The importance of an Angel

A little over three months ago, I adopted a little angel. She's the well-trained bunny rabbit whom my cousin had to leave behind when she moved back home, and, after understanding what it entailed, I figured I was ready to take it on rather than have it go to the SPCA. She came already named Angel.

At first I tried to rush things, because I had read that rabbits need affection. I would try to cuddle her but she remained indifferent. I was disappointed, but figured that as long as she was at least polite if a little aloof, we'd survive together. After three weeks of soft approach, I tried holding her and cuddling her again, but I must have bruised more than her ego, because she bit me slightly. I was upset, and started questioning my decision to take her. Still, I thought, let's keep trying this. Three weeks is not much, although I'm not exactly known for my patience.

We settled into an acceptable arrangement, where I talked to her and respected her territory while reminding her regularly about the things that were unacceptable (like trying to chew the wall, the couch and the table legs), and also keeping reign over my territory.

For the past three weeks, Angel has been coming to me on her own, everyday. She sits besides me on the couch, and huddles as close as possible to me, then flattens herself while I stroke her and talk a lot of nonsense to her. This can go on for about an hour before she snaps out of her semi-hypnosis and starts running about and hopping and sniffing the air. She now only chews the piece of wood in her cage, and her special piece of cloth. And she acts all curious and worried when she feels I'm not in top mood.

Here's what she reminded me of about life, and taught me about myself:
- Taming, or what Saint-Exupéry calls "apprivoiser" knows no speed. It takes the time it takes, and a lot of patience.
- Loving a little being and feeling responsible for it is a great source of strength.
- I'm not very sentimental, and when there's a limit, there's a limit. A few hours of sulking on each side work well before dialogue has to be resumed.
- If I'm ever lucky to be a mother, I might be one of those "kid-proud" parents who will rave about every dribble and scribble her kids do, unaware that this could be perceived as boring self-flattery, because of my own genuine amazement at their specialness. (I did just write all this on my rabbit!).
- I hope to learn to hide it in critical moments to avoid serious breaches to my kids' reputations.

Animals are just animals, but I feel lucky to have had Angel for those few months. Now that I have to go, I'm glad I found someone whom I feel will be able to take care of her. I wish I was not leaving her behind, but I believe she will bring a lot to someone else, while I hope that she will keep being a happy little one.