Not a big deal! he said heartily, while I hyperventilated into the phone. After calming me down, he explained in short words that there was medication, and all I needed to do was give it to him and voila! Healthy rabbit! Nothing we can do about the attitude, he didn't say but he also didn't offer me a rabbit anti-psychotic, so a fat load of good he did me in the bunny mental health division.
The problem here is, my relief kind of blocked out what exactly I'd be giving him and how often. Saturday, when I got the bottle, I stared in horror at what I was expected to do with the rabbit who chewed through my network router, chewed on the toe of my brand new shoes, and sometimes lunges for my jugular.
Mouth feed 17 cc once a day.
For twelve weeks.
Two days down. No scars. Yet. Eleven weeks and five days to go. God. I may not make it.
