This is a true story, which may be distressing to lagomorph lovers.
A while ago we looked after Snuffles, a friend’s rabbit, while the friend was on holiday. Sadly, part way through the stay, Snuffles died.
We were a touch traumatized and took the corpse to the vet to find out what had happened. The conversation went something like this:
- Us: We want to know what killed the rabbit
- Vet: Snuffles
- Us: Yes
- Vet:(Long pause)
- Us: So Snuffles…
- Vet: That’s right
- Us: What did it die of?
- Vet: Snuffles
- Us: Yes, what killed the rabbit?
- Vet: SNUFFLES!
Yes, it appears the rabbit died of a disease called snuffles.
And the moral of this tale? Don’t call your pet rat Bubonic Plague.
Oh cripes. Our rabbit is called Rebecca, which presupposes a boating accident in Cornwall; but her nom-de-blog is Beelzebun Demon Bunny of DOOM. I am even now sending Phipps to the sub-basement to check the integrity of the hinges on that mysterious trapdoor in the floor that noblody dares open. Thank goodness we didn’t call her Gunshot Wound or Road Traffic Accident or Trauma Occasioned By Blunt Instrument.
In my neighborhood, it would be a bad idea to name a pet rabbit Hawk’s Landing, or Coyote Cafe.
Ah. Clearly suicide.
Who’s on first again?
Watt is a unit of power?
Ah, verily
I’m lost. And I didn’t know you could embed video either. Sigh.