Gizmo Gets Manscaped

When you are owned by a rabbit, grooming activities occur constantly, but seasonally you get a special treat.  At least twice a year in the spring and the fall, your bun is going to shed his coat.  I call it the BIG SHED.  All that luxurious fluffy fur that you have been stroking and snuggling with is going to come out and be replaced by next season's coat.  I've noticed that though Gizmo is mostly a white bun with brown and grey spots, the colored part of his coat will be lighter during the winter and a darker in the summer.  Who knew that bunnies could be so fashionable?

During the Big Shed, I try to pet Gizmo's furry rumpus off at least twice daily to get the loose fur.  This serves two purposes:  one, so that I don't have to run the vacuum cleaner four times a day, and two, so that Giz doesn't ingest a ton of hair.  Rabbit tummies are just not built for that.  They can get hairballs which can be obstructive to their gastrointestinal tract, and that's deadly.  The buns can't hawk up a hairball like a cat does.  I've been told this is how they are built, but I prefer to believe that bunnies are much too sophisticated and polite to spit like a truck driver or barf like a size zero model at an all-you-can-eat buffet. 

Anyone who has encountered me during the Big Shed knows that the big event is happening by the amount of bunny fuzz clinging to my clothes at any given time.  If I forget to use the lint brush on the car seat, I can show up to work in a black suit with a white bottom.  Not joking.  I can walk through the living area, specifically not touch the rabbit (which is almost psychologically impossible), and still have fur on my pant cuffs.  Beware!  The fuzz seeks you out and stealthily attaches itself to any surface!  No matter how much I clean, there is airborne fluff in the house that never seems to touch ground.  In fact there may be fluff circulating from when we first adopted Giz – I wouldn't be surprised. 

Gizmo loves to be petted, so much that I believe he might forgo sleep and toileting (but never food) in order to remain in the petting spot on our couch.  He does not, however, like to be groomed with a brush.  I have literally tried every pet brush out there, and they have all been met with bunny disapproval with a four foot blast radius.  So hand grooming it is.  Luckily there is a trick!  If I dampen my hands with water and then pet him, I get loads of loose fur off and he is none the wiser.

I talk to him during the process.  Good Boy!  Look at all that fur that's not going into Gizmo's tummy!  What a good bunny!  Who's a good bunny?  Gizmo is!  And he still puts up with me, though somewhere the Idiot Switch has been thrown in the vocalization center of my brain.  I babble over cute small animals and babies; it's not a curable condition.

Mystery Man

Gizmo is a mystery man.  He's not tall, or dark, though he's certainly handsome.  He's the quiet type, very deep, a bun of many layers.  He never speaks of his past, and we have few clues to go on. 

A little over a year ago, we lost our Holland Lop Skippy to his second bout of gastrointestinal stasis.  The first bout occurred 3 months before the second, and incurred about a trillion dollars in inpatient vet hospital care.  Unfortunately the second occurrence did not respond to any care.  We were all heartbroken.  I could not stand to go home and see his empty hutch.  My heart had joined the Thousand, for my friend had stopped running today.  To get a handle on my grief, and to get a little fur therapy, I went to the local shelter outreach to do some volunteer petting that afternoon.

Lo and behold, when I arrived at the shelter there were not only cats and dogs, but one rabbit as well.  All that was known about him was that he was found in a field in Bellevue, with a respiratory infection and a few injuries (cuts/scrapes).  He was severely underweight.  To top it off he had a reaction to the antibiotic he was treated with, and had broken out in sores and lost large chunks of his fur.  This was one miserable bun, and to make him even more comfortable, they had neutered him.  Sigh.  I know this was necessary, but it seemed like overkill at the time.

So my first impression of Gizmo was that of a thin, half-bald mini-lop rabbit with healing scabs on his back and sides who was hopping gingerly around his pen.  Amazingly, even after all this trauma and abuse, he was quite friendly.  He allowed me to pick him up and pet him for a long time.  It was love at first pet.  This little guy needed our help!  I knew right away that he was going home with me, and that Skippy would have approved.   

Once tucked away in our home, he began showing signs that he had been a house rabbit in his previous life.  He used a litter box with no encouragement at all.  He seemed happy with his hutch, and knew how to use a water bottle.  He did not chew on the carpet and was mostly respectful of the furniture.  What a good boy! 

He was impatient to show me that he could do a few tricks as well.  When I petted one of his flanks, he would spin around in a circle in that direction a few times.  Then he would look at me expectantly.  When I didn't respond except for delighted laughter, he put his paws on my leg and gave me a meaningful look in the eyes.  Finally (stupid human) I realized that he was expecting a treat for his performance!  I immediately found a bag of golden raisins and gave him one.  He seemed quite satisfied after that. 

I have no idea who would have thrown away such a wonderful bun, but we are so glad he decided to come home with us.  He's our mysterious and talented Gizmo.  He is all healed, and he has healed us. 

Gizmo Loves Breakfast

Welcome to my world!  As you may know, being owned by a pet has its ups and downs.  Mostly ups.  For those who love bunnies, have them or enjoy hearing about them, I will be posting related stories.

Mornings at our house are all about getting organized, fed and dressed for the day, not necessarily in that order.  What's the most important meal of the day?  Breakfast, of course.  Who can live without breakfast?  Not I, and not Gizmo.

Rabbits are crepuscular, meaning that they are most active in the morning and evening.  You can think of these active periods as rabbit happy-hours.  In the wild, they would be creeping softly from their warm burrows, sniffing and listening for danger, munching down on whatever tasty vegetation they could find.  Gizmo is a house rabbit with a nighttime hutch and free roam of the downstairs family room during the day, but he still observes the rabbit niceties.  He is up at first light, impatiently pacing until breakfast is served by the goofy oversleeping house-people he lives with. 

His sensitive bunny ears first detect feet hitting the hardwood floor in our 50 year old house, then the creaking and popping of movement upstairs, the flush of a toilet, the thumping of drawers being opened and closed.  He is quivering with anticipation.  Then he hears the fwump, fwump of me coming down the stairs in bare feet.  Aha!  It is time!  Bring on the chow!

I unlatch his door and attach his access ramp so he can roam around.  He does not immediately spring for the door however.  He knows what is coming.  I fill a small scoop with rabbit pellets while Gizmo sits up and practically dances on his hind legs.  Hurry up!!! He seems to be saying.  As I bend in to fill his bowl, he practically shoves me out of the way with his fuzzy head.  Okay, okay already!  Once Giz has his head in the pellets, nothing will move him short of a nuclear blast.  I can pet him, tickle him, groom him... he will not budge. That boy knows how to commit. 

After a few minutes of petting, I drag myself back upstairs to get everyone else ready for the day.  By the time I get back downstairs 30 minutes later, all the pellets are gone, and Giz is sprawled out on the floor in bunny digestion ecstasy.  This is much like watching your fat Uncle Pete after Thanksgiving Dinner, discretely unfastening his belt and the top button of his pants while watching football on the couch.  If rabbits could burp (they can't), I'm sure I would hear him give the prolonged belch of a seasoned frat boy.  He eyes me with affection, allows a few more pets in the sprawled out mode and twitches his paws.  To quote Charlie Brown, he's very satisfying to cook for.