Archimedes ~ 04/08/15

Sometimes, the brightest things in life burn out far too fast.

Archimedes was a rabbit I waited a long while for. I never chose him; he was chosen for me. I had already picked out a buck to join my girls when I received a phone call from the “rabbit lady” at PACT Animal Sanctuary. She said he was 2.5 and that the moment she saw him, she thought of me. After much discussing, I agreed to take him, sight unseen.

I like to think that is because he found his way to where he wanted to spend his very last couple of months. He wanted love and that was what he got, what he deserved. Of course, the moment I saw him, it was love at first sight. However, it did take me until the very day we were going to go and pick him up to settle on a name that suited him – both in his dignity and his awkward goofiness. He had some lameness in his hind left leg, but that didn’t deter me.

I loved him.

He bonded with Elphie and Galinda surprisingly quickly. They were my first successful bond – and a trio to boot. A trio that was bonded within the space of a week. Artie liked them both and helped smooth over the rough edges that had prevented me from bonding them successfully during each attempt in the past.

Throughout June and early July, Artie discovered new food, ate hay with gusto, and enjoyed pellets. It was a far cry from his alleged prior diet of museli and digestive biscuits. He loved it and thrived. With more space and not one, but two girls to keep in check, his hind leg improved on a daily basis. It almost got to the stage where it was nonexistant and I was so proud of him.

He was the sweetest little thing ever. He would nuzzle under your chin if you held him, or in the crook of your arm. If you let him sniff your fingertips, he’d give you little love nibbles – not bites – just gentle nibbles on your fingertips. If you hovered the palm of your hand over his forehead, he would nudge it upwards with his nose to demand that you gave him noserubs. He never thumped, never grunted, never growled. He was always sweet, docile and tolerant, even to his very last day.

When he started to turn downhill, he was brought indoors. He was bonier, his hind legs were a little worse and most importantly, he just looked somewhat sadder. Whilst indoors, he perked up for a couple of days, which gave us hope. He loved the metacam, but would roll away like a hedgehog when trying to give him metacam. His favourite medication, though, was recovery food. There was no need to syringe with this little chap, he just woofed it down straight from the jug and got the stuff all over his chops. It was delightful to see him eat with such enthusiasm and enjoy these long cuddles which he had my full attention for. It was then, when I realised it didn’t just love him, but was head over heels for him.

On the 4th, after coming home from visiting a friend early because of a migraine, I went to check Artie’s weight as I had been for the past couple of days. I had been pleased that he was more or less beginning to gain. This time, however, I didn’t even get as far as weighing him. His bottom was so mucky and he’d been hiding away in his little loveheart cabin for most of the day.

He went straight to the vets. He’d given us so many gifts already. His love, his trust, his sweet goofy self. He had managed to get my two sister rabbits back together after three years apart. He’d taught my mother just how special rabbits are and can be. But it was getting so close to the time when we had to give him the final gift and final dignity that he deserved.

Charlotte was just as dismayed to see him in such a state as the rest of us were. He was humanely euthanised at approximately 6.15pm.

My poor little man.

My brave little soldier.

I still can’t believe you’re gone.
Archimedes: arrived home on 01/06/15, passed on to the Rainbow Bridge on 04/08/15

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Pick & Mix: A Selection of Short Stories: The Kickstarter Campaign

I’ve got more stories I’d like to tell

So if you’d listen for a spell

I won’t take up much of your time

Just listen now; it’ll be fine.

I’m ideas rich, but money poor

So if you could spare a pound, or a little more

I’d be so grateful for all you’ve done

And you can read my tales; it’ll be fun!

This project will be one we’ll share

And I’ll know you really care

Rewards are available for those who spend

And on me you can depend

To finish off this coffee table sized book

So that you can have a look

This is all I have to say

So I will leave you on your way

Just don’t forget to click on pledge

Instead of walking through the hedge!

Click Here to Go to the Campaign!

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It’s all in the genes…

It has been quite some time since I last wrote a blog post. It has been even longer since I even felt remotely well. I’ve been feeling particularly rough for over a fortnight now, which is quite disappointing. But this is something I’m used to.

By which, I mean, I live with the expectation of pain. I am not used to pain itself. My head throbs, my eyes are tired, my jaw aches like heck, my neck and shoulders are sore, wrist pains, abdominal pains and probably a handful I missed too. This is a particularly bad day for me, but the idea of having aches and pains in virtually any spot of my body is something I’ve come to expect. I get disappointed that it isn’t a good day. But sometimes, it feels like it has been so long since I had a ‘good day’ that the whole concept is lost at sea, metaphorically speaking.

Today, I had a short, but interesting conversation with my father (hi, Dad!) which had me thinking. It’s not something that is going to cure me, it might be something that helps me accept I am who I am and the pain is just a facet of it.

As a biologist by training, I know plenty about genetics. My dissertation was a genetics based one. I know this stuff. I know that migraine is a hereditary disease. I know that my mother, father, brother and grandmother have all suffered to some degree. In fact, it’s Grandma who I want to reference in this post.

I love her and she is sorely missed. She’s one of the two people who my first book, Odds & Socks, is dedicated to for that very reason.

She suffered from migraine quite seriously when she was young. I know this because she told me. I know this because she is one of the very few people who has actually come close to understanding what my kind of pain is like. “You just have to live with it,” were her frequent (and somewhat demoralising at the time!) words whenever we broached the subject.

Today, my father called me to speak about a conversation he had with his dad (my grandad, Grandma’s husband, so you can follow. This might get a little more difficult to follow but I’ll try to make it all as clear as possible.) So, they were speaking about my migraines and Grandad out that Grandma’s Grandma (making it my dad’s Great Grandma and my Great Great Grandma) suffered seriously with migraine, to the extent where she often spent days at a time in bed. Dad then remembered Grandma was like this too, but as she grew older the condition became less severe.

So it’s all in the genes. Or partially, anyway. It might give my neurologist something to work with. Who knows.

But to make this straight, the history of migraine in my family, on my father’s side, goes something like this:

Me: chronic migraine, a plethora of other pain inducing conditions.
Dad: cluster headaches, occasional rare migraine (has reduced to being aura only)
Grandma: bad migraines.
Grandma’s parents: ???
Grandma’s grandmother: bad migraines

So, there you have it, something in the genes. On the female side anyway. And it seems to skip generations if this summary is anything to go by. Lucky, lucky me. I don’t know what this means for the future, but it is very much something for me to bear in mind, especially with an imminent neurologist appointment looming…

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Nonfiction: Nessarose’s Story

I am more than a little bit heartbroken to announce that Nessarose, my magpie/black-and-white harlequin lionhead rabbit passed away on Monday after a very short illness. I was lucky to have known her.

I wrote this for #ShortStorySaturday. It’s a day late because I was very busy yesterday. Still, it is something I need to share.

Nessarose, a natural beauty and a little princess.

Nessarose, a natural beauty and a little princess.

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Fiction: Questions

Questions
by T. L. Cowell

Who am I?

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Fiction: 10:23AM

10:23AM
by T. L. Cowell

10:23AM

A girl sits on a park bench, her foot quivering in impatience. Continue reading

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Fiction: Home

Home
by T. L. Cowell

The warm and comforting scent of a baking cake permeates through the house. Continue reading

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