HARRY REALLY WAS A LITTLE STINKER.

Did you know that rabbits have gas too? Noted exotics veterinarian Dana Krempels once quipped that a farting bunny is a happy bunny. This is because gas can build up in the intestine and cause a rabbit to stop eating. This leads to toxins building up until the poor animal dies.

In my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir, I recounted how one of my fur friends pushed the limits of my affection by quite literally being a little stinker.

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However, Harry was still having digestive problems. His diarrhea had subsided, but he began passing gas. The smell was so powerful that I could hardly believe it had come from such a small creature. What really annoyed me was when Harry loafed under the printer in my studio and broke wind. In desperation, I blasted the room with air freshener.

One morning, I shot the aerosol spray under the computer desk, as close to Harry as I dared. Suddenly, my printer stopped working and I suspected that moisture from the spray had destroyed the electronics.

Whatever the case, I felt upset with Harry for being such a clunk-headed, rude boy. He seemed not to understand why I shooed him out of my studio so often. To him, it was part of his domain and he had a right to be there.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

NEVER HAVE A PET IF YOU'RE POOR.

Is this a cruel thing to say to people on a fixed income? I don't think so. Six years ago, the high natural gas prices and my mortgage payments crippled my budget. Then, at the worst possible time, my beloved bunny, Gideon, became Ill. From When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies), here's the agonizing dilemma I faced.

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One morning, I heard Gideon grinding his teeth. When I approached him, he seemed to be in a lot of pain. Having lived with rabbits for years, I could tell the difference between his contented tooth purr and that agonized gnashing sound.

Something was wrong with my bunny.

When I reached down to comfort Gideon, he became startled as if he hadn't notice my hand approaching until it touched his head. I knew the poor guy's right eye had cataracts, so I presumed that his left one must also have gone blind.

Wretchedness consumed me as I heard my beloved bunny suffering. I was torn between maxing out what little credit I had left and getting Gideon to the vet or waiting until February when I'd receive my pension. I'm ashamed to admit that I procrastinated once again.

Since I was broke and couldn't even leave town, I decided that there had to be something I could do that wouldn't cost money. I thought that maybe giving Gideon baby aspirin would help. After putting the pill in the syringe, I sucked up some
freshly boiled water to dissolve it. Gideon hated being medicated, but I knew that he would be sure to receive every bit of the dose if I used the syringe. If I put it in his water, he wouldn't get all the medicine, plus debris and germs would pollute it.

I continued my makeshift treatment for three weeks, but my dear boy kept grinding his teeth. Throughout January, I debated taking him to the vet. It would be an expense with no guarantee of success and my past experiences at the clinic weren't very encouraging. I often wondered if they really knew what they were doing.

I was also worried about exhausting my friends with my need for rides. Some had given me the impression, in a nonverbal way, that I was spending too much on what they
considered a pet fit only for children.

By the end of January, when nothing seemed to work, I gave in and made an appointment to see the vet. After lunch, I put Gideon in Esther's carrier.

It was getting harder and harder to pick my poor bunny up. He once trusted me implicitly, but that day he squirmed like a wild rabbit. He had become uneasy of late and he paced in the carrier as I sat on the basement steps, waiting for our ride to arrive. When my friend Helen took my beloved bunny and me to the clinic, we dropped my dear lad off.

After we returned from shopping, Dr. Doktor told me that Gideon had a small infection on his rear and that I was supposed to give him a butt bath each night for a week. Then the vet gave me six syringes of antibiotic and said I should put it in Gideon's drinking water. I reminded him of what the folks on the
PetBunny list had said about contamination and he agreed that it would be all right for me to squirt the contents directly into his mouth.

Giving Gideon the antibiotic each morning and evening was a struggle because he hated being carried. Fortunately, all the Medicam went into his mouth and not all over me. My bunny boy sure did try hard not to swallow it.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

HAPPINESS IS SEEING THE SCHOOL BEING TORN DOWN.

Have you ever wished your school would burn down or close so you would never have to go there again? I certainly did. Unlike most children, I endured many lonely months at a boarding school, five hundred miles from home. Here's what I wrote in Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) when I saw one building at that much-hated institution being knocked down.

