During eight months out of the year, my little fertilizer machines get to enjoy life in the lush garden, nibbling the fruits (vegetables) of my labor down there and providing oftentimes the most interesting conversation of my day. Then when winter hits I move the rabbit cage up by the house, put it under the plum tree outside the kitchen window, so I don't have to trudge through the snow to feed him. And we can wave at each other in the mornings.
Last weekend I noticed his cage was messed up, the straw was all strewn around, his water was upended and his food container all kittywampus. And he seemed to be sitting funny. Upon inspection, I found he couldn't move his back legs. They were limp. He couldn't hop. He was unhoppy.
My theory is that a coyote or the neighbor's rowdy dogs down the road decided to charge through their invisible fence and came up here to terrorize Prince. While he doesn't normally let the elevator bring him down, he probably raced around in circles and injured his back.
So I brought him in the house for a few days, hoping maybe it was a strain or something. But he never got better, just pulled himself around by the front legs a little bit. So he needed to be put down (and that's a story for another day).
He was a good rabbit. Prince was the only bunny who I could let out of his cage in the garden, and he'd hop around, eat some lettuce and some grass and then hop back in his cage. Others, like the vagabond Johnny Depp, I'd have to chase around and corner and tackle to get him back in.
So, I think the ultimate compliment for a rabbit is: He was a good rabbit. And Prince was.
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