I like small animals.

Those that know me are now looking for the punch line, like “…done medium well.” Or “…especially as an appetizer.” Or “…with a little ketchup.” Or “….with a little BBQ sauce.” Or “…next to my mashed potatoes.” Or “…with a nice white wine.” Or “…made into slippers.” Or…well, you get the picture.

In all seriousness, I don’t mind small animals as pets.  Growing up on the farm we had Puppy, a large Collie, German Sheppard, Lab cross - she was a steady friend that could be counted on to be there when you were having a bad day.  Lady was a Border Collie crossed with a Blue Heeler and smart as a whip, a little more excitable then Puppy, but just as good a companion.  In addition, we had a plethora of cats that prowled the farm.  Usually at least one that liked to lay down next to us as we sat on the hay bales waiting to change the milking machines.

Growing up with this menagerie, you were also exposed to their death at an early age as well.  Puppy was an old dog at seventeen (I didn’t name her) and died when I was in grade school.  Lady passed away when I was at college at the ripe old age of fifteen.  I remember a cat or two dying on my watch as well - casualties of any wide range of mishaps, laid on by a cow, one too many fights with the dogs, a run in with a coyote, running under a moving hay pile.  As a kid, it always brought a bit of a tear to my eye.  They were my friends, but they were also animals.  Life is not to be taken lightly, but it was not human - it was an animal.

Usually, with a tear in our eye, we would lay the deceased cat into the gutter and watch solemnly as it went up and out the end of the barn with the manure and into the waiting spreader to be spread on to the fields - dust to dust, ashes to ashes.  It was the natural part of the circle of life.

Several years ago, my nieces got a rabbit and wisely called him “Bunners.”  Bunners was supposed to teach my nieces responsibility and the work that goes into caring for an animal.  I think it taught some valuable lessons, especially to my brother and sister-in-law about how much hard work goes into taking care of a pet via proxy.

In the end, Bunners was well loved, but overfed and under exercised (before you judge too harshly, about 40% of all American humans also fit into this category).  He lived a happy bunny life.

Two weeks ago, Bunners was having a hard time breathing.  My brother came home from work and after assessing the situation, loaded the rabbit and my oldest niece into the car and off to the emergency vet clinic.

Like I said, I like animals, but this is where it goes a little too much for me.

Upon arrival at the pet hospital, my brother had to sign a “do not resuscitate form - so that the doctor would know not to go to extraordinary lengths to save this plump bunny.

Unfortunately, as the doctor was assessing what turned out to be an upper respiratory infection, Bunner suffered a massive heart attack.  My grief stricken niece and my brother were escorted out of the waiting room and - I’m not making this up - into the “bereavement room” where calm pictures of happy animals could let them think pleasant thoughts.  In addition - this gets better - were various cards for counselors who could help my brother and his family cope with the loss of their beloved pet.  Finally, the staff came out with a very nice cardboard casket that held the remains of their beloved pet - as well as information on a very nice pet cemetery and cremation services.

It was a sad day for my brother’s family, but I couldn’t help but think of my grandmother who came over from the old country and scrapped a hard living out of a wild land - what would her reaction have been….I think I know what she would have said…”Would have made a pretty good stew…”