Immortalizing a Baby Rabbit

It was Sunday morning, I walked down the steps of our townhouse to go to the car.  There, several houses down lay something on the walk.  It was early and my eyes were not yet adjusted to the bright light, but even so, I knew what it was.

I quietly approached and there he/she lay - a perfect, tiny bunny.  I thought he was alive because his eyes were open and at first I couldn't see if there was anything wrong with him.  But then I saw something had bitten him on the back of his neck - not badly though.

I am terrible with hurt or dead animals.  Without going into a psychological harrang here, there is something deep inside me that identifies with small and innocent beings who are hurt.

Of course, he was dead.  I brought him inside and showed my husband.  I took the bunny upstairs with me and sat in my grandmother's rocker.  I rocked and held him and wept deep tears which lasted much longer than they should have.  My husband checked on me and of course saw the whole day going down the drain.  It didn't.

It was as if the bunny was still alive, because he was warm and his demise must have happened not too long ago.  If only he would come back to life.  (tearing as I'm writing this).  Today is Tuesday and he is still here with me, lying on a felted mat, I made some years ago, in a large antique hutch.  He is near other keepsakes.  I don't know what to do with him because he is still soft.  I will have to bury him somewhere safe soon.  It is very difficult for me to let him go - he must be a part of me.

I did take pictures of him outside and on my lap last Sunday.  See what I mean?

Yesterday, I took him down to my studio and placed him on a small canvas.  I traced around him and then moved him to the left so I could paint him.  But I can't replicate him as he should be nor do I really want to.  I don't believe a painting should be exact - there are photographs and real life for that - but I have to capture him somehow.  I shed tears as I painted him but soon got lost in trying to capture him in paint.

Some would say, how can you keep him, how can you even hold him?  Because in some way I feel I was there at the right time.  His life was gone but at least I could and can (for as long as is possible) marvel at his beauty.  How often do we get to hold something so young and wild?  He is very soft with a dark underlay of hair dappled in shades of brown, gray and white.

Here he is painted - what I will do next, I'm not sure.  There is more work to be done on him and I have no idea about the background.  Will I try to sell him?  I will keep him for me, but there are always  prints and who knows what else but that is of no value to me now.

For now, he is still mine and I am very blessed to have this opportunity to be with him.

As you read this, please respect my emotions.  I choose to share this because it should be shared.  Life is precious and we have lost respect for it in all it's forms....perhaps this will change.  Thank you.

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