I blinked my eyes and tried to focus on the blob that was standing at the foot of my bed. It seemed to be making some kind of noise. Talking, I think. I squeezed my eyelids together tightly and then opened them again. Ah, it was Monet, my second-born-son. And he was very excited.
"The rabbits had babies! And they're all okay! They had nine! Or ten! We can't tell, but they're all okay!"
Okay. This was starting to make sense. Yesterday, when Monet had gone to do his chores, which include taking care of the rabbits, he had found three frozen kits in the nest box of our outdoor cage. About a month ago, the indoor rabbits had given birth but had...ahem...eaten the babies.
So I ambled downstairs after my trip to the potty and peered into the tank that holds our three indoor rabbits. There they were, a mass of tangled bunny legs and ears and bodies, tucked cozily into a nest of hay, bedding and fur. The mama rabbits had done their jobs and all of the babies looked squirmy and happy.
I counted them all--the black ones, the white ones, the grey ones and the spotted ones--and there were fifteen. Fifteen! After checking the mamas, I confirmed my suspicions. Both mamas had their babies at the same time, creating a mound of warm, wiggly kits.
As long as the mamas nurse the babies--and they definitely are lactating--we'll have fifteen healthy bunnies in no time. Then Sweetheart and Monet will be able to take them to market and earn a bit of money for all of their hard daily work of feeding and watering the rabbits.
Sweetheart, of course, is already lobbying to keep them. All.
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