“Death is one moment, and life is so many of them.”
(Tennessee Williams)
I used to think that raising orphaned cottontail rabbits was tough. Being at the bottom of the food chain, they are such Nervous Nellies that they either come into rehab and thrive or they die. There is rarely any middle ground and all-too-rarely any kind of warning when they decide to check out. I’ve watched a seemingly perfect baby cottontail readily take to the nippled syringe and Hoover down its ration of formula, look at me, grin, and promtply fall over dead. That’s why I fondly refer to them as “stinkin’ buns”. So when the calls came about orphaned baby opossums with eyes open, knowing that at that stage they can lap so it was merely a matter of providing them with a safe environment in which to finish growing up, I happily said yes.
Now I wonder just what I was thinking.
It has been a struggle for the Gang of Five since Day Two. Their first week ended with no growth, and in a couple of cases they’d actually lost a gram or two. Which, when you start out at only an average of 45 grams, is a Darned Big Deal. I’ve spent hours doing research and the bottom line conclusion is that they are, in their own unique way, just like stinkin’ buns.
So all of them are on antibiotics. And so we lost the largest baby male late Monday afternoon. While he hadn’t gained any weight, for all intents and purposes he had been acting quite normally. Other than continuing to pass soft stool, he continued to eat and participate with good energy during their twice-a-day “romp time” (which consists mainly of toddling around and around their aquarium like the busy little seekers they are). There was no warning; in fact if we were going to lose anyone first I thought it would be one of the little girls who had “crashed” like Runt did shortly after intake. Instead, we trundled Sunny off to the vet for a surgery follow-up check and returned to find the little male under the covers with his siblings, prone and dead still.
Runt had pulled through his “crash” and after a couple of days had returned to the pool of general concern for the litter’s elimination problems. Yesterday evening, however, he crashed again, becoming extremely weak and lethargic. They do love their sweet-flavored antibiotic, though, so he lapped it readily and then lapped a decent feeding amount of formula from a syringe before tucking his head into my hand to go back to sleep. I’d hoped getting another dose of antibiotic and some food energy into him would perk him up, but when the hour grew wickedly later than late, it was apparent Runt’s condition was critical. I spent the night with him in order to monitor him and give him sips of formula every hour, crucial to maintaining his blood sugar levels. But it was to no avail. As I dozed fitfully between checks, at the approach of dawn Runt quietly slipped away.
I was then almost afraid to look in on his siblings. Sister “Crash” hadn’t been all that great last night, either, but though she hadn’t been critical that now doesn’t mean a darned thing. To my relief, three pairs of bright, shiny and alert eyes looked up at me with a mixture of nervous surprise and consternation and later all of them happily slurped their morning dose of medicine and lapped at a bit of fresh formula from their dish before passing some better stools and toddling off to sleep away the day.
Our Passel Of ‘Possies, the Gang of Five, has now become simply The Tiny Trio. And I’m hoping with a weary heart that 3 is somehow going to be a luckier number than 5.
