Just over two weeks ago we went to an RSPCA rescue centre in Stockport and picked up Dermot, an agouti Dwarf Lop rabbit.
On Saturday 30th May, at roughly 2pm, almost exactly two weeks after we picked him up, Dermot died at home.
Just writing those words really upsets me.
I have never had a non-aquatic pet before and as much as I like keeping fish and look after them the best I can they're not particularly interactive or loveable. Dermot was my introduction to pets you can genuinely love.
And I fell in love with Dermot straight away: he was affectionate from the off, loving nothing better than sitting beside you while you stroked him or combed him with a brush (he was moulting heavily). He had little mannerisms which are probably common in rabbits but as a new owner they really touched me. For instance, we gave him water from a bowl - instead of a bottle hung up from his pen - and he'd make a gorgeous little squeak every time he swallowed some water. Or he'd purr softly while you stroked him. There are many I could list, so many we discovered in just two weeks.
I'd always assumed that rabbits lived a maximum 5 years and as Dermot was already 18 months old I spent the first week of ownership worrying that we'd only have him a few short years. So completely had I fallen in love with him that I was already fretting about a horrible day 3+ years down the line where I'd have to say bye to him. It was only through reading online, and talking to people who owned rabbits, that I found out he could live 10-12 years if we looked after him correctly. So, that worry started to drift away. I didn't know the upset that awaited.
Dermot had a large dog pen at the back of the living room but he didn't appear to like it, wanting to get out at every opportunity, either to lie down in his favourite place under the table, or to sit on the sofa if either me or Hannah was home. We wondered if he wanted some shelter in his pen so I bought him a little wooden house for it and he spent large parts of Wednesday and Thursday in his new house. Even though - as new owners - we didn't think anything was wrong with this, looking back now we can see maybe clues that Dermot wasn't well. He still ate his veggie treats in the evening but whereas before he spent all day demolishing his hay rack, now he only visited it occasionally.
On Thursday evening we took him to our new rabbit-savvy vet for an MOT and to learn how to pick him up properly. When the vet told us Dermot should leave 100-150 rabbit droppings a day I became a bit concerned because that number had started to drop off slightly. This quickly came to a head on Friday morning when we realised he'd stopped pooing altogether. He was still eating (though hay interest had dropped even further) but nothing was coming out of the other end.
We rushed him back to the vet where he was diagnosed with the dreaded GI Stasis, an illness that kills many rabbits. We spent all day with Dermot giving him his medication, plenty of his favourite leaves from the garden and lots of TLC. And at about 9pm he started to pass waste again. We were overjoyed.
On Saturday morning he seemed to be back to his old self, hopping around the living room, jumping on the sofa and trying to get into the kitchen. It was only when we noticed that he had a problem with his left eyelid that we took him back to the vet. I actually wasn't overly concerned for once but there was something the vet didn't like about Dermot's posture and he gave us some anti-parasite medication for a notorious rabbit infection known as E. cuniculi, or EC for short.
We took Dermot home and he spent the next 30 minutes drinking. After that though he sat quietly, disinterested in us and for the first time refusing food of any sort. We thought he was sulking about the vet visit and maybe the various different meds he'd been given.
At about 2pm he started to tilt severely - a known symptom of EC - and struggling to have balance when standing. Withing minutes he had a fit and died in our arms.
I didn't want this blog to be about his death, I wanted to let people know he'd died and also that he meant a great deal to us, but I think writing it down and talking about it is a way of coping, of processing what is a series of bad memories.
Anyway, his post-mortem yesterday revealed a severe infestation of EC, with major kidney damage from it. In most cases deterioration is slow and can maybe be managed. The shocking thing for the vet was the swiftness of it, how quickly it took hold and killed my little boy.
The vet said there was nothing we could do, the kidney damage was long-standing, and the only solace we can take from it is that if the EC hadn't killed him, the kidney damage would have. Dermot was rescued from a house with 14 rabbits living in squalor and it seems he contracted EC there (it is passed through rabbit urine).
We always wanted a rescue rabbit rather than one bought from a shop. Approximately 60,000 rabbits are abandoned and rescued every year and to buy one from a shop when there are so many lonely rabbits wanting a home seems cruel. Also, one other bonus is that on the RSPCA website you get a biography of each rabbit, giving you a clue as to their personality. It was this that drew us to Dermot. The RSPCA staff called themselves "smitten" with him and described Dermot as "a lovely boy". They all loved him, this came across in every discussion we had with them. They described him as "a rare gem".
In the grief of losing someone we'd fallen so quickly in love with there was this feeling of guilt, both that we'd somehow contributed to the death but also with this feeling that we'd let down all those other people who loved him. The vet advised us to tell them about the EC as the other rabbits rescued from the same house may be carriers but it was upsetting for Hannah to hear their shock and dismay at what happened.
It seems it isn't our fault and it's touching that so many people have said to us that it's great that Dermot got to spend his last two weeks with us, rather than dying in a rescue centre. This is a comfort and I thank everyone who has told us that, especially when it comes from the vet and the RSPCA people who knew him and know about the horror that is EC. My guilty feelings have dropped hearing others say there was absolutely nothing we could have done, though being the person I am I've tormented myself with the thought that any stresses of moving to a new home maybe accelerated his illness. Everyone else says this isn't the case.
I feel angry at the injustice of it all. Dermot was indeed a rare gem, he deserved to live till he was 10-12, with owners who'd care for him and spoil him rotten - as long as all treats were healthy. It just seems horrifically unfair that such a lovely lad would only get 18 months of life and only 2 weeks of strokes, of cuddles and of throwing tubes of hay around to get at the tasty veg inside. How is that fair?
Most of all though I just miss the guy I called 'my baby boy'. I miss seeing him sunning himself when I'd get in from work, looking like the most relaxed animal in the whole world. I miss the squeak he made when he drank water. I miss him trying to get on the table to investigate Hannah's drink, his adorable and inquisitive face trying to discover the secret of Fanta. I miss him staring at me while I led on the sofa watching telly. I miss so many things.
On Wednesday I decided for some reason to watch Hot Fuzz. Dermot came and sat next to me. He didn't just park himself on the sofa, he ensured he was as close to me as possible, shuffling himself along so he was buried in right beside me. I spent the next two hours stroking his head. When I went to bed later he stared at me from his pen and I felt a genuine love for the guy, at the start of what I thought would be a very long friendship.
I hope that Wednesday evening one day becomes a happy memory because right now it breaks my heart. Breaks it like nothing else before.
(I was going to put some pictures of him on here and maybe one of the keepsakes we've kept: his water bowl, his brush and a clump of his fur. But it's too raw right now, it hurts me to look at pictures and his things. I have to close the door of the room where those keepsakes are kept. Hopefully sometime soon it won't hurt so much and I can share them)
