As a child we had several pets that we adored until they met typically an untimely death which resulted in days of crying until the point at which my mother screamed (literally, several times) NO MORE ANIMALS and there were none.
We had a beagle, Cooter (from the Dukes of Hazzard for all you 80’s kids) and a cat named King Kong Bundy after the wrestler (my brother was into wrestling, what can I say?) and a variety of hamsters, gerbils and other fuzzy creatures which we begged, pleaded and cried for until my poor, hard-working single mom caved.
I also suffered from terrible pet allergies as a child and had to have two shots weekly as a result just to be able to breathe normally. Going to someone’s home with a dog or cat has always been a hardship as I typically leave with watery eyes, runny nose, and a strong desire to run home into my hot shower to wash off all remains of pet dander.
Of course this has been challenging now that our kids are three, five, and eight and plead daily for a snuggly pet of their own–a dog, a cat, an iguana (okay it’s not snuggly but they want one anyway). So when I recently attended the Celtic Festival with friends and left with a fluffy white baby bunny my husband was amazed, my friends amused, and my children delighted.
He’s the perfect match for us since he can live outside or in our garage, and even though I’m still allergic to him, hand-washing after we hold him does the trick. The only problem is that I’m so attached to the darn thing that now I run to his cage each morning to check on him, petting him and talking to him in a sweet voice and feel compelled to provide him with fresh vegetables each day, much to my husband’s dismay. “That should be a treat!” my hubs says, “we’re not feeding a pet rabbit organic vegetables every day for goodness’ sakes!”
So I sneak them in on the daily into his little cage and delight with joy as he takes his little tiny white claws and nibbles on the buffet of broccoli, carrots and celery stalks, only after refreshing his water dish and cleaning his cage, laying a nice fresh-smelling layer of wheat grass for him to snuggle in. But don’t get any ideas, it’s just Mr. Fuzzles I’m in love with. I’m not a pet person.