pet connection

I’ve been kicking myself all week over Turbo’s death. The facts: He ate fine on the morning of the Fourth of July; all rabbits seemed normal. By late afternoon he was was quiet, by himself and not eating. I checked him over, found nothing. (But of course, I’m not veterinarian.) Decided I would take him in the next day to Dr. Bill, especially since the two young retrievers had appointments anyway.

The next morning, Turbo was stone cold dead. Now, I’m not sure anything I would have done could have changed anything. Not that much is known about rabbit medicine by the general veterinary population, and I’m not sure how up on rabbit med the ER vet would have been. My regular veterinarian, the truly wonderful Dr. Bill, has an interest in rabbits — "They’re like small horses, in many ways," he says. — and I figured waiting for him was the best option.

I’ll never know. And although my sadness on losing Turbo isn’t like the screaming grief I feel when one of the dogs dies, I have been down about it all week. A lot of it is because of the "what ifs?" and feeling like I let the little guy down. The rest is that Turbo was my favorite rabbit, without a doubt.

He had a fabulous backstory, turned in to the SPCA after he’d hopped up to a person in the street. He’d been a throwaway, apparently, and he would have been euthanized shortly after his arrival at the shelter because his skin was so bad that no one would have adopted him. But his personality was so friendly and inquisitive that the humane officer took him home to foster. Because his skin was coming off in big flakey chunks, she named him "Flakes." He was with her for months, recovering.

I saw "Flakes" two summers ago, when he was cured and up for adoption. I was at the shelter helping a friend adopt a dog, and fell in love with the adorable lop-eared hard-luck story. I renamed him Turbo.

Turbo was an only rabbit for quite a while. He was fastidious about his litter box, and non-destructive. He loved to sit next to me on the couch and watch TV. The dogs ignored him, and vice versa. One time, Ben (now also gone) was asleep in the doorway of the room with Turbo’s litter box, and Turbo very obviously needed to go. The rabbit was trying to work this out, sitting up on his haunches to look over the sleeping dog, and then bringing his front paws down again, ears twitching.

I was just about ready to call Ben to me so Turbo could get by when Turbo jumped over the sleeping dog and hustled into his litter box. How many bunnies have the courage to jump over a sleeping "wolf"? I can’t imagine there are many.

Last summer, I decided Turbo would like some bunny company, so I took him to the SPCA to play Rabbit Dating Game. After a few mis-matches, he chose the one I liked least, a plain white bunny with pink eyes who’d come from a mass breeding operation. I named her Annie, after my friend Ann the runner. Annie loved Turbo, but she will never be fond of me or any human. She just doesn’t trust us, and if you were a meat rabbit, you’d probably feel the same.

Velocity joined the group a few days after Christmas, handed to me in the parking lot at Petsmart by a sobbing young girl. Velocity is far friendlier than Annie, and much the cutest.  A nice rabbit, but not a special one like Turbo.

So … there you have it. I miss Turbo, and I can’t get over the feeling that if I’d taken him to the emergency clinic on the Fourth of July I might still have him. Velocity and Annie are fine, so for all I know it was Turbo’s time. But for all I know, if I’d take him that night I’d still have him.

I miss that rabbit, really I do.

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