I can’t believe you, dad. First you force feed us both critical care (even though we don’t need it, I tried to tell you, but you didn’t listen), but THEN you have the AUDACITY to drag BOTH OF US (not just Gus, but me too!) to the VET!?!
Oh you are SO in my bad books for the rest of your life, dad.
Just you TRY and come one step closer, and I will thump SO HARD, just you wait and see.
This is truly an outrage. And the vet didn’t even find anything wrong with us! So you wasted your time, which is no big deal as far as I’m concerned, but you also wasted MY valuable napping time, which is inexcusable!
So you might have heard that mum and dad brought me to the vet recently. They were concerned about some stupid thing, like me not being able to see out of one eye, or having some cloudiness in my eye, or something like that. Totally unnecessary, I tell you.
Well, the vet said my right eye has developed a cataract, and that this is supposedly something that just happens, especially in bunnies, and especially as they get older.
Wait, did the vet just call me “old?”
Anyway, now dad is giving me some stupid eye drops for inflammation (my eyes were not inflamed, but they are doing it “just in case” it develops into glaucoma) which I HATE and DO NOT WANT.
Aside from this, I am doing quite well, thank you… and I will be doing much better once dad stops giving me these stupid eye drops.
Suffice it to say, I am giving out the highest levels of disapproval at the moment.
Remember, dad, I only need 1 eye to keep it on you…
Um, dad? What is THAT thing doing out? You’d better not be getting any ideas…
Ugh. In case you couldn’t guess, dad DID get some ideas, and after some scrambling on my part, he managed to force me in there, and drive me all the way to the vet.
The only good part of all this is that the vet visit was nice and short. The vet told dad that I am in excellent health – well, duh, dad, I could have told you that.
Apparently my abscess is completely gone and the infection which caused it has not come back yet, and now that 3 months have passed, it’s not likely to come back again either. So it looks like I’m in the clear.
But geez, did we really need to go to the vet to find this out? Somehow, I’d like to think we didn’t.
Betsy doesn’t want to make a fuss out of it, but mum and dad were so excited when they saw this in her litter box this morning:
For those without super-bunny-vision, those black dots are poops. Betsy’s poops.
Betsy also ate a good portion of her dinner last night, so she didn’t get force fed last night, and I think she might even avoid it this morning as well. This is good, because dad’s been trying every trick in the book – apple & banana critical care (spoiler: it doesn’t really taste like apples or bananas), mushed up banana & water, tummy rubs, papaya tablets, and more.
As I said, mum and dad were all excited (and relieved) about all this. I don’t know what the big deal is – I eat and poop all the time!
Also, don’t tell Betsy, but I overheard dad on the phone with the VET yesterday… I think she has a follow-up appointment tomorrow. But maybe since she’s pooping now she can avoid going to the vet… but we’ll see. (I think she still needs antibiotic injections.) Still, at least she won’t be spending the night there or anything – not great, but not as bad as it could be, right?
…OK, actually I’m just really relieved that it’s not ME that’s going to the vet. But can you blame me??
Betsy is trying to claim that “girl bunnies don’t poop.” As you might expect, mum and dad don’t believe a word she says, and they keep encouraging her to poop (and eat).
For the past week, dad has locked Betsy up in our area at night, while keeping me out. While this does mean that I get free run of the whole house (including the bedroom!) at night, somehow I can’t bring myself to get too excited over it.
Naturally, Betsy is not pleased at all about this situation – especially the “being picked up and syringe fed 3 times a day” bit. But dad and mum are keeping it up, and Betsy is keeping up the disapproval.
Betsy appreciates all the good wishes we’ve gotten, although I think she would appreciate not being picked up and syringe-fed more. (Dad of course is a big softie and gets all choked up every time someone wishes Betsy well in the comments.)
Dad promised her that he’d stop force-feeding her if she starts eating and pooping on her own, but so far the most she’s done is just nibbled some parsley here and there.
As for the pooping thing, dad says I am not helping by using Betsy’s litterbox every chance I get and confounding his attempts to see if she’s pooped yet… but it’s my litterbox, too! That spare one he set up outside our area just isn’t the same!
I’m sure Betsy will give in to dad’s demands eventually… somehow, he always wins. Must be something about being 10 times our size…
I overheard dad talking to the VET this afternoon. Apparently Betsy made it through her surgery just fine, but there’s still a question as to whether her face will return to normal, and how long she will have to be on (injectable) antibiotics. So she’s going to be spending the night at the vet’s office, and tomorrow mum and dad are going to go pick her up and also learn how to give injections.
Man, Betsy is going to be PISSED!
In the meantime, I’m going to just hang out here in dad’s office. It’s a little lonely without my partner in crime, but… well we’ll see.
She poked me, prodded me, felt every inch of my body (and especially my head), stuck things in my mouth, and most annoyingly, stuck things in my ears – and then put STUFF in my ears!
And to make matters worse, now dad and mum are picking me up and putting stuff in my ears twice every day. For the next 2 weeks.
Having stuff in my ear just feels weird and I have to shake my head after they put me down and fuss with my ear for a long while until I feel normal again.
It is all very undignified. I strongly disapprove of all this treatment. But I will have my revenge – I will run away every time dad comes to pick me up. I will run all the way to the other side of the house, and then back again. I will not make it easy on dad! My hope is that eventually he will give up.
Anyway, now that the VET visit is over, I need to go sulk in my tunnel. Dad, you’d better stay away!!
Mum and dad think there’s something… not quite right with my lips. They think I look a little… “lop-sided.” Is that a pun? If so, I really disapprove of it.
To add insult to… well, more insult, they picked me up and took a picture of my face (just after I had eaten, which explains the fur stains).
Apparently dad also sent this picture to the VET, and even she said something doesn’t look right. I think I overheard “facial paralysis?”
In any case, dad is taking me to the vet today. Ha! That was a joke. You can TRY to take me to the vet, dad, but I’m going to thump and hide until you give up. Since I’ll win in the end, you might as well just forget about it. I don’t want to go to the vet. I hate the hour-long car ride. I hate the car ride, period. I hate the smell of the vet’s office. I don’t like being touched. I’m fine, just leave me alone!!
I hope dad gets the message. If not, I will have some serious disapproving to do when we get back home.