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Below is a story about Marinell Harriman's rabbit, Herman. Herman inspired Marinell to write the book " House Rabbit Handbook" which till now still serve as a reference for many breeders all over the world. If you have a story to tell, please e-mail me.
Story of Herman
Herman was a girl. The fact that we named her Herman should give you some idea how little we knew about rabbits (e.g. how to determine their gender) when she hopped into our yard in 1981. By the time we discovered our error, she had learned her name, which suited her just fine.
I have told Herman's story so many times that you might think that the computer has "hung up." Yet, I have come to realize that Herman is a symbol. She is the experience that changed the way many people think of rabbits. Letter from all over the world re-live this experience--of the first and human ignorance that turned into knowledge. "This was my Herman," I am reading on the back of enclosed photos.
When we first met Herman, my husband assumed he would build a hutch in the backyard, but we would keep her in the kitchen until then. The hutch was never built.
During our house takeover, we held another crazy notion--that our bedroom was not a bunny room, We had not reckoned with the a rabbit who could open doors and sneak into our bedroom and become so exhilarated over her victory that she would turn our bed into a trampoline. Amused, we let her have it during the day. We continued to put her in the kitchen at night, while she continued to insist on sleeping with us. It took another six months before she won. We had to adjust to having our face licked every ten minutes all through the night. It did occur to me to turn over, but I would usually find that she was standing on my hair (all fourteen pounds of her) and had me pinned to the pillow.
Herman demonstrated a remarkable sense of fairness in the equal distribution of petting, grooming and licking. She would shove her head under Bob's hand when it was his turn to pet her. I can't claim that she actually counted, but after a given number of strokes, it was her turn to groom him again.
Animals are not necessary child subsitutes. Sometimes it's the other way around. Herman was often a parent, or a grandparent. She may not have wiped away tears with her apron, but she could certainly soothe and comfort us and assure us that things were OK.
In seeing that things wre properly done, Herman supervised all household activities from fixing the washer to sorting out magazines. Propriety could be mixed with mischief, and newspaper were grabbed from startled readers' hands. It soon became apparent, after we chased her around the room, that it was the attention she wanted, not the paper. "You cheat," I often told her. "You manioulate me with your charms, and it's not fair."
At times, she was downright sneaky, revealing her guilt with her tail. I might have walked by her unaware that she had pulled a book from the bookshelf, until I saw her tail twitching defiantly.
Iwas taken by surprise when Herman accepted my invitation to play. I crouched down and wiggled my fingers ghoulishly and said, "I'm going to get you." With that information, she kicked up her heels and playfully flung her huge frame from side to side for the whole length of our living room, leaving me in gaping astonishment. "She gets it!" I said. "She really gets it!"
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