The Inspiring Love, Patience, and Compassion of a Bun Mom

The Love, patience, and compassion of a bun mom is unparalleled when caring for special needs rabbits like those with disabilities, chronic illnesses, or unique medical conditions. This month’s compassionate caregiver is Suzanne Fisher, bun mom to Izzy, Dandy and Missy. This is Izzy and Suzanne’s story, one of the most selfless heartfelt I’ve ever heard.

In a world that often overlooks the most fragile, there is a special kind of person whose heart beats in rhythm with the quietest, most delicate souls. A devoted owner of a special needs rabbit, they have embraced a journey filled with challenges, yet illuminated by love. Every syringe-fed meal, every carefully placed blanket, every moment of patient reassurance is a testament to their unwavering commitment. Where others might see limitations, they see boundless potential—where some might give up, they choose to give more. Every minute improvement their rabbit achieves is a testament to their power of empathy and dedication.

One year ago today, Valentine’s Day, Miss Izzy hopped the rainbow bridge. I know many of you, like myself, were completely devasted upon waking and seeing that post on Instagram. Suzanne and I decided today would be the perfect day to make this article live, in honor of this sweet girl whom we all remember, will never forget and cherish within our hearts.

February’s Compassionate Caregiver

Suzanne Fisher

Tell me about yourself

Hi! My name is Suzanne; I’m on Instagram at @bunnyisablle1. I also have a bunny-themed sewing business, which is on Instagram and Facebook: @bunmom.boutique. Coffee shop chat sessions, exercising, cooking, and organizing are some of my favorite things to do. Hop on over to the featured business section to read all about Bunmom Boutique!

Tell me about your rabbit(s)

Isabelle “Izzy” was adopted from the county SPCA on June 24, 2017. She was a beautiful pointed white lionhead. Izzy was originally adopted in the spring of 2017 and returned six weeks later. Her profile listed her as sassy and not great with children. She was my first real pet. A local PetSmart was hosting an adoption event and a volunteer mentioned that I should sit with her. She put her head down for pets, groomed herself while I was in the X-pen, and overall seemed comfortable around me. I was smitten and told the volunteer I wanted her.

One of the photos I took of her on adoption day became my favorite. This was the same image that I used to announce her passing. I love how it shows off her thick, full coat and beauty.

Izzy also had a bonded mate, Dandelion “Dandy” who was adopted from the SPCA. They were bonded for a little over two years when Izzy developed head tilt.

Izzy’s Journey with Head Tilt

Izzy began having trouble with ear infections during the summer of 2020. I noticed one ear was droopy, similar to a lop-eared bun, even though she was an up-eared rabbit. She was also having trouble with her mobility and would become wobbly and unbalanced. I took her to the veterinarian numerous times. She was give antibiotics by injection and orally to treat an ear infection. A lateral ear resection surgery, with ear drum sampling, was recommended to relieve her discomfort.

I still remember receiving the voicemail with the estimate for the surgery on Monday, August 31, 2020 around 5:30 pm. I came home and found Izzy’s torso tilting to one side. I wrapped her in a blanket and offered her food. I knew how important eating and defecating is to rabbits. She was barely eating and I was so scared she would go into gastrointestinal stasis. That night, my husband slept on the floor with Izzy wrapped in a blanket around her body.

I woke up to my husband very upset and saying we need to get Izzy to the vet as soon as possible. He said she started rolling aggressively around 3:00 am and that these seizure-like movements were nonstop. Watching her was difficult as we didn’t understand what was happening. I know we were both thinking that we would be coming home with an empty carrier.

The next available appointment was at 12:15 pm. Izzy had blood drawn for E. cuniculi, and CBC, CRP, and chemistry tests. She was given a steroid injection. Thankfully this was in the 24-hour window of her tilting, increasing her chances of recovering. So many medications were prescribed – chloramphenicol, loxicom, gabapentin, Neo-Poly-Bac eye ointment, and meclizine. I was devastated, although relieved euthanasia was not mentioned. She was rolling non-stop and unable to feed herself, use a litterbox, nor drink water. I posted on Instagram what was happening. Thankfully many experienced head tilt owners reached out to me, within minutes of my post.

