My rabbit died today. She was just about to turn one.
She was, special. in more ways than one. We rescued her when she was about 6 weeks old and she had a broken leg. as she got bigger we noticed she was acting a bit strange and soon figured she wasnt all there in the head. still, she was ours.
Everytime you opened her caged door her head would follow it out looking for love. you could never fill her food bowl on a night because her head would be stuck in it wanting you to stroke her. she had her moody times when shed try and take a finger or at least a large chunk of whatever was coming into her cage, but all the love she gave made up for that. She was always up for a cuddle, once you'd caught her.
We have only had her for a short time, but it was one of the best times. she always had mud on her face from her holes in the garden that she kept digging, with that "i didnt do it" gaze. when we introduced her to my guinea pigs she was convinced they were her babies.
She was the little bumpkin, the silly sausage, the little monster, the cutesypoo, the steam train, the roundabout and company for our other older male rabbit. She was Alice. And even though she was just a rabbit, with us for less than a year, she will always be our Alice.