Jojo Cottontail and the Easter rescue
by Kate Zimmerman for the North Shore News
Once upon a time, in a park not very far from your house, there was a little brown bunny with a fluffy white tail.
Something happened to the bunny - if Beatrix Potter were here, she could probably tell you what it was. A dog may have bitten the bunny, or a hawk may have caught it and then dropped it. Whatever its adventure, the bunny wound up in bad shape and had to be rescued by the North Vancouver District Animal Welfare Centre.
Pat yourself on the back today, parents, for not having bought your family this bunny, whose name, eventually, become Jojo. You don't have the time or the patience or the expertise for this bunny. She is not a well bunny. She has cataracts that prevent her from seeing. She has to be fed with a syringe. She faints. She drinks water constantly. She is so needy she will actually lie in a person's arms like a baby, which is not an ordinary bunny thing to do.
This is a bunny who could have played a minor character in the Woody Allen film Broadway Danny Rose. Skin and bones. A misfit, not made for prime time. This rabbit will follow a person around because, despite being part of a naturally nervous breed, she has lost her sense of fear. This bunny is so desperate for any form of illumination that she will stand with her face craned toward a room's light source for hours, without the sense to save her vulnerable spine and sit back down again.
The vets who saw Jojo figured she might have been mentally disabled by whatever landed her in the shelter in the first place. But Michele Davies fell for Jojo in a big way. Davies, who works as a sales assistant and a rep for the pet pages at the North Shore News, owns a rabbit called Cassidy, along with a dog and a cat. She also works once a week at the shelter as a volunteer in the rabbit section, cleaning and cuddling its residents and bringing them fresh greens to go along with their pellets.
Davies got attached to Jojo because she was like an infant. The rabbit melted into Davies' arms and kissed her on her cheeks.
So Davies took the furry bundle to her own vet, who was so touched by her that she didn't even charge for the session. Jojo was viable, said the vet. When Davies heard that it was likely that the rabbit would have to live out her days in the shelter (a no-kill facility) because she required too much attention for a regular pet owner to handle, she started searching for information on the Internet.
You have to look on Yahoo to find the etherbun.com Web site. But once you do, Davies says, there are plenty of bunny lovers willing to rabbit on. One of the keenest was Saskia Schoen of San Jose, a bunny expert and physiotherapist (for humans, not rabbits). Davies and Schoen traded notes about Jojo so intensely and fervently that Schoen finally asked Davies to send the bunny to her in California so she could attend to her herself.
It almost happened. Schoen sent Davies a special rabbit-friendly cage that was meant to keep Jojo safe for her journey. But then the pair discovered that shipped rabbits are considered livestock and are tossed around like so much luggage. They decided Jojo was too fragile for that kind of treatment.
That's when what Davies describes as "the bunderground" hopped into action. Davies said she'd be able to drive Jojo to the border. Another woman pledged that she would take delivery of Jojo there and get her to Oregon, where somebody else would have to whisk her down the coast to California. It was a pretty thrilling scenario, but the plan fell apart when there was no driver available to for the last leg of Jojo's big adventure. Without her mojo, Jojo could hardly be expected to hop the rest of the way.
The heck with it, said Schoen. She'd fly up and get the blind bunny herself. Schoen would pay for her own return airline ticket. Davies' mother agreed to put the stranger up in her building's guest suite - along with Jojo. The shelter waived its usual fees because the staff there was so pleased that someone was willing to care for the hare.
Davies, Schoen and Jojo spent a nice weekend together. Davies took Jojo (and Saskia) all over Vancouver in a sling-like baby carrier on a farewell tour, to see - or at least sniff - the sights: Stanley Park, Gastown, Chinatown, Science World. Then Schoen packed Jojo into the sling, covered her with a baby blanket, and boarded the plane. Nobody knew Jojo was a rabbit. Maybe she wasn't even a rabbit any more.
You may find all this surprising - the effort and expense these people went to for a solitary, blind brown rabbit with a cottony tail. Davies herself admits that animal lovers like herself and Schoen and her friends at the shelter are "completely nuts." Still, they get tired of acquaintances who roll their eyes about them and suggest that they'd be better to spend their time and money in other ways, on other creatures - preferably humans. (At least they're doing something for someone, says Davies.)
She realizes it's also odd that someone would leave San Jose to wescue a Canadian wabbit that's, well, beyond wascally.
"I'm sure there's, like, needy rabbits in California," Davies says. "But hey, you know, if Jojo's found a home. . . ."
Indeed. My best to Jojo, and happy Easter to all bunnies on their day of days. May the bunderground brigade continue to protect you, and may you fill their Easter baskets to overflowing.
Writing > Humour
