House Rabbit Network

Baby Bunnies: Growing Up on Fast Forward

The Sighting

“There’s the head! We’ve got her!” What a welcome exclamation that was after hours of frustration and worry on a rainy August evening.

Earlier that week, an unidentified man had released more than a dozen rabbits to fend for themselves in and around that Andover field. He either did not know or did not care that it is illegal to simply abandon a domestic animal. His callous act would have been an almost certain death sentence for these hapless rabbits if the field hadn’t been adjacent to a Little League ballpark. Each afternoon, just as the game began, the rabbits would emerge from the underbrush along the left field border to munch on grass and weeds for their evening meal. For several days, a posse ofconcerned players, parents and coaches did everything they could to effect a rescue. These wonderful people took in as many of the rabbits as they could catch, but the last few eluded them. Not knowing that the people chasing them were saviors rather than predators, the wary rabbits became better and better at escaping capture. So the Little Leaguers and their families turned to the House Rabbit Network for their knowledge of rabbit behavior and their assistance in rounding up the few animals still fending for themselves.

The Capture

One of the last rabbits had been hiding under a dugout, beyond reach and stubbornly determined to stay there. We knew where she was, but we couldn’t flush her out. Finally, an idea came to me: as a kite enthusiast, I had plenty of line and accessories in my trunk, so I tied an especially flashy tail to a length of line, fed the line under the dugout, and then reeled in the kite tail. It worked! Out popped first the head of a very spooked rabbit, and then the rest of her, right into the enclosure we had set up. And that is how Greta and her babies-to-be came into my life: I decided then and there that I was going to foster this courageous young bunny and find a wonderful new home for her.

We determined on the spot that she was female, and strongly suspected that she was pregnant (as were most of the female rabbits from the Andover rescue). A visit to my veterinarian confirmed the pregnancy. In fact, Greta had a growth on her rear end that worried my vet, so Dr. W. performed an ultrasound to be sure.

I watched in awe as a tiny, perfect spine and several shadowy outlines appeared on the ultrasound monitor. Yes, Greta was indeed pregnant, and to treat her growth would harm the unborn babies. So the growth (which turned out to be benign, thank goodness) as well as Greta’s spay had to wait until after the babies had been born and weaned.

For the first few days after this revelation, my husband and I struggled with the alternating emotions of dismay (there are so many unwanted rabbits, each new one born adds to that terrible problem), excitement and trepidation. After all, rabbits had been part of our lives for over 10 years, but newborn baby bunnies were uncharted territory. Fortunately, others in the group had had experience fostering pregnant females and were able to coach us through the process.

We scrubbed a large, two-story cage and filled it with two boxes of absorbent, nontoxic litter topped with sweet, fragrant hay – one for Greta’s comfort and one we hoped would soon be used as a nest. Greta munched happily away on the hay and wonderful greens we lavished on her. She also enjoyed her time out, exploring the bunny-proofed area we set up for her, safely removed from our other free-range rabbits. And through the cage wires she was able to sniff noses with Matt and Josie, who shared her living quarters on our enclosed back porch.

The Blessed Event

Though gestation for a rabbit is only 28-32 days, and Greta was at least two weeks along when she came to us, the waiting seemed endless. Every day, I’d ask her if she was ready to have those babies yet, and every day she gave me the same blank bunny look. Even after she started pulling fur to line the second box, there were still two days of waiting.

Finally, late on the afternoon of August 15th, I peeked into her cage and saw the tiniest movement in the fur-lined nest box. Greta had very quietly had seven babies while I wasn’t paying attention.

The first step was to count the babies and make sure they were all alive and warm. Then, using a postal scale, my husband and I weighed each one and recorded the results. Every morning and evening we repeated this ritual, gently stroking the babies and telling them what sweet darling things they were. Although they became accustomed to our voices and hands, convincing them to hold still on the scale was a challenge. But it was important to make sure each one was steadily gaining weight. It soon became apparent that two were much smaller than the others, so we gave them extra nursing time with Greta to help them catch up. Greta turned out to be a wonderful mother, never complaining about the untimely extra feedings, and all the babies thrived.

