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Ginger – a eulogy

June 20, 2012

I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on Ginger.  She was small and emaciated from being abandoned at a shelter but she was still the biggest bunny I’ve ever seen.  I liked her because she was big but I loved her because she was Ginger.  She was Ginger in the way that on her first day with me and in her new surrounding, she did a big belly flop and laid right down as if that had always been her home.  She was Ginger in the way that she would run to you every time she saw you because she wanted to say hi and then immediately demand cheek rubs.  She was so Ginger in the way that she was nothing like a bunny and even more human than a dog.

She was not my first rabbit but she was surely my favorite.  I know you’re not suppose to say that about your children but she was my favorite.  And she was my child in every sense of the word.  I might not have given birth to her but Joey and I gave her a home and a life she would’ve missed out on had she been killed at that shelter.  When she was sick, we took her to the doctor and gave her medication.  When she needed to be cared for, we took her to get her teeth trimmed every 4 months.  When was was untidy, we would yell at her and groom her.  And when I was sad, I would hold her and she would just let me hold her.  And when she needed me to know when it was time for her to go, I was there with her, holding her to let her know she was loved.  She was loved.

I remember trying to litter box train her so many times and even though I know she caught on, she just simply refused to go where I wanted her to go.  But that was Ginger and that was OK.  I remember having to take her to get her teeth trimmed, 45 minutes away every 4 months and then having to pick her up after work during rush hour.  But she was Ginger and it was OK.  I remember the weeks it took to bond her with her soul mate, Juju.  How they didn’t get along to begin with and eventually they became inseparable.  I remember yelling at her all the time when she bullied Juju because he was smaller.  But that was just Ginger and it was OK.

I am so thankful to Emily for rescuing her in that kill shelter 4 years ago.  Without that act of kindness, Ginger would’ve never known the great life that awaited her and that she enjoyed with us these past 4 years.  And without that act of kindness, I would’ve known a little less love.

I was once told that there’s a word in the English language – orphan-  for a child who loses their parents because it’s natural for a child to survive their parents.  There is no world in the English language for a parent who loses their child because the thought is too horrible to bear.  Ginger was every bit my child.  She was a part of my routine, my life, my heart.  I miss her and I will miss her.  I will see her on the other side of the rainbow bridge.

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3 Comments leave one →
  1. June 21, 2012 1:05 pm

    Gabriel, sorry to learn of the loss of your Ginger. It is obvious she was a special soul. Respectfully, Lee

  2. Jean P (HRN Volunteer) permalink
    August 4, 2012 7:01 am

    I totally understand how this loss feels. Nine years ago, I was pregnant for the first time when my beloved lop Oliver contracted an illness and his health declined dramatically. I was bereft to lose my fur baby while I was expecting my baby.

    Heartfelt condolences to you, Joey, and Juju.

  3. Esmeralda H. permalink
    April 18, 2013 3:31 am

    Hi,
    I lost my bunny Gigantor (yep, he was a big old Flemish Giant) last week. He passed suddenly and I never thought I, as a grown woman, could be so sad over the loss of a bunny. But Giggy as we often called him had really weaseled his way into the hearts of myself and my fiancé. Having a bunny inside the house impacts your whole life, starting with your daily routine.
    Although Giggy rarely made a sound, he was really good at making his presence known and actually was much better at getting our attention than the cat!
    Giggy was quite the nippy bunny towards me but those were always quite clearly love bites (though I didn’t appreciate them much at the time). He loved binkeying around the house and enjoyed our enclosed backyard in the spring, summer, and fall.
    Giggy liked his kibble, and loved playing chase games. We would often say in unison: “do not play chase games with your bunny!” as we’d read that in a book. But Giggy loved it. He would entice me to chase him, and a bit later I’d find myself on all fours being chased by him. Of course these games would almost always end in a treat for him.
    What a great bunny he was. I could fill pages and pages on how great he was and I have no regret ever having him around (even with all the furniture he chewed on and the wires he got to as a baby… we needed time to really get clued in on how much of a nibbler he was and to what extend he’d go).
    I quite enjoyed your tale of Ginger. I am so sorry she passed last year. I feel the same as you do with the whole no-word-for-the-loss-of-a-child thing. I’ve had to go through it a few times in the last two years. When Giggy got sick early last week I told my fiancé that I wouldn’t know what to do if he died. I thought I might really sink into a depression.
    Of course I realise that won’t bring him back, so I’m fighting hard to focus on the good memories and to move on.
    One thing is for sure: there will be more bunnies in this house. (Giggy had been living solo with just the cat, since the tragic loss of his girlfriend Susan (also a giant and named after Susan from Monsters vs. Aliens) at the very young age of 7 months.

    Thank you for your kind and thoughtful words about YOUR bunny. It helps ME feel like there are others out there who can understand how special bunnies are and how much they leave an imprint on your heart.

    Esmeralda.
    (The Netherlands)

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