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Joshua never did knock down the walls of our Jericho, but we witnessed one structure being demolished. Behind the main Administration Building, stood a smaller house. It was connected to the larger structure by an open-air walkway.

As I walked toward the dorm after lunch, I noticed a bulldozer smashing through the house's front door. "What are you doing there?," I called up to the man operating the machine.

"I'm demolishing this house."

"Why are you doing that," I shouted.

"Never mind! Get out of here! It's dangerous!"

I resisted the urge to watch and walked back to the dorm, all the while wondering why a perfectly good building was being knocked down. I had been in enough trouble that month and I feared receiving more condemnation.

Mrs. Parker ordered us into the Play Room when the last boy returned from lunch. "Nobody is to leave the building," she ordered. "You stay here in the Play Room until the men are finished demolishing that house. It's starting to rain anyway so you're better off in here."

Those of us with sight crowded next to the windows to watch the demolition. Unfortunately, it was too far away to see clearly.

"I wish we could get closer," I complained.

"Yeah, I don't think it's all that dangerous," Mike agreed.

While we watched, we could faintly hear the splintering and crashing of the wooden structure over the bulldozer's engine.

"I wish they would do that to the whole school," I mused. "Then we could go home." All the boys around me agreed.

I learned later that the building was once the residence of the superintendent and his wife. As no one lived on the premises, the administrators decided to have it pulled down. The land where the house once stood became a staff parking lot.


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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

WHEN PATRIOTISM WAS A MYSTERY TO ME

On February 15, 1965, the grownups were buzzing about a new flag. This meant nothing to me then as I was only eight years old. I had no inkling of the raging controversy between those wishing to keep the Red Ensign and those wishing to adopt the maple leaf as Canada's new emblem. My mind was too preoccupied with the prospect of enduring my first six-month-long exile to a school for the blind in Vancouver, British Columbia to care.

In my memoir called Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I briefly mentioned this historic day. Had I been older, it might have mattered more. After forty-six years, people in Canada barely remember the uproar the new flag caused. The following is what I remember of that day.

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Back then, I barely knew about the country I lived in. Politics was as mysterious as any other adult concern. One Saturday morning in February, I walked into the Quiet Room, expecting to watch television or draw a few pictures.

"Canada has a new flag," Mrs. Sandyford gushed as I sat at one of the round tables. When I looked blank, she asked," Would you like me to draw it for you?" My supervisor drew a red leaf on a paper. I was unimpressed. This was our new flag? I felt it was just plenty of bother over nothing.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

ONE FUNNY MALADY.

Have you ever had whooping cough? Children usually find little to laugh at when it comes to being ill. Even so, my dorm mates and I couldn't help but laugh when I came down with that malady in the winter of 1966.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I related how my cough set off a chain reaction of hilarity among the junior boys of the school.

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Back at the dorm, I came down with whooping cough. It was the only time I had a hilarious malady. A chain reaction occurred whenever I started coughing. The other boys laughed at the funny sound of it, then I would start laughing at their laughter, then their laughter would start me coughing all the more, which made them laugh even harder. My sides eventually ached from both the laughing and coughing. That was one of the few times when I gained popularity with the rest of the boys.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

THE DAY AN ORDINARY WOMAN WAS HONOURED.

Have you ever heard of a public building that wasn't named for a politician, famous personality, rich donor, or highly-placed administrator? Only one building that I know of was named after a kindly dining hall matron. The school I attended honoured this long-serving grandmotherly lady when they opened a new dormitory in 1965. From my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, here's how it happened.

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The flight was uneventful, as were the days of settling in at Jericho. That was until one rainy Saturday morning in February. The new dormitory called Tyler House officially opened. Mrs. Sandyford ordered us onto the school bus immediately after breakfast and the driver drove us the short distance up the hill to the building. All the blind students and supervisors were in attendance at the ceremony.

Mr. MacDonald made a long speech as everybody fidgeted. Mrs. Tyler, whom the dorm was named after, felt touched as the adults warmly congratulated her. After what seemed like hours, everybody was dismissed to the Study. The room was furnished with adult-sized blue leather chairs and a matching couch. Along with regular tables and chairs, pine end tables and a coffee table stood next to the couch. Tall pine bookshelves lined one end of the room, filled with an assortment of braille and print volumes.

