So our bunny died today. She lived the life of a Queen Bunny. Was a bit of a hussy in her Hay Day, fathering a few litters with several different men, including her father. She spent her formative and senior years in a cage about 12 feet by 12 feet, 5 feet high. I’ve done the math and it’s officially of mansion proportions.
Anyways, my little brother told me when I got home from a coffee outing with some friends.
“Momma Star died.”
“I know, are you sad?”
“Yeah… I’ll never get to hold her again…”
And then his face crumpled while trying not to cry, he walked over from his bed and hugged me for a long time until he regained his normal 5 year old composure, which is equal to a 30 year old man’s composure actually. Godddd, that was heart-breaking.
10 minutes later he brings it up again,
“She was just laying there?”
“Yeah, she probably died in her sleep. She wasn’t in any pain.”
“Yeah…” And then he got this really sad half-smile, “That’s going to happen to me someday… When I’m 100. That’s going to happen to me, huh?” And he just looked at me with these giant, questioning eyes.
And cue me crying in my room, because it’s really not fair that at 5 years old he is thinking that way.