It wasn’t until years later, when I was helping another bunmom that I had a revelation. This bunmom told me the care reminded her of being a parent to a newborn baby all over again. She, too, was completely exhausted, overwhelmed, and sleep-deprived.

That night we were disconcerted by Izzy’s physical state and bewildered how to safely contain her. I put her in a plastic storage box out of desperation. I first tried placing her in a laundry basket, but her rolling was going higher than the sides. For now, she was secure. Dandy could see her and know she was still alive.

Tuesday through Friday of that week we cared for Isabelle round-the-clock. A little encampment on the bedroom floor was made, with lots of fleece blankets and essential supplies. We took turns in four hour shifts, even packing a cooler of food to keep nearby, so we didn’t need to leave her side. She was falling over and rolling constantly. We wanted to be there for her so she would not hurt herself. Seeing her stranded on her back broke my heart. It was exhausting and hard to watch my sassy, independent, binky-loving bunny have no control of her body, for days on end.

When she would calm down long for a spell, we would put food in front of her. She naturally knew how to receive water in a syringe and this is how she drank water until she passed. I can’t imagine how exhausting it was for her to roll and how many extra calories she was burning. There were episodes when she would only eat certain greens, and I remember a 24-hour period where the only food she would eat was apple. I was happy she was showing interest in food. I struggled with feeding her recovery food products, partly due to not having a quality syringe for small animals.

Thankfully my husband had many vacation days left, and was able to stay home and help me with her care. Labor Day was September 7^th, and that helped with additional time off. I truly don’t know how I could have cared for her without his assistance. Eventually, though, life needed to return to a “new normal”.

Housing Izzy in a Graco Pack ‘n Play® seemed to be the best option, a suggestion given by another bunmom with down bunnies. My heart broke for her bonded mate, Dandy, but we were concerned for his safety. Between the extensiveness and frequency of her rolling, fears of a skin or eye laceration were real. Whenever we put Izzy on the floor, Dandy was made aware that he could come and visit.

These meetings were highly supervised so that no injuries could occur. Dandy proved himself to be the most punctual and loving husbun, much to our relief. I am sure he was puzzled what was happening. She went from being a bossy, alpha bun to not even being able to lift her head; I could feel the perplexity he was experiencing.

Within a few nights, Dandy figured out that Izzy was going to be on the floor at 8:00 pm. He would go to a certain spot and wait for Izzy. I felt such empathy for him, but she was still rolling every few minutes. I couldn’t imagine the stress of housing them together.

Once the Pack ‘n Play® was assembled, we discovered that it did not fit through the door jamb to the bedroom. Bundad took the door off of the hinges. I was so busy with her care that I really didn’t even notice the oddness of a having a door leaning against the wall. Izzy kept me extremely busy; I was very much in survival mode. I learned to rest when she slept so that I could be awake and alert for cecotrope time.

Initially we had hoped she would recover and hop around like many of the head tilt buns I was seeing on Instagram. For her daytime living, an X-pen with “French doors” was set up in the dining room. I sewed fleece bumpers to cover the bottom 12 inches, as the possibility of a limb becoming stuck in the bars was a concern.

Dandy could circle the X-pen from all four sides, which made me feel a little better for his mental well being. I put a doll bed next to the pen, so he could have a better view of her from an elevated position. When Dandy would look down at Izzy on the floor, it reminded me of Romeo and Juliet.

Eventually the rolling subsided and Izzy laid flat on her side. She developed infected mats as obviously she couldn’t stand up to use a litter box. I was clueless and overwhelmed how to care for her. Seeing her with infected mats broke my heart, and I realized I needed to get her fur and skin hygiene under control.

Each evening we put Izzy on the floor, propping her up as best we could. For about three to four hours each night, bundad would pet her head and little by little, I would start to cut away at the mats. My head would be completely upside down. I used a variety of magnifying glasses, flashlights, and scissors while working on her tiny and delicate areas. I didn’t take many picutres of this process, as we kept the overhead lights dim (due to her up eye); the only lighting I was using was the flashlights.

