Little Angel

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On a late spring day, just out of school for Easter break, I carried Meadow up the stairs. Meadow, my lop eared rabbit, a lovely shade of brown, softer then anything in the world. He was my comfort and my angel. Slowly walking up the stairs to give him to my mother, she was crying yet again, over something stupid. By taking Meadow, to her I might save the family vacation to Colorado.
I reached the gate and started to swing my leg over it when Meadow wiggled out of my hands. His lower back hit the gate and he started to fall down the first steps. He reached the landing and hurriedly hopped down the next flight of stairs, dragging his back paws behind him. I ran down the stairs behind him, and found him under the dinning room set. His chocolate eyes the size of quarters, looked at me with fear. Breathing so hard, his stomach was like a balloon, swelling up and shrinking back down.
I ran back upstairs to tell my father, hoping he could help Meadow. My dad called the vet only to learn nothing could be done to help my little bunny. I sat next to Meadow for an hour or so listening to him breath. I talked and talked to him, telling him he was going to get better, he had to. My father sent me to bed, the vacation still on. I cried and prayed my self to sleep; hoping the one thing I loved most would make it through the night.
A little over a month later I came home from school, it was like any other Friday; I took of my shoes and dropped my backpack on the floor and started to walk to the kitchen. With only a few steps left till I was in the kitchen, my mother stood before me. Only one look from her face and I knew he was gone, the second look only confirmed it.

We buried Meadow later that afternoon. He sits in his final resting place in the side garden under my favorite iris, a bright orange one full of fire and life. His coffin a simple cardboard box, wrapped in his sheepskin blanket, in his bunny sized bed surrounded by a few of his favorite toys.





When ever I need comfort I wear his name tag on a chain around my neck or dig up his scrapbook full of pictures of him. If you go to very last page you will find one of my favorite pictures of him; a close up with an expression of glee on his face. And in the right hand corner you find a plastic bag with just a little of the softest hair you will find; the only thing I have left of my little angel.





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