Goodbye, Mr. Mookie

So, my poor little Mr. Mookie (see above for picture of Mookums in happier times, eg, last week) died this morning.

I went outside on the lanai to say hello to the bunnies this morning and he was actively seizing. Realizing there was probably very little to be done given his advanced age and the severity of the seizures, and as he looked very near death with his agonal breathing pattern, I called at least half a dozen vets to see if I could at least have him euthanized.

Instead of help, however, most clinics said they either didn't have a vet that specializes in rabbits, or that the vet was busy. Possibly worst of all the responses I received was a receptionist telling me that yes, there was a vet on the premises who could see my rabbit, but the vet had refused because "the vets go to lunch at 12 p.m."

"But my bunny is dying!" I protested.

Apparently, certain vets in this town care more about their own gustatory concerns than they do the suffering of an innocent little critter.

Mookie probably would have died en route to the vet any way, but as a health care provider who has more than once gone over 12 hours without eating to provide care for sick people, I found this policy of "all sickness and death must wait until after lunch" morally offensive, especially since I had to watch my cute little bunny die a painful death and was powerless to give him palliative care. (My first, foolish thought when I saw him was, "Oh my god! Where's the morphine? He needs comfort care!")

In fact, by the time I found a vet who would see him (despite it being lunch hour, for God's sake), he had died. I hung up the phone, hurried outside to scoop him up in a towel, only to find him very still and lifeless, having died in the moments it had taken me to finally find a vet who would see him.

All I could do was pet him and say how very sorry I was that he had to go that way.

At any rate, as he was a shelter-rescue, I can only comfort myself by thinking that his last few months were spent in relative comfort and happiness, with a little bunny friend. And now, maybe, he is in bunny heaven, no longer in pain, and eating as many bananas--his paws down favorite--as he wanted without giving himself a bad case of GI upset.

Goodbye, Mr. Mookie. Sweet old soul that you are, I will miss you.