I have written occasionally about our pet rabbits.
First there was Ringo. He was the most beautiful, sweet-natured animal with the most gorgeous grey fur. (Perfect for a hat.)
We didn't want him to be alone so when he was six months old we bought Sadie (as in 'Sexy Sadie' from The Beatles' White Album).
Ringo (mini rex) and Sadie (mini lop) were very different in looks and temperament but they were quickly inseparable.
One day they escaped into the garden next door but we knew, as soon as we found Ringo, that Sadie wouldn't be far away. And so it proved.
Sadly Ringo died of what appeared to be a brain haemorrhage when he was only two.
Never the most expressive rabbit (she looked and moved like a floor mop), Sadie became even more withdrawn and curmudgeonly.
So we bought another rabbit, a dwarf lop (George), to keep her company.
Bad move. From the moment they met George hated Sadie and Sadie hated George.
We gave them every opportunity to bond but supervised 'visiting' sessions were a disaster. Left alone they would surely have killed one another.
Undeterred we bought a fourth rabbit - Pepper (Sgt. Pepper, geddit?) - in the hope we could find a friend for an increasingly grumpy George.
Fat chance. George hated everyone, including me. Only my daughter Sophie could pick him up without being nipped, or worse.
Like Ringo, Pepper (mini lop) had a wonderfully friendly temperament. She also had a congenital eating disorder.
With the vet's help we tried everything but she faded away and died within a year.
Cantankerous Sadie, on the other hand, survived several brushes with death including a virus that resulted in the temporary paralysis of her back legs.
In the wild she would have been easy prey