Growing Up

Within days, the biggest babies were beginning to crawl, exploring their surroundings even before their eyes opened. They would wobble and tumble, but each day they became visibly stronger and more adept. And before long, we could see shiny slits as their eyes began to peep open – first the largest two bunnies, and then the others, one by one, started to see the world around them. They also began to look more like real rabbits: their ears, once small and flat against their heads, began to grow long and upright. Their legs started to support their weight. They began to hop and even attempt binkies (that wonderful side-kick motion made by a happy rabbit). OH NO . . . at about three weeks, they started to escape from their nest box!

At first, catching them was a simple matter of paying attention and nabbing the escapees before they could get too far. But it wasn’t long before all seven were running in different directions, and we were too helpless with laughter to chase them. We settled for baby-proofing the area and letting them have their fun. They were almost unbearably cute, and we were utterly smitten. Certain now that all would survive, we began to give them names. We called the largest, a tan-colored cutie, “Pumpernickel.” The smallest, also tan, we named “Piccolo.” So in a spirit of alliteration, we called the remaining five (all of them pure black) “Pepper,” “Pringle,” “Popsicle,” “Peanut” and “Pistachio.”

The babies spent each evening playing in an area bounded by our living room walls and sofa, blocked off by a gate. They spent the remainder of the night back in their cage on the porch where our big bunnies, Matt and Josie, roam free. One morning, we discovered that the cage door had somehow been left open and the babies had escaped. We frantically searched the porch, expecting to see injured babies – or worse! – until my husband noticed that Mattie, far from hurting the little ones, was watching over them, protecting them from our more aggressive adult bunnies. Ever since that morning, he has been their “Uncle Mattie,” and his bunny mate Josie has followed his nurturing lead.

Greta’s Recovery From Childbirth

The change in Greta is dramatic. When we first took her in, we remarked on her beautiful tortoise coloring as well as her rather thin coat. We now think the unusual coloring was due to malnutrition – once the babies were weaned, Greta’s coat filled in and is now a rich, glossy black, full of healthy highlights. Not only has Greta’s physical health improved, she has also gone from a withdrawn, frightened creature to a content and outgoing companion animal, seeking affection from us or stretching luxuriously beneath our (her) coffee table. The waif of early August has become a cherished fixture in our lives.

The Terrible Teens

As any mother knows, babies don’t stay babies. Sooner than we were ready for it, the boys started to become young men. Old enough for raging hormones but still too young to be neutered, they had to be separated from their sisters. HRN provided a huge cage, and it became home for the boys while the girls enjoyed the freedom of the porch. It was a difficult time, rife with misbehavior and redolent of hormone-laced urine spray. Boys will be boys, and we were expecting the onslaught, but it was difficult to live with (and stinky, too!). Still, we were lucky that through all the chasing, spraying and mock battling, there was no serious fighting. Nobody got hurt other than our upholstery.

The day finally came that our boys were old enough to be neutered (the girls would have to wait longer for their spays). We knew it was the kindest, best thing we could do for them, but it also meant saying good-bye forever to their baby days and preparing ourselves to let them go to new homes.

Four successful operations (one each on four bunnies) and a few days of healing later, our boys were already starting to mellow out. Soon, our girls would follow suit, and the whole crew would be primed for adoption.

Big Decisions, Hard Choices

With a house full of our own rabbits, we knew we couldn’t keep all the babies, but we simply couldn’t part with all of them, either. And we were sure it would break Mattie’s heart to lose every one of his little charges. So we adopted Momma Greta, Pumpernickel and Pistachio ourselves. They will spend the rest of their lives right here under the watchful eye of Uncle Mattie and Aunt Josie.

Piccolo also found a wonderful new home. He now shares quarters with his new bunny friends Smokey and Scooby. I cried and cried on the day I delivered him to his adoring new mom. I wonder if he misses us as much as we miss him?

Pringle (a.k.a. Big Red, even though he is pure black) is paired with his brother Peanut, and they are hoping for a new home that will let them romp as they are accustomed to doing. Pepper and her brother Popsicle (a.k.a. Poppy, Master of Mischief) have complementary personalities that will make them a great pair for an adoptive home. And my husband and I, anticipating an empty nest (literally), are talking about taking in sanctuary rabbits – those too old or too ill to be adopted – to fill the hole left by our little darlings.

by Carol Youngclaus