I'm sure some of you were wondering how Peter Rabbit got along, and the heartbreaking answer is that he didn't. He died about a week after he came to us. I can not overstate how much his death affected me. He suckled on my finger as I fed him every three hours for a week. Part of me honestly (pathetically?) thought that I could will him to live through the power of love. Well, that didn't work at all. He died, and I spent several days sporadically breaking into debilitating tears that left me stranded in a heap on various patches of carpet all over the house. My family, especially my mom and husband, were very supportive--even if they didn't understand how the death of a creature that had been around only a week could have such an impact on me. With Husband's help, I buried Peter in this planter and planted white and dark purple tulip bulbs over him. I look forward to seeing them in the spring, and knowing that warrens all over the world will be filled with new bunnies that won't end up clinging desperately to life in my living room.
So, yes, I'm sorry. I haven't really been ready to write about Peter's passing until now (though I'm still crying). For those of you who find yourselves in possession of a day old infant rabbit (as we've now estimated Peter couldn't have been over a day or two old when his warren was destroyed)--please do whatever it takes to get the bunny to a professional wildlife rehabilitation specialist. You can't do it on your own. Not even if you pour all the love you have in your heart into the attempt. I promise.