Heartbreak in the raising of bunnies.

A while ago John and I were so excited. The Adams Farm had ten beautiful bunnies. They were white, black, and gray. Several were spotted. Surely the grandkids would love to see them grow. I know that I would. I was anticipating all of the photos that I was going to shoot.

Then they began to die. The weather was cold but John rigged up a heat lamp. They were toasty. Some fell out in the cold and died. Then it seemed like the mother stopped feeding them. Maybe something happened to her milk. They lost weight. Their ribs showed. Then they were all gone. John and I were blue. Life on the Farm can get grim.

Maybe John will try a litter next spring. I hope so.