By Claire Ammon

Somewhere near London, 1995.

I was 10. Destination: RSPCA (England’s equivalent of the SPCA).

This was to be my first pet. I excitedly surveyed the resident of each cage. The sight of two bunnies with their ears chopped off, the victims of children with scissors, was horrifying and still stays with me today.

It was the plump, little brown and white Dutch who caught my eye: Humbug, named after the striped hard candy popular in the UK, not Scrooge’s famous catch phrase! We were alerted to her digestive issues and told her rear end needed monitoring. Home she came. She was loved.

Humbug was the first resident of the two cages my dad skillfully built out of wood and chicken wire. One was the nighttime hutch, which was raised on stilts to keep it out of reach of the pesky red foxes who sometimes visited the garden. The other an A-frame daytime cage, with access to grass and an enclosed area with a ramp. Between cage changes, Humbug had the run of the house.

Unlike in Massachusetts, England’s mild weather means temperatures rarely fall below freezing in winter or above 80 F during the height of summer. AC is unheard of. There’s no real bug issue, and the only wild animals to be concerned about are the foxes; although I did once see a magpie peck Humbug’s nose, and on occasion, mice would visit. Hawks and squirrels were uncommon in the neighborhood, and there were no possums or raccoons. The UK is rabies free, and RHDV was not yet a widespread concern.

As the RSPCA volunteers had told us, Humbug definitely had digestive issues. We kept her on the recommended diet, but had to clean her on a semi-regular basis. It was messy and stinky, but Mom and I got it done. She was a sweet girl. She especially enjoyed licking my dad’s short hair, which Dad equally enjoyed!

One summer, we had friends looking after her. Unfortunately, they were not as well versed on the cleaning protocol. We came home from vacation to learn that Humbug had been euthanized, the victim of fly strike. Flies were attracted to her messy behind, laid their eggs, and the resulting maggots started eating her flesh. This was a heavy blow. I was still a girl, and I had lost my first pet.

Eventually came Frankie, a black French lop, a gentle giant. Although summer seems to forget the UK altogether, in 2003, a heat wave hit and Frankie fell victim to heat stroke. Many outside bunnies perished that summer. Unfortunately, these two deaths were a consequence of outside living, despite England’s gentle climate.

I took an eleven-year hiatus before committing again. By this time, I was married and had crossed the pond, living in Connecticut. I quickly learned that England and New England are very different places. Everything’s much bigger and much more dangerous stateside, including the outside conditions for rabbits:

  • Extreme temperatures 
  • Insane bugs (including ticks)
  • Hawks that can carry away small dogs, let alone rabbits 
  • Giant snakes 
  • Poisonous plants 
  • Rabies and RHDV-2 in wild animals 
  • Coyotes and red foxes

Consequently, rescue buns Wilbur and Fern enjoyed all the comforts of indoor living. I wouldn’t dream of putting rabbits outside again!