We had a special You-Tube show that we would watch, that became the familiar voice for mat-cutting time. Slowly progress was made and her skin improved. What to my amazement, she stood up exactly three months on December 1st. It felt like we had experienced a real life Christmas miracle. Izzy continued to spend her days in the X-pen, her evenings on the floor with Dandy, and overnight in the Pack ‘n-Play®. Adjusting to the new normal took about three months, but eventually we settled into a routine. The piles of laundry seemed endless, but keeping her clean and dry was priority.

The Progression of Care

For the first two weeks of head tilt, I would say that Izzy was at an intensive care unit level of care. She needed round-the-clock monitoring, for her safety, food intake, and cleanliness. Between her rolling and sleeping, we never wanted to miss an opportunity to offer her food. We were sleeping about four hours per day during this time. This initial phase was challenging; I was mentally and physically drained, not knowing what was going to happen.

She required water out of a syringe and was given recovery food products. Eventually she ate by licking mushy food off of my finger. Her interest in food was definitely motivating us to keep helping her, in any way we could. After the first week, we began putting her on puzzle mats, with bumpers down the sides, as a form of physical therapy.

I’m glad I took so many photos to show her progress.

After standing up on December 1^st, she was probably at an assisted living level of care. She was spending her days in the X-pen, and was able to move enough to get hay out of a paper bag. She continued to obtain hydration from of syringe, and was on a plethora of medications. Prazosin was added in to help relax her sphincter. The first three months were definitely the most harrowing, and then a routine fell into place.

Izzy’s floor time with Dandy continued, something that became habit for all of us.

After about five months, in the late winter of 2021, my mother’s health declined. I was unable to continue the routine of keeping Izzy in the X-pen during the day. We relocated her into the crib full-time, although she still was given floor time each evening. Dandy was always offered an opportunity to visit. We also wanted her to feel free with no barriers around her, mimicking her time of being a free-roaming rabbit. By fall, her mobility was decreasing. She seemed to have difficulty bearing weight on certain limbs.

Her appetite and feisty personality were still present, so we continued with our routine. At this point, she was probably at a skilled nursing care level of care. She required a lot of attention so that she was not sitting in soiled bedding. She liked the interaction of being hand fed hay and greens. Our bond became deeper than ever. I knew what special head and tongue movements meant, from hunger to thirst. Time together and attentiveness were instrumental in developing this deep bond.

A lot of life happened during this time, from the spring of 2021 to the summer of 2022. My mother needed to go into skilled nursing care and my father passed away. In addition to being the primary caregiver to Izzy, I found myself navigating these two major life transitions. I am an only child and the mental and physical workload of caring for both parents was heavy and isolating. I would tell friends of my experiences and often get a reply of, “I just can’t process or think about any of what you are saying.”

I knew these were uncomfortable topics and the stress was taking a toll on me. Talking to a therapist during this time was a good decision. I was making life and death decisions each day it seemed. The heaviest was getting a phone call Christmas Eve 2021 that we were waiting for my father to pass away. This was one of the rare times that we left Izzy alone in her crib. After I ended the phone call with the doctor, I told my husband that we both needed to go to the empty house as I needed help figuring out how to turn off the water.

Izzy’s cute face and spunky spirit kept me in a mindset of gratitude; I learned to take life day by day. I often told myself that as long as everyone was eating, pooping, and nothing was infected, I was doing a really good job. I was juggling the legal responsibilities of being a power of attorney and the executrix to a complex estate situation. Being the only family to a loved one in a nursing home took a mental toll on me; I would often leave a visit and sit in my car and cry.

The smells, sights and sounds left me with guilt and trauma. When my husband was home with Izzy, I was at my parents’ house sorting through decades of my family possessions. There were daily care issues with my mother’s nursing home; I had to learn to be a feisty advocate, just like Izzy’s own personality. These years were a whirlwind and I look back and wonder how I kept my head on straight.

Many appointments had to be scheduled for my new roles, which had a timetable around my husband’s work schedule. Keeping Izzy safe, catching cecotropes, and her cleanliness were my priority. Somehow we got through this season.

