Adventures of Mopsy Bunnytail
In the early 1980s when my aging parents needed assistance, I headed home to their 120 acres near Arbor Vitae in northern Wisconsin. Though my parents didn’t actually farm, our days were always lively as there was much to do around the big old farmhouse, the large yard, and the several-acre garden.
I’m not sure why Dad felt I needed a pet, but one day in the spring of 1984 he saw a notice in the local paper about twelve-week-old rabbits. We checked it out and found a young woman who had Rex rabbits, their short dense fur like plush velvet. All the bunnies in the litter were shiny black, each with one ear slightly lopped to the side.
I chose a female rabbit who hopped right up to me and nudged my hand with her nose. We named her Mopsy Bunnytail, Mopsy for short.
Her inquisitive nature was apparent right from the start, and by day two she began exploring all the corners of the house. While she was thus entertained, I went out to the garden to get vegetables for lunch. When I came in a few minutes later, I didn’t see Mopsy. Mom said she was looking for her, as Mopsy had just suddenly disappeared. I looked everywhere, but had no luck. Then, hearing a suspicious sound coming from inside the electric stove, I slowly and carefully pulled out the bottom utility drawer. There was our rabbit—reclining in the Dutch oven, looking very sweet and innocent.
She had entered the stove from the back, so I learned right away that I must be on my toes to keep her out of trouble. I immediately went to work plugging all holes and other inviting places. Our house plants were already out of reach, so they posed no threat to Mopsy’s health.
The electrical cords were put up but, as it turned out, not far enough. One day I spotted our adventurous bunny about to cut one of the cords with her teeth. Worried, I went after her a little too fast. Mopsy must have felt threatened when I reached to pull the cord away because she reared up on her hind feet and swatted rapidly at my hands, boxing me with her front feet. Needless to say, I received some substantial scratches on my hands, learning in the process that I needed to be more careful about how I approached her. However, as time passed and we got to know one another, Mopsy relaxed and didn’t become defensive anymore. Of course, I made sure all wires were inaccessible so that she would remain safe—and so that the telephone and other equipment would remain in usable condition! I also gave our rabbit appropriate things to chew on, her favorite being an old moccasin.
When we got Mopsy, she was already quite big, and by the time she was a full-grown adult, she was a sleek twenty pounds. Her size often drew comments, such as the time when a relative visited. We were all sitting in the living room when we heard ka-thump, ka-thump, coming from the hallway. Then Mopsy appeared. The visitor looked at our large furred companion and wondered aloud, “Oh, that’s a rabbit?”
Our Mopsy, a natural entertainer, leaped onto the couch, jumped up on the back, then ran along it and bounced down. Then she eyed my Dad, who wasn’t paying attention to her—he was sitting in his chair, intently reading the newspaper. Mopsy must have wanted him to notice her because she tore across the floor and with one jump was on his lap, knocking the paper out of the way. She put her front feet on his chest and looked up at him with her soulful dark brown eyes. Then she nipped a small hole in his shirt pocket! Just that quick, she bounced down again. Dad laughed so hard, along with the rest of us.
Early in her time with us, Mopsy learned where I was getting some of the food for our meals. I would open the refrigerator, and there she’d be, sniffing the outside of the crisper drawer. She was particularly delighted when I could offer her celery leaves, carrot or beet tops, or wintergreen leaves. Mopsy even took a chunk out of an onion one day, chasing after it like a toy when it dropped and rolled across the floor. But her favorite food by far was blackberry vines—she absolutely adored that treat.
Our gorgeous rabbit never failed to join us for lunch; she wanted us to know that she considered herself part of the family. As soon as we would sit down at the table, we’d hear her large feet coming from the living room, plop, plop, plop. Mopsy would sidle up to me, rise up on her stocky hind feet, pat my knee with a front paw, and stare me down. That was her way of letting me know that she wanted to eat with us. As long as Mopsy was given something to eat—generally a few leafy greens—she was satisfied. Once when I dropped a piece of sugar cookie, she pounced on it and chewed it up, letting me know that she had a fondness for sweets, too. But I knew such food was not good for a rabbit so from then on I tried to keep track of the crumbs.
Eyes drooping shut, I wouldn’t see Mopsy until she brushed against my face. There she would be, nearly nose to nose. Her eyes seemed to be asking, “Can I be of any help to you?”
Oh, she was a sweet rabbit! I remember the many times—after doing several large loads of wash and then hanging it all out to dry—that I would stretch out on the living room carpet to ease my back. The sounds of Mom and Aunt Joyce laughing and visiting while they prepared food in the kitchen would lull me almost to sleep. Eyes drooping shut, I wouldn’t see Mopsy until she brushed against my face. There she would be, nearly nose to nose. Her eyes seemed to be asking, “Can I be of any help to you?” She would offer comfort and love by giving my face a couple of laps with her soft, warm tongue. I cherished those times.
