For the past few days, I've been caring for an infant Cottontail Rabbit. I'm left to assume he was abandoned, but I'm afraid he may have just wandered a ways from his nest. When I was given him, his eyes had not yet opened. I read up on all the sites, feeling more and more guilty about agreeing to take him in as each site began by saying that under the circumstances he'd been found that he should be put back where found. I continued on to learn how to house him and feed him, even how to encourage him to urinate(all over my favourite shirt.) Assuming the rabbit to be male, I named him Leonard Rico Dribbles, a collaborated name, if it weren't obvious enough.

I suppose it was a form of redemption for me to raise this rabbit, as I'd taken on a similar responsibility a few years ago and failed miserably, to say the least.

Within a day or so, I was thrilled to find that his little eyes had finally opened. He even began grooming himself on his own. It was becoming clear to me that the four-hourly schedule of makeshift formula feedings I planned for him would only sustain him for so much longer.

All the sites told me that there was an enzyme only a mother rabbit could provide her babies if they hoped to survive now on green foods adult rabbits eat. Lack of this bacteria in their systems proved to be the leading cause of death in captive rabbits, as their stomachs would not be able to handle the leafy green diet without. I knew my time of caring for Leonard was coming to a close.

We called a wildlife rehabiltation center this morning, the nearest one in the midstate area. They agreed to take him, so we drove with Leonard for a good hour or so up to this facility that seemed well suited to caring for him. We know now he'll continue his journey with other fellow cottontails to call his brothers and sisters. He'll be released in a few weeks into a forest area, far from the city, living the greatest life I could ever dream for him.

As I sit here at home, finally allowing my cat into my room again as there is nothing he could snap the tiny neck of any longer, I see clearly Leonard's still affecting my subconscious thought, as I think to myself every now and then "Is the music too loud for. . ." "What time is it? When's the last time I fed. . ." "Is the door closed? I don't want Ardimus to get in and find. . ."

It will easily take some time for me to completely fall back into my normal regime, and even longer not to miss the apricot-sized ball of fluff and bones, sticky with condensed milk, hopping eagerly toward me when I made the noise his mother would. Leonard Rico Dribbles will have a good life, and perhaps he'll even manage to recall his fosterer, the first face he saw, as he reenters the wild he crawled out from.