(March 13, 1999 – September 15, 2008)

I took this photo just a few weeks ago. It’s not quite the last one I ever took of you, but I think it works. It’s just…you, Rex. Always on the go. Always doing your own thing. You knew who you were and what you wanted, and you could be both amazingly smart and incredibly persistent. And of course, you usually got your way.

We were wrapped around your tiny bunny paw for almost ten years, Rex. You were king of the household. When Peanut died last year, we worried about you so much. We thought you might not be the same, but there you were, living life to the max as usual. And even on your last day, you seemed to handle things on your own terms. I wish I had known, Rex. One day you were here, you were happy, you were healthy.

Today you were a quickly fading star, gone before I truly realized what was happening. You’ve left a bunny-shaped hole in all of our hearts, Mr. Man, and you know, the cats just aren’t going to know what to do with themselves now that you’re gone. Who will chase them out of your bed? Who will they stalk at three in the morning?

Who will be our bunny king?

Goodbye, Rex. This room is a lonelier place without you, but you and Peanut are together now, and forever. We love you both so much.

Love,

your family

I think it was heart failure. It was very peaceful, very quick, and he was not alone.

Stephen is out in the pet’s resting place, digging a new hole.

Hannah is with her friends at the country fair. She predicted that this would happen when she was gone, and I don’t think she’ll take any satisfaction in having been right.

I’m really going to miss that little rabbit.

Rex is binkying with Peanut at the Rainbow Bridge.

We love you, little man. And we’ll miss you a lot.

He’s 9 1/2 years old, and has been in declining health since January. But up until this morning, he was a very happy bunny, eating, pooping, and running around like usual.

I found when I came home from work. He’s laying next to his food dish, still mostly full of last night’s pellets. His breathing is somewhat labored, though he doesn’t appear to be stressed. His whole body is chilled, and he looks as though he’s sunk in on himself. Occasionally, he’ll dip his head into his water dish to drink, but that’s it.

I’m not sure what to do, but my gut tells me that this could really, truly be the end. A stressful, forty-minute drive to the vet would only make things that much worse, I think.

I just pray his passing, if it comes today, is peaceful. It’s been almost exactly a year since his mate, Peanut, died.