I’ve been thinking about solace, and the times I had solace. Solace is something that I want in my life. I want a “happy place” to go to.
When I was growing up, I largely did two things for solace — read books and raise rabbits.
I didn’t have a few rabbits. No, I had anywhere from 10 to 80. While my peers were moving from sleepovers to dates, I was busy every weekend showing my rabbits all over Oregon state. My rabbits were award-winners as I never like to do anything halfway. I was cleaning cages and trimming toenails. I’d get up earlier than anyone who knows me might believe to feed them every morning.
While I had many types of rabbits over the years, I mainly raised Himalayans. Himalayans are smaller rabbits that are white in color with dark points on their noses, feet, tail, and ears. They’re also know to be very docile and go into rabbit trances where their heads move back and forth almost like their meditating.
I always loved them because of those qualities. They were my solace. When I had a bad day due to hormones or an ugly incident at school, I could retreat to the detached garage that housed all my rabbits (and my cats too). We’d just hang out and listen to NPR.
They always had the radio going so they would be used to noise. My mom always joked that my rabbits were very well-informed. But really, we lived so far out in the country that there would be silence. Silence where I could hear my rabbits eating hay or drinking from their dishes. Or hear them bounce around their cages when there was a loud noise. The radio helped them from freaking out too badly.
Now that I live in Seattle, sometimes I miss that silence. Right now, I can hear my upstairs neighbor walking around, a car on the road, a train, and Jason playing a game on the other computer. I didn’t really notice the lack of silence until I visit my mom’s house.
The drive from Seattle to Bend is long, and the last couple times, I’ve arrived just after midnight. No one is out and about in the country, on my mom’s 20 acres. Everyone’s already in bed. (Or my brothers never came home or are at dad’s house.) The dogs might bark, but they soon settle down for more interesting things like sleeping.
Then there’s silence and crisp, dry air and bright stars.
I think Himalayan rabbits are like that — silent and bright. They’re also soft.
The day I broke up with an ex-boyfriend, we went to a Humane Society together. They had one rabbit. (It was a Satin, not a Himalayan.) I held it and touched it. I let it sniff my face with its flat, wide nose and curious whiskers. A worker told me she’d never seen that rabbit be so friendly with anyone. I couldn’t take it with me. I was moving. Logistics and rental agreements. But for one moment, I was there with my bunnies and it didn’t matter that my life was in upheaval.
I keep telling Jason I need a holiday rabbit. Wouldn’t a surprise pet be the best present ever? (I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to not being able to bring home lost and stray animals on a whim.)
I just need a moment to find that solace. The solace in a four pound rabbit that found my painted nails to be the same color as grass.