On some of the tables, we found packs of braille playing cards and black plastic dominos with raised dots. Various specially adapted board games, such as scrabble, cribbage, and chess, were also placed on the tables for our amusement. I became especially interested in the checkerboard. The dark squares were recessed to allow totally blind players to feel the difference. The black and white checkers had different textures as well. My dorm mates and I played many games that morning.

Not everybody acted courteously that day, however. I ran afoul of Virginia, an older girl with black hair and a sassy mouth. As I played checkers and talked with the other children, she kept saying insulting things about me. Virginia never stopped pestering me throughout the time we visited the new dorm. I cannot remember why she took an instant dislike to me but her churlish behaviour ruined my enjoyment of that event.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

THE DAY THE TYRANT WAS FIRED.

When you were young, did you ever wish that some mean adult would be fired? in 1970, the wishes of more than fifty boys, myself included, were granted. In my Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School) memoir, I describe how the administration abruptly terminated a selfish supervisor's employment.

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On rare occasions at Jericho, justice was truly served. As I stood on top of the concrete fort one cloudy February morning, I heard the joyous cry ring through the playground, "Mrs. Parker's been fired!" I danced with elation and glee once I realized that she finally received her just desserts.

A few weeks previously, Brian met with some of the junior boys, as well as us older students, and we decided to launch a complaint. Since Mrs. Corrigan was a fair-minded person, we figured she might have the authority and inclination to help. We felt incredibly mature as we met with our principal after school in the junior dorm's sitting room. Once we had shared pleasantries, we launched into our case.

"We've come to complain about Mrs. Parker," Brian began. "She's been taking our candy and money for years. She also spent it on her car."

"That's a serious allegation," Mrs. Corrigan said. "What proof do you have concerning what she's done?"

One by one, we enumerated Mrs. Parker's apparent pilfering of our money and other abuses of her authority. "I'll look into these matters. If it's as serious as you boys say, disciplinary action ought to be taken," Mrs. Corrigan replied, clearly concerned.

Her investigation ultimately led to Mrs. Parker's firing, saving future unsuspecting blind boys from having candy confiscated and being humiliated. Though I did not benefit directly, I felt satisfied that I helped those unfortunate boys who the government head hunters would send to Jericho in the future.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

CHILDREN MUST BE TAUGHT HOW TO DEAL WITH EMERGENCIES.

Did somebody teach you how to dial 9-1-1 when you were young? During my childhood, I had a powerful phobia of reporting dangerous situations lest some adult blame me for causing it. Instead of Mom calmly dealing with a problem, such as the evening I broke my left arm, she panicked. Consequently, I felt as if I lived between a rock of offending irrational grown-ups and the hard place of being blamed for not reporting an emergency.

In Deliverance From Jericho (Six Years in a Blind School), I wrote about the time I witnessed an act of vandalism. As nobody trained me to calmly report it to the authorities, this is what happened.

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Charlie was not the only person who made my life miserable that month. I went down to the new swings to play after supper. While listening to my radio, I swung and enjoyed being away from the other boys. Suddenly, an object whizzed past me. I thought I imagined it until one of the school windows shattered. Somebody was hiding in the bushes outside the fence.

"Who's there?" I called as I stopped swinging. Nobody replied but I thought I heard movement among the trees. I became frightened and hurried back to the dorm.

Mrs. Corrigan and Mr. Thynne questioned me concerning the incident in the principal's office the next morning. "A street lamp and several school windows were broken last night and you were there. Why didn't you report this to us immediately?" my supervisor demanded.

"I was afraid I'd get in trouble," I lamely answered.

"Next time there's something like that happening in the school grounds, report it to a supervisor," Mrs. Corrigan advised.

The two adults released me with a warning and, to my immense relief, I received no punishment.

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Deliverance from Jericho contains many more vignettes of what life was like in that government-run institution. These range from poignant experiences of homesickness to hilarious incidents of mischief. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

NO PETS MEANS NO PETS.

Landlords have valid reasons for imposing a 'no pets' rule. This policy has become popular with them because certain tenants let their companion animals damage property, assuming that the damage deposit would take care of it. Complaints from neighbours about noise and odours have also contributed to this situation.

