#131/365 Paintings

It seems fitting to conclude this group of paintings with a painting of Molly’s peace.

When she was a baby, she had a thing for this blue cube bed (in painting). She’d disappear in it for hours. Sometimes I’d find her feet up, head cocked sideways sound asleep—so safe in her blue cube. I’ve had dogs and cats in the past and other animals, but there is something so paradoxical about a peaceful, sleeping rabbit—not a care in the world while large humans walked around in proximity. I would often wonder… how did I deserve such trust from an animal with every right to be scared of everything? Very touching really. That paradox.

She had super long eyelashes. When men friends came over they’d often say something to the tune of…”Wow, very feminine looking rabbit, is she available?”

While Molly loved to play and be sassy and stubborn, there was always a time in the day when she looked for her blue cube to retreat into Molly-land.

I picked up her ashes today. Wherever she is, I really hope she’s feeling as peaceful as the look on her face from her well worn blue bed.

R.I.P. — Rabbit in Peace.

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Notes: While there might be more paintings of Molly to come within the month, my heart is spent for now. As my sweet friend Cynthia says: “There are still MANY Molly painting within you… yet to rise to the top like cream. Like dreams, they will come in time as summoned…”

My fingers have happily answered over 100 emails and messages on FB from amazing people who ‘get it’ and are feeling this with me. I miss her madly. But, painting her and realizing I’m not alone in the pain of pet loss (“friend” loss) has helped tremendously. Thank you.

#130/365 Paintings Molly (L), Max (R)

Molly was a single gal until the age of 4 1/2 when she met Max. There’s no better way to put this than… when Max came into the room, Molly, (who has never taken to other rabbits easily—more of a mommy’s girl) melted. Head down, submissive. He scented her pen. She sat there where he scented it for hours after he left. I thought it was a fluke. I brought him in the next day. Same thing. Only this time, she kissed him through the pen (nose schmoosh), just so there was no mistake that she was smitten. Him too. There was another female in the room—younger and un-spayed, but he didn’t notice her. It was all about Molly (spayed). He has great taste, that Max. He’s a thinker. I swear I can hear the gears turning in his mind as he assesses situations throughout the day. He knew what he was doing with her. The perfect gentleman too. Very polite about sharing the carrot. And of course, she was boss. She didn’t know how to groom him. He was patient. He groomed her for 2 weeks without reciprocation until she learned. Her personality changed quite dramatically—amplified. They played constantly. She also became extremely affectionate towards me. She was happy! They often smooshed into me, one on each side of my face—rabbit hug. They were only together her last 5 months of life. But they sure LIVED.

When she was dying, She found a way to hop one last time before her legs buckled under her. It was when he jumped up on the couch nervously looking for her. When she collided into him, he groomed her like there was no tomorrow. As I look back on this, I think she was saying goodbye. She knew long before I did that she was dying. She died 3 hours later.

The next morning he waited for her. He wouldn’t eat his carrot. So I got in there with him and made it seem that I would eat it if he didn’t. So he grabbed it and ate. He’s grieving right along with me. We are together in this. Thanks to Nancy Woolf, I gave him a stuffed rabbit. A rather intellectual Londoner named Sir Squidgy—Max’s intellectual match. He’s been grooming Squidge all day… off and on.

I’m glad she had love. In particular with Max, he’s such a giver. And, they were incredible together.