There is no escape from Stalag 33

We have a rabbit. It would be most accurate to say that he is Lizzie’s rabbit, but I actually look after him most of the time. I let him out of his hutch in the morning, feed him, make sure he has water and that his litter tray is in the corner of his run where he tends to use it, and in the evening I coax him back into his hutch for the night.

Last weekend, out of the blue he suddenly started burrowing.  And, unsurprisingly, he is good at it, and pretty soon there was a large hole under his hutch, and he looked headed for freedom.  Lizzie was worried because she didn’t want him eaten by a fox, I was worried because I didn’t want to come home and find that he had disappeared, and I would have been left dealing with a very upset five year old!

Consulting with the man in the pet shop (we had gone to stock up on food)  the advice was to line the bottom of the run with chicken wire. Luckily I still had a whole roll of the stuff left over from making the run in the first place!

So today we coaxed Buddy (the bunny) back in to his hutch so that we could remove his run, flip it over and add the chicken wire.  I have to say, I didn’t like doing it. I worry that it might be uncomfortable on his feet, and it feels a bit prisoner of war, but it is definitely preferable to a heartbroken little girl.

Buddy and Lizzie when Lizzie first arrived.
Buddy and Lizzie in the garden.
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