By the spring of 2023 Izzy was no longer able to urinate on her own. After a routine trip to the vet for a prescription refill, euthanasia was finally mentioned. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Izzy, too. I poked around her belly, pressed a little bit and voilà – her tail popped up and a beautiful golden flow started. What a huge relief. Izzy was going for upwards of eighteen hours without urinating; I couldn’t imagine how painful this must have been for her.

I do regret I did not try to express her bladder earlier in her head tilt journey. She made the process so easy for me, and never fought me when trying. From that day forward, I expressed her bladder – first thing in the morning, before bed, and throughout the day as needed. I knew if she got fussy or developed a bump on her belly that she needed my attention. How could I not keep trying when looking at her cute face, knowing all we had been through?

Since I like to sew, I experimented with sewing different pads for the urine to land on. Eventually I settled on 4×4” square of PUL (PolyUrethane Laminate) and reusing Medline pad toppers that were wearing out. Serging around the edges with my overlock machine made them a quick project. On top of this little square, I would fold a flat-fold cloth baby diaper.

This was by far the best set-up because I could see what color the urine was on the white cloth diaper. I also lined the crib with small Medline pads. Occasionally the urine would come out at a surprise angle and go twelve to fifteen inches from her body. I never knew what to expect when I did an expression, but I was meticulous in protecting the surfaces thoroughly.

By summer of 2023, Izzy transitioned to more of a palliative level of care when I started expressing her bladder. Occasionally it became too difficult to void. I could feel her distress. I would place her on my rebounder and bounce her for about four minutes, usually the length of one upbeat song. I would attempt to help her again, and what to my surprise – urine would come out.

Bouncing her was such a little task of time, and something I wish I would have started earlier. I placed her in a clear storage box, lined with medical sheepette, fleece, and pillows. Straddling the box with either my arms or legs, I pushed her up and down. The first time was she a little distraught by what was happening, but then I think she realized this was making her feel better and she didn’t seem to mind.

Life actually got a little bit easier, in some ways, with expressing her bladder, because urine was contained to the squares that I sewed. It always landed on one of the washable pads that I removed immediately. Keeping a special-needed animal clean and dry, I believe, is the number one way to which to communicate love and care.

I also started a new routine of putting her under running water to be extra hygienic with urine and any stuck-on cecotropes. In the beginning, bathing and blow drying was taking upwards of two hours. Now showering her with running water was taking less than five minutes. I never would have thought early on how tolerant she would become to running water. She would spread her toes so water would get between them, and twist her body so water would hit her thigh. It was rhapsodic to see her enjoyment in becoming clean and knowing how to move her body.

Looking back, around Christmas of 2023, I realized Izzy was entering a hospice level of care. Bundad would often comment that she was getting a particular look in her eye, and even the night she passed, he mentioned she had the gaze again. She struggled with bouts of gas; I increased her bouncing time on the rebounder. I started applying heat to her stomach with a tummy warmer that I sewed and was giving her simethicone. These modalities helped and she always bounced back.

Izzy’s last full day was Tuesday, February 13, 2024. Snow fell that morning and I wheeled her crib over to the patio door to watch the winter wonderland form. I held her while I sat on the couch for a rare photo of her entire head. I gave her a shower; she was so nice and clean – not one mat or urine stain. She had come so far from those early days of having infected mats.

She ate hay and drank water and nothing seemed much out of the ordinary, other than the abnormal expression that bundad saw her in her eye.

Bundad woke me up around 5:30 am on Wednesday, February 14, 2024 and through tears, told me that Izzy had just passed. He left for work about an hour later; I was uncertain as to what to do with her remains. I sat on the couch just staring at her crib, sobbing and heartsick. I didn’t know how to start my day without expressing her bladder.

Dandy was shown the remains and he, too, was obviously in shock. He didn’t know how to react to her body that did not respond to pushing and agitation. Even with her many limitations, she always gave off a vibe of being companionable to her surroundings. I put her spiritless body back in the crib, covered her with a blanket, and waited until 9:00 am – opening time for the veterinarian’s office. Time moved so slowly, I felt like I was going out of my mind.

My phone call went to voice mail. This particular week the office was closed on Wednesday and open on Saturday. I had absolutely no idea what to do. My husband told me to do whatever I wanted and not to have the remains in the house when he got home. The clock went to not moving, to me being in a mental state of racing it and making decisions.

