This thread reminds me so much of dearly-loved Sandy.
As a child, in the 1950s, I had the obligatory 'rabbit in a hutch' - Sandy was my birthday present as an 8 or 9 year old. It was 1973 or 74 when my mum told me that she'd found Sandy, still warm, curled up dead in the sleeping section of his hutch.
As a pet rabbit 'back in the day' he was, of course kept alone and had no vaccinations or anything like that. He did, however, get lots of interaction with my mum as our cat favoured my dad and me, and the dog specifically my dad - and I was pony-mad. By the time I left home at 17, he had had the run of half of the garden and the scullery for a good few years and very rarely soiled in the scullery, although mum said she'd often found his hard droppings on the door mat. His hutch was opened in the morning and he was shut in, for his own protection, last thing at night. Apparently he never used to have to be put back in his hutch once he'd become accustomed to his semi-freedom, he hopped in of his own accord in the evening. I think my mum's habit of giving him a bit of a treat once he was in his hutch might have had a lot to do with that!
As he got older his sight started to deteriorate and his eyes went cloudy - cataracts I presume - but it really didn't hinder him in any way as long as everything - his food bowls and so on - remained in the same place.
Eventually he started having problems with his teeth. His molars were fine - he always had lots of hay to chew on - but his incisors were overgrowing and making it difficult for him to eat; mum thought it looked as if bits were chipped off or sharp, so she took him to the vets where they laughed at her. Well, I don't know that they actually laughed - more likely said Sorry, there's nothing we can do - as I think he must have been around nine or ten when she took him and already considered very old for a rabbit at a time when small animal medicine was really still in its infancy in many ways.
So dear mum - who had a lifelong severe phobia of dentists in general - bravely went to the dentist in the village, and asked him to help. Mr Hoogi was an absolute pet and did so, gently grinding down Sandy's teeth a little bit at a time over several days while mum held Sandy. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, but as he would have starved to death without help, and the vets couldn't/wouldn't help, it seemed a reasonable thing to do. All went well and Mr Hoogi gave my mum some sort of manual file thing, which she used to smooth off any edges and for general maintenance. Sandy used to get hay ad lib - I had horses, and my uncle was a local farrier, so there was always plenty of that available - vegetable scraps and corn from the horse's and chicken's feed, and as he got older, mum would give him the scrapings of the porridge pan every morning in winter - Scottish porridge, made with just oats and water - as it was warm and mum felt it was 'good for him'
Maybe it was good for him - or maybe he was just lucky - as he lived what I like to think was, at least for the time, a happy, healthy life until he was well into his teens, in the days when pet rabbits had virtually no veterinary care available and myxomatosis was widespread.
Many years later, I looked after a house rabbit while a friend was away for a few months. Mr Bunbury was HILARIOUS, bossy and somewhat territorial - and insisted on making his presence felt if he wanted attention. He was spotlessly clean in the house, apart from the occasional rabbitcurrant - except that the first night I had him, he peed ON me just the once. His point made, and his litter boxes located where he liked them, he never did it again.
Happy memories!
