I don’t know how many of you reading this blog knew her, but my rabbit Georgie died this morning. Most of you for whom I am keeping this blog (my friends and family, really) will have met her at some point or other… although some of you have not. Also, I’m sure there are people reading this whom I’ve never actually met. Regardless, many of you will not know what she has been going through the past few months.

There is a disease called e. cuniculi. It is, I believe, a protozoan that in some rabbits attacks the nervous system as they get weaker (either through other diseases or old age). It can cause head tilt and paralysis. For some time now, Georgie had been showing signs of the disease: lack of coordination, weakness in the back legs, and so on. A few months ago, there was an event in the middle of the night where suddenly she couldn’t walk straight. She just spun in circles. Honestly, I thought she had suffered a stroke. We tried various things with no luck, and the past few weeks have been a story of her rapid decline. It eventually reached the point where I had to hold her up to eat and had to give her fluids by injection because she would not drink.

This morning, the vet said that there was really nothing else she could do for poor Georgie—any longer, and we would risk her suffering considerable pain. I decided it was time to put her to sleep. The vet gave her two injections: one to make her fall asleep and a final injection to stop her little heart. It was over very quickly, and I was there petting her and talking to her the whole time.

Georgie has been with me for about nine years—before I bought my house. I originally brought her home to keep Charlie company, since he was obviously so distraught whenever I would have to go on a trip. She and Charlie bonded fairly quickly, and she soon took her rightful position as the queen bee of the household. She was fiery, full of life, and very concerned that the proprieties be observed. If you’ve ever heard of Disapproving Rabbits, Georgie would have been their goddess:

“No, you may not pet my head!”

“How dare you trim my nails? You are dead, do you hear me? Dead!”

“Bananas? Well, maybe I won’t kill you yet, but you’re on thin ice, buddy.”

In the time I had Georgie, she:

  • Broke my toe (I kid not, although I do exaggerate just a tiny amount… she did break my toe, but indirectly)
  • Destroyed countless phone cords that I could have sworn were out of reach
  • Ripped up numerous tasty rugs… including the carpet at my last apartment (good thing I didn’t need that deposit)
  • Showed me that she knew perfectly well what her litter box was for but that she wasn’t about to let me tell her what to do (and, in the process, ruined a couple of rugs)
  • Woke me up I don’t know how many times in the middle of the night throwing dishes around to complain about the lousy service in this joint.

In other words, she was my precious little firebrand who wanted it to be clear that she didn’t need me or want me around unless I had something tasty for her. That is… until the end, when she just wanted to be held and nibble on her favorite foods.

We know, when we bring these little fur balls into our homes, that this day will come. We know their lives are short and that, in the end, we may have to do the hard thing to end their suffering. That’s cold comfort, though, and it still stings like unholy hell. Still, she lived a long life (10 years) and was protected the entire time. The woman who had her originally was going to let her free in the wild; Georgie would have lasted about a day out there. So Georgie had with me nine years of safety, regular medical care, companionship (even if they were somewhat rude, stinky, and clumsy humans), and dinners served promptly at 6:30 containing all her favorites. I guess that’s something.

Still, I know I’m going to miss her terribly and can’t face going into my bedroom to see the rug where she should be napping right now. Not yet, at any rate.

Here are some pictures of Georgie in her better days:

Georgie in Repose “What are you doing with that camera? Who said you could take my picture?”

Sleep well, little one.