Those who know me know that I’m a strong advocate for animals. I’m not freaky about it, but it’s a subject very close to my heart. I’ve adopted many rescued animals in the last few years, including several house rabbits. Recently I helped a shelter by taking in a trio of bonded house rabbits to foster. They have their own room, plenty of toys, and lots to eat. We enjoyed them so much we planned to adopt them in a few months.
Last night I lost one of the foster bunnies to sludge. I won’t describe that particular ailment here, but if you’re interested in house rabbits, please look it up. In short, the animal can really suffer. We realized during surgery that Chris had too much damage and would not survive recovery. I was devastated. As we left the vet without him, I realized through my tears it had been quite some time since I’d experienced the loss of an animal—seventh grade—and I remembered distinctly why I hadn’t adopted another animal for at least twenty years. At one point during that ride home, I actually got angry that I did this to myself again, that I’d put myself in a position for loss and heartbreak. It’s impossible to focus on anything today except that little white bunny. I’m torturing myself with thoughts of things I could have done differently, even though the vet said we did everything in the proper order. I find it odd that death doesn’t seem to have much of an impact on me except when I experience it with an animal. Maybe it’s because our pets are our babies. I know Chris was mine.
Short story long, I had several topics in mind to blog about but none that seem important today. I’m at a loss as to how to mesh this experience with writing. Except that maybe the next time I experience rejection, that loss, I would do better to focus on everything that came before it, the enjoyment I had in writing the book. I think it’s the only way to keep moving forward.