Yesterday one of my house rabbits very suddenly and unexpectedly passed away. He was only five years old and full of life until less than a day before he died. To many people who read this blog, and particularly those who know me personally, you'll understand how heartbreaking this is for me. My house rabbits are my family. They live and run freely in my house. They keep me company in the office when I am working (the photo below is of Herbie helping me to decorate the Pickle Jar office back in 2007 when I set up the business). I feed them, care for them and play with them every day. I love them like children.
Herbie was a rescue rabbit. He had been dumped in a cardboard box at a rabbit rescue centre with no note to even tell what his name was. He was a lively chap, clearly still a baby, and we're convinced that when we called in to visit the rescue centre four and a half years ago that he chose us. I think he knew he was on to a good thing - space to run around, fresh vegetables to eat every day, lots of hay, an abundance of toys, and two big sisters to keep him company. On Wednesday evening we noticed he wasn't his usual self. He didn't come bounding over to the treat bowl, and just sat hunched up looking sad. So, on Thursday morning I booked him in to see the vet. I took him in that afternoon and she couldn't see anything obviously wrong with him. The only problem was that his back teeth were looking a little long and could have been causing him discomfort. So, I left him there for the afternoon so they could put him under a general anaesthetic and file down his teeth. The vet called at 3.30 to say he was absolutely fine, had woken up, and that we could pick him up at 6.30. We arrived on time and sat waiting to be called through looking forward to seeing our boy and hoping that he'd just be looking forward to having his treats that night.
The vet called us in. No Herbie. She had some bad news. As they were getting him ready for us to bring him home he collapsed. I didn't realise at first that she was saying he had died, but the news soon dawned on me. His teeth weren't the problem afterall, but we think some form of organ failure. He died very suddenly. We spent 20 minutes saying our farewells to the little fella, and headed home with an empty carry case in floods of tears. I haven't really stopped crying since.
The point of writing this post though is two-fold. Firstly, being able to publicly express my grief in this way is helpful to me. It gives me a place to record my thoughts and pour out my heart as I sit in an otherwise silent office. Secondly, though, is to make a point about social media. Despite our constant tears, both Nathan and I almost immediately tweeted about what had happened. We felt moved to update our facebook status, and we were able to chat to some understanding friends via instant messenger. Talking on the phone has been too hard, but at least typing is manageable. Losing a pet is not like losing a family member. There isn't really a system of people phoning each other people to share the news. That just isn't how it's done. But social media has given us a platform from which to share our grief and to receive back an enormous 'virtual' hug (we've had some real ones too of course, including with Scotch and Macy - our other two rabbits).
Social media comes under so much criticism for revealing so much about our lives in a public forum, and for voyeurism. Yet lately I have seen several friends share sad news through social media platforms and receive an overwhelming response. There are times when that sense of community, albeit a virtual community in some cases, is really needed. Right now, I'm no good for going outside and seeing lots of people, but through the power of social media, text messaging and instant messaging, lots of people have been able to come to me and offer their support. Nathan even had a tweet from the Times Higher Education - from someone he's never even met - offering their sympathies.
This is one of those times when, through all the concerns and negative press, social media has really come into its own.
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