During the summer, Mopsy liked being outside in the fresh air. We moved a large outdoor hutch into the shade of the pines and she would spend time there when I couldn't be outside with her. In the winter, we relocated the hutch inside a building attached to the house.
Our country yard was big, with spruce, white pine, and lilac near the house. Mopsy loved to romp out there daily. But it wasn't safe for her to roam free so I leash-trained her, which took a little doing. Once she realized that there was actually greater freedom with the leash, she’d stand still while I fastened the harness.
During our initial forays she tried to make friends with the cottontails, to no avail. They would take off, with Mopsy in hot pursuit, dragging me along. But the wild bunnies were much too fast, so Mopsy never even got close enough to wiggle noses with them.
One day we were out walking, and Mopsy insisted that she was going to hop through the center of a large lilac bush.
“Mopsy, I can’t go through there with you; I’m too big,” I said.
She looked at me and then started chewing at the base of the bush. I was distracted by something and didn’t pay attention to Mopsy’s actions. Suddenly, I felt her tug on the leash. When I looked down, I was stunned to see she had clipped off tall sticks of lilac, first to her right, then to her left—all the way through that bush.
She looked up at me as if to say, “Okay, I’ve made a path for you. Now, let’s go!”
When I called my Dad to look at what Mopsy Bunnytail had done, he looked first at her, then at me.
“I'll be doggoned,” he said. “I’ve never seen a rabbit do anything like that!”
Well, if I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it either!
It seems that the warm season in northern Wisconsin is always too short. Soon we were enjoying the beauty of a winter wonderland, with snow covering the ground and flocking the trees. When it came time to get our Christmas tree, Dad and I got a state permit to cut in the spruce swamp that bordered one of the forty-acre parcels of our property. As usual in December, we had six feet of snow to traipse through.
Dragging the tall black spruce back to the house, we trimmed the branches so that it would fit one corner of the living room. Dad secured the tree by wrapping a cord around the trunk and tying it onto wall hooks. That precaution plus a good tree stand stabilized our tree, and that was as far as we got the first day.
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We let Mopsy into the living room. She hopped in and stopped dead, much like a child at her first Christmas. Looking down the length of the room, her nose twitching, Mopsy remained still for a minute. Then she raced to the evergreen and sniffed the lower branches. When she was sure nothing was going to grab her, she stood on her hind feet and started to chew the needlelike foliage. I don’t think she enjoyed the taste, and that was a good thing because the resin in the tree really wasn't good for her. She created a favorite napping spot alongside the tree and relaxed by stretching out to her full length. She helped make the Christmas celebration memorable.
Mopsy’s gorgeous black fur was thick and required attention to prevent her from ingesting too much of it as she groomed herself. Whenever she began to molt, I'd brush her. Because she seemed a little itchy one day, I rubbed her sides and then her tummy. As most of us know, rabbits don’t usually like their tummies rubbed, so I expected her to kick at me with her hind feet. Instead, she seemed to enjoy my touch.
The next day Mopsy started running around me, stamping her foot emphatically. Not knowing what she wanted, I sat on the floor. She promptly came alongside me, flipped over onto her back with her feet in the air, and emitted a long “a-w-w-w.” She was asking me to rub her tummy to get the loose hair off. After that, every time she started to shed, a tummy rub was our morning ritual. Afterward Mopsy would race around, kicking up her heels to show her appreciation.
The summer that Dad retired, at age seventy-six, he bought a portable screen house and set it up in the backyard. He loved nature and spent many hours watching the wild rabbits, birds, and squirrels, often taking Mopsy out with him. She would lie in the clover and grass of the floorless structure and graze on all those nice greens, enjoying my father's quiet company.
In her seventh year of life, Mopsy began slowing down—and she liked receiving more attention from us. She would join us while we watched football, stretching out across my lap and taking a nap. As she got older, she spent more and more time in the living room, claiming a low stuffed chair as her own or laying across my lap whenever I sat in the big rocking chair. She liked being petted and having her ears gently rubbed.
Then summer came and our sweet Mopsy began having respiratory problems. We were careful with her and gave her the necessary medication and love, but gradual weakness set in. My heart was heavy with the knowledge that her health was seriously failing.
One day in August, I was sitting with her on the living room floor. She tried to come to me but was too weak, so I picked her up and held her. Two minutes later, she laid her head on my shoulder, cried out once, and her loving spirit left us. I need not tell you what a hole that left in my heart.
I have had three wonderful rabbits since that time and have loved them all, but Mopsy Bunnytail was very special. She will always be a cherished memory.
NOTE: This story mentions baby rabbits found through the newspaper. Back in the early 1980s, many shelters did not have rabbits for adoption, especially in small towns and rural areas.