Mr Beezhold, The Rabbit

 

Mr. Beezhold, the rabbit, spent the evening inside on Wednesday night. We were worried. Tuesday night had been chilly—32 degrees at dawn, but he has a cozy hutch and has been out all winter in much colder weather.  When Mark went to let him out for the day, he was crouched in his hutch, shivering and looking miserable.  We rubbed his nose, checked for fever, and lifted him up to the hutch roof for a good look. Miserable, like he had the flu. He was interested enough in life to hop to the edge, so I lifted him down. He ran under the hutch, dug around a bit, and flopped on his side, like someone taking to the couch for the day. Mark left, promising to come home a bit early and check on him again. When I left, he was sitting in the rising sun, nodding off. We were worried.

Mr. Beezhold is an elderly rabbit, at least seven years old. We got him as a stray, a runaway from Newport who had some wounds and was shipped to Corvallis for better care. For a long time, he was skittish and only ate rabbit crunchies, despite having free run of the yard. As he has grown older, he has mellowed and become far friendlier. He will hop up to me when I am working in the garden to have his nose rubbed and he has learned that late afternoon garden work often leads to bunny treats of tender kale leaves. He also knows that the best stuff is in the basket and I have caught him tipping it over and chomping on the cauliflower. He follows Mark’s bike to the gate, hoping to slip out to bunny freedom. He spends hours in the back yard, nibbling on everything and moving from sunny spot to sunny spot, a little miffed if I let the chickens out for a late afternoon run. He has a good life.

When I came home in the afternoon, he was much better. He’d moved to the garden bed covered in bamboo leaves and was sunning himself there. While I talked with Mark, he made a mad dash to another spot in the yard and we laughed.

“It’s going to be chilly again tonight,” Mark worried. “I think we should bring him in.”

I agreed and headed down to the basement for the small animal cage I found by the side of the road one day. It’s in excellent shape—it could easily be used at the county fair this summer. We piled some hay inside, filled a bowl with crunchies, found some greens for a treat, and brought him into the living room. He spent the evening moving straw around, pulling at the bowl with his teeth, and cocking his ears towards our voices. He’s been inside before, when the air quality was really bad or someone was doing loud work in the yard. He is resigned.

The next morning we let him out. He bunned around all day and, when it came time to go in for the night, ran away from me and towards his hutch. He was clearly ready to return to normal. After a few moments, he hopped up into his bedroom and settled in for the night.