler for protocol. We made it plain to Chamois that Tiny R was one of the family and that we expected her to "be nice" to him. She already knew the term "be nice" so she caught on fairly quickly. Little by little she earned our trust around Tiny R.
Chamois never tried to hurt or intimidate Tiny R in any way. The only time she even got after him was the time he scratched her stomach with his sharp claws while he was trying to get her to play with him. And even then, all she did was give him a warning growl. Tiny R got the hint and never tried it again.
During this last year, I had absolutely no worry about letting Tiny R out to romp around while Chamois was in the same room. Tiny R had no fear of her. On rare occasions Tiny R would stretch his neck up and touch his nose to Chamois' nose. Just for an instant and then his basic rabbit survival instinct would kick in. He would hop away a few feet, turn and look to see how Chamois was reacting to his little overture. Chamois always accepted his gesture of friendship with the dignity of an old dowager.
It wasn't unusual to see Tiny R and Chamois sitting side by side on the carpet. Not like rabbits, all snuggled up. But like two old friends, just sharing some quiet time.
And when Chamois was lying down, Tiny R often played with her tail. He nudged it to make it move. Chamois would wag it. Sometimes Tiny R made a game out of jumping over her tail.
Chamois never got mad. If Chamois tired of the game, she just got up and walked away and found another, quieter place to take a nap.
Chamois eventually became Tiny R's protector. This became apparent when we allowed the two male dogs, Rags and Shovel, to spend the winter inside. Tiny R's romp time was restricted to the time that Rags and Shovel were put outside to exercise or take care of personal business.
Even though Tiny R wasn't allowed out of his cage when "the boys" were inside, Chamois kept an eye open for trouble. And when the male dogs were in the house, Chamois got in the habit of taking her naps in front of Tiny R's cage door. Nothing was going to happen to Tiny R while she was on duty.
Well, Chamois is gone now. Her rapidly increasing health problems were seriously affecting her ability to enjoy life. And when aspirin no longer took away the pain and she did not have the will to wag her tail when Eric shook the keys to let her know we were going to take her for a ride, we knew that the time had come to put her needs ahead of our own.
We buried Chamois out in the back alongside two of her old friends, Mandy and Shadow, who had gone on before her. Though we kept Rags and Shovel in the house during the burial, they knew something was wrong. They kept hovering around our legs and gazing up into our eyes when we came back inside. It was the only way they had of asking. But I think they already knew the answer to their question.
Our lives are different now. Even Tiny R's. We've all lost a very dear and loyal friend.
The Bunny Cave Tiny R has a playhouse. Not an ordinary kind of playhouse that little kids would play in. And not anything like a doll house. Tiny R's playhouse is nothing more than a plastic newspaper recycling crate turned upside down. And he loves it.
I got the idea of using the plastic recycling container during the period when Tiny R was trying to build a hide-out under the sofa. I really wouldn't have minded him playing under the sofa if it wasn't an absolute certainty that he would manage to destroy something. You'd think that a rabbit under a couch would be a silly thing to worry about. But that's where you'd be wrong. Especially if you knew Tiny R.
Before Tiny R got his playhouse, he did his best to sneak under the sofa. It was dark and private. And if he had just sat under there and minded his p's and q's, I wouldn't have had any objection. But, no. Tiny R is as active and as curious as a two year old. Everything has to be explored, sniffed and poked with his nose. Then, and this is what always gets him into trouble, he has to chew, shred and dig. Tiny R's sharp little claws would have had the inside of the sofa sliced and ripped up in no time. And what he can do with his teeth is beyond belief. So, if my sofa was to survive, it was up to me to provide a diversion. That's when I spotted the recycling crate.
It was perfect. Made out of heavy plastic, the crate was almost indestructible. And, here is the best part, one side of the top edge had a 4 inch dip/depression/slot or whatever you want to call it. When I turned the crate upside down, the slot looked like the entrance to a cave. When he found the slot, Tiny R could not resist checking it out.
Tiny R hopped back and forth in front of the crate. He was visibly excited. Tiny R dipped his head down and peered into the crate. Being a very smart bunny, he didn't rush through the opening until he had checked it out thoroughly. He has a very well-developed sense of self-preservation.
Finally, after inspecting the crate from every direction, Tiny R decided it was safe to venture inside. The front half of his body went through the opening just fine. But when it came to his furry little rump, he had to scrunch down and flatten it out as much as possible before the back half could make it through. After Tiny R made it inside, he was very pleased with himself. You could tell that he thought he was One Cool Rabbit!
I had placed the crate on the fireplace hearth and not the carpet. I figured that building a bunny cave on top of the carpet would be a very stupid move. If Tiny R wants to dig, what better place to do it than on the rough bricks of the hearth. That way the carpet is spared and Tiny R's toenails get filed at the same time. One of those rare win-win situations.
Sometimes I put a section of the newspaper inside the crate for him to shred. Other times I put an old towel inside. Tiny R likes to dig and roll the towel up and finally push it over to the entrance slot and either push it out or use it as a plug so I can't see him very well. Sort of like closing the door.
Tiny R loves his bunny cave/playhouse. Every time I bring the crate in for him to play with, (usually on Thursdays after the recycling truck makes its rounds) Tiny R makes a bee-line for it. At first he goes in and out, in and out, until he gets tired. Then he settles in and spends time inside the crate just fussing around, digging, shredding paper, napping or sitting quietly inside, spying on us through the little diamond-shaped openings on the sides of the crate. A little black fluff ball with big black eyes. Watching and listening. And probably plotting his next escapade. I'd like to know what Tiny R thinks about while he's hanging around inside his bunny cave. If only those blue plastic walls could talk!
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