Our bunny Trixie died today -- one day shy of her sixth birthday. Unlike her companion bunny, she had been healthy from the day we adopted her as a rescue, over five years ago. Never ever sick. Last Friday I noticed she wasn't racing over to get a treat as she usually does, and it bothered me; I made a mental note to get her a vet checkup on Monday. Saturday night I realized she definitely had eaten nothing all day (it can be hard to tell since I have two buns), so I took her to the animal hospital on an emergency basis. This started a crazy few days in which my sister and I took her back and forth to the vet, where they gave her subcutaneous fluids and prescribed antibiotics. We cradled her, administered medicine, tried to force-feed her, cleaned off the diarrhea (sorry), sang to her, tried to will her to live. All to no avail. Tuesday we had her admitted to the hospital for overnight IV fluids and medicines, figuring they were better equipped to turn things around. This morning I got a call from the vet, telling me Trixie had gotten much, much worse. The IV fluids weren't processed by her kidneys, instead they pooled around her lungs, making it difficult for her to breathe. I went to visit, and she was totally prostrate, couldn't even lift her head, let alone sit up. I knew it was over. We reluctantly authorized the vet to put her to sleep this evening. We were there, kissing and petting her while it happened. It was so hard to watch her die, even though it was quick. I am beyond heartbroken. How does one heal a big gaping wound in one's heart? And how does one stop replaying and second-guessing all the decisions made? I truly feel like an unfit bun-mom. If only I had noticed she wasn't eating a little sooner. Then I could have gotten her to the vet a little sooner and it might have made a difference. Trixie was healthy, strong and not old. She deserved at least a few more years of frolicking around my apartment with my other bunny. They were a bonded pair and he's going to be totally lost without her.