I couldn’t bring myself to eat and felt too weak to drive – I think I was in shock. If only our veterinarian’s office would have been open. The employees knew me and Izzy’s situation. I really needed to talk to someone close to me. I called the nursing home and told the receptionist to have my mom call me immediately.

If anyone who tried to assist me that day with arrangements is reading this article, thank you for messaging me with ideas and support. It was one of the worst days I’d ever experienced.

Thankfully, someone I had met locally at a Grief Share support group saw my Instagram posts reached out. She drove me to get food and flowers; I will always be forever grateful for this act of kindness. I contacted a cemetery that was a quick commute from our home and explained what just happened to my beloved pet rabbit. What to my surprise, the counselor said they had Rainbow Bridge section for pets. I said I would be there at 2:00 pm with Izzy.

Walking into the building alone was eerie, and I felt a wave of grief from losing my father two years prior. This was the second time I had to do these appointments solo; I told myself to put one foot in front of the other and just walk. I handed over the cardboard carrier to the grounds worker and told him to be extra careful. I went on to explain that she had head tilt and that you need to be really gentle how you handle her; we don’t want to hurt her limbs.

The counselor told me to bring the flowers back the next day as I could be present for the lowering of the shell (similar to a casket) into the ground. He told me that they typically don’t put up a tent and chairs at Rainbow Bridge burials. At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant by “putting up a tent and chairs.” That night there was a beautiful sunset, over snow that had fallen the morning before.

My husband came home from work and we never spoke of her remains. I put the flowers in Izzy’s crib and took a few photos. The pillows were still arranged how she left them. I even saw a little divot from where her body had been. Then we disassembled the crib and put it away. I was so tired and my face hurt from crying.

That next morning I gathered a few items for her shell such as her favorite body pillow, a pillow for her head, a craft item, and wrote her a letter.

My appointment was at 12:30 pm to go back to the cemetery and see the shell being lowered into the ground. When I came over the crest of the hill, I saw the Rainbow Bridge section with a white tent and two green chairs – what’s going on? At first I didn’t realize that this was for Izzy and me. The counselor said that he wanted to do this for me as he could tell that I had an extra special relationship with my pet rabbit.

I put the mementos in her shells, read her a Bible verse, and kissed her forehead one last time. I was wearing lipstick and noticed that it stained her fur a little bit. She will always have a love mark from me on her precious body. The counselor lifted her head and I put her yellow pillow under it. I then sat in one of the two chairs and watched the groundskeeper lower her into the earth.

The outpouring of love and support I received on Instagram was so vast and something I still cherish. I didn’t realize how many people were looking for daily posts of Izzy and how she was doing. Slowly I started reading through the comments and DMs people had written. The impact she made on people was larger than I realized; her strength and determination giving so many people hope.

One of my Instagram followers saw the picture of two chairs under the tent, and did a picture edit – if all of Izzy’s friends could have attended, the ceremony would have been standing room only. This was just the sweetest gesture and still makes me smile to know Izzy was loved so deeply.

Having her remains at a local historic cemetery was meant to be. She has a permanent record of being buried at in this plot. Dandy’s plot, next to hers, is already reserved. It has given me peace to be able to go back to her plot, put flowers on it, and play our song, My Valentine by Jim Brickman. She’s surrounded by rows of evergreen trees, green grass, and history.

Caring for her was one of the greatest gifts I’d been given. What started out as an overwhelming and direful situation transitioned into trust, devotion, and unabounding love. I’ll never forget the season of being Izzy’s bunmom.

Final Thoughts…

Though the path is not always easy, every small victory—a twitch of a nose, a trusting nuzzle, a peaceful moment of rest—reminds the compassionate caregiver why they continue. Their love is not measured in grand gestures but in the quiet, everyday acts of devotion that make all the difference. To care for a special needs rabbit is to offer a love that is selfless, patient, and pure, proving that true compassion is not about ease, but about the courage to give wholeheartedly, no matter the challenge. It deepens the bond and unconditional love between them making the journey incredibly rewarding.

NOTE: There will be a part 2 coming soon going more in depth into Izzy’s care.