Boomer, my heart-bunny
2003 - 10/28/09
In my most pragmatic moments, I think of the Dickens quote: "Life is made up of a series of meetings and partings," and try to convince myself that this is, indeed, the way of it and that mourning and memory are the mirror-twins of joy and experience. The latter cannot exist without the former, because otherwise life would be featureless and flat; either constant valley or relentless plateau.
Each bunny brings its own heartbreak, be it with their coming or their going.
Despite his sad start, Boomer came to live an enviable life among bunnies and he lived it well, I think. He was the beloved of two beautiful Flemish-bunny girls in his lifetime and enjoyed many hours napping in the sunshine. He loved a warm bed and a soft pillow. He was easy in the way only a Flemmie can be: gentle, big-hearted, all feet and big ears.
The vacuum and the roar of a lawn mower were the only things to bring out any memory of fear in him.
"You're safe, Boomer. You're home."
And that was enough, whispered time and again into those sweet velvet ears, to calm him. My secret promise; a reminder for us both.
There's some part of me that's in tune with bunnies; that sings in the same key with them. Others don't get it; they might love cats or dogs or iguanas, but the love of a bunny is different, somehow. It touches some other place; a place that seeks to protect them in their peculiar frailties, as much as it delights in their boundless joy.
The love of a bunny is different.
And the heartbreak is different too, somehow.