Things ...

Things here are okay.

I'm still missing Buckley, my crazy little bunny-buddy.

Last week I brought a Wii. It's more fun that I thought it could be.

The car thieves who stole Gibbsy struck again. On Saturday night, they stole another car a few streets away. The Police are pretty sure it's the same two scumbag dumbfuck car thieves who can't drive, because it was stolen the same way mine was, then crashed and dumped.

Work has been crazy busy.

Tonight I'm crying for my dad, who's had an incredibly tough day. Sometimes all you need is hope, and today, hope was taken away from him.

That's about it from here.

Sometimes knowing something logically, as a thinking, feeling human being doesn't really help.

Logically, I know that we can't blame the dogs for what happened to Buckley. They're dogs. They don't understand. They would have just been playing, and they wouldn't have meant any harm.

But ...

It's hard to look at them the same way now. It's hard to accept that they didn't mean any harm. Bucks would have been terrified, and he was on his own, I wasn't there for him.

But the fact is, they killed him.

And trying to live with that fact is hard.

Trying to live with the guilt is hard.

I'm sorry, Buckley-Bunny. I'm so sorry.

Reminders

Reminders of Buckley are everywhere.

His leash and collar still hang on the hook at the back door. His inside cage is still set up. His toys are in the back yard. His food bowls, which I'd taken out the night before, still sit on the sink waiting to be cleaned. His cage is the first thing I see when I look out the sunroom window, or the laundry window. His blanket is still on top of the bbq, waiting to be washed. Photos of him are on my mobile phone. Photos of him on my walls, sprinkled in with the rest of my life.

Every reminder causes more tears.

The tears won't stop ...

Bucks ... I'm sorry you died scared and alone. I'm sorry. I still can't believe all that happened this morning. I know it wasn't my fault, it wasn't anyone's fault, but that doesn't make it any easier. I can't blame anyone for what happened. It doesn't change what happened, no matter how badly I wish it did. I'm sorry, Maybe one day I'll be able to look at the photos of you on my phone, or I'll be able to think of you without bawling my eyes out, but not yet. I miss you heaps, you crazy little bugger.

RIP Buckley-Bunny

RIP, my little Buck-miester. For "just a rabbit", you fast became part of the family. I will miss your crazy antics more than I can say. No longer will you thump your feet at me when you're happy, you've thrown your last tantrum when I put you back in your cage, and you've let me scratch your ears for the last time. I miss you already. I can't believe I'm never going to go out the back again and see you sitting on your log like King Buckley. RIP.