When I rented, the 'no pets' policy offended me. I once plotted to sneak a bunny into my highrise apartment suite in the hope that nobody would find out. The following excerpt from When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) demonstrates how foolish I had been in thinking that the animal shelter would just give me a bunny.

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In 1996, I explored the internet and searched for information on rabbit care, in the event that I bought another bunny. I found a newsgroup called alt.pets.rabbits, and being legally blind, I used a screen-reading device to hear the text on the monitor. As I listened to the posts, I learned from those folks about how they lived with their bunnies.

At the Edmonton Public Library, I borrowed a book called House The House Rabbit Handbook by Marinell Harriman. Reading it, I learned all sorts of amazing facts about rabbits.

Then I discovered that there were e-mail lists, such as PetBunny and EtherBun, which had plenty of helpful tips on caring for companion rabbits. I subscribed to both lists and was amazed when I heard how clever and affectionate people's bunnies were.

How wonderful that Mr. Chocolate's affectionate, intelligent behaviour wasn't an exception, but the rule!

Reading the posts on the lists, I was shocked to learn that I'd been inadvertently mistreating my bunnies by feeding them too much carrot and by keeping them in tiny cages. Regrettably, like most folks, I believed a lot of nonsense from various people and the media. The public generally thought of rabbits as being dull and lacking in character. Any animal or human would be?if deprived of mental stimulation and space to exercise.

Remembering how I had felt about betraying Floppy, I decided to adopt a bunny. Unfortunately, I had moved from my condo to a "no pets" high-rise apartment. Nevertheless, I figured I could keep a bunny hidden in my bedroom, safe from any nosy apartment management staff.

Caving into my desire, I foolishly went down to the Society 1997. Instead of just handing over a rabbit and taking my money as I had assumed, the woman behind the front desk called my building's caretaker and asked him if I had permission to adopt a rabbit. The caretaker said that no pets larger than a hamster were allowed. That was that, and I reluctantly realized I would either have to wait until I found a new place or just accept things as they were.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.

A FEW MONTHS OF HAPPINESS IS BETTER THAN NONE.

Losing any kind of pet to death never becomes easier. Friends periodically tell me that they've sworn off adopting future animal companions due to their all-to-short lives. They say the pain of loss feels too great and it rips open old heart wounds. I empathize with them, having lost many beloved pets during my lifetime.

In my When a Man Loves a Rabbit (Learning and Living With Bunnies) memoir, I related several tragic tales of my beloved rabbits passing away. The Story of Zacchaeus began with the confident hope that I could give him a long and happy life in my home. This is how it actually ended.

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Perhaps it was good that my rabbits amused me that January because poor Zacchaeus was getting thinner by the day. I finally made an appointment with the vet and my friend Shirley agreed to take him to the clinic without me. Although I loved Zacchaeus, I was behind in my search for writing work.

The next morning, I put Zacchaeus in the large carrier. While we were waiting for Shirley, I gave him a small piece of carrot and some lettuce, both of which he ate. I wondered if he had problems with his teeth because his pellets remained untouched.

Shirley arrived early, just as she promised and I handed Zacchaeus over to her, feeling a bit sad that I wasn't going with him. I comforted myself with the knowledge that Shirley was
reliable and that the vet would send back my little guy with good medicine to cure his trouble.

I had just begun working on my new computer when the phone rang.

"Your rabbit has a large tumour in his belly," the vet said.

My heart sank as she continued. "We tried to draw blood, but he was so weak that we couldn't get any. Would you like him to be euthanized?"

As I pondered my options, the vet said, "He's an old rabbit and there's not much we can do. An operation would most likely kill him anyway."

Recognizing the futility of trying to extend Zacchaeus? life, I gave her permission to ease his misery. I wept periodically throughout the afternoon, especially at the thought that I hadn't built a pen for him as I had hoped. People on PetBunny comforted me with sympathetic e-mails and said that I had given Zacchaeus five months of love and security, which he might not have otherwise known.

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When a Man Loves a Rabbit contains many more fascinating stories of life with house bunnies. These range from the tragic to the hilarious. Click here to read more about this book and to order it. You may also e-mail me directly if the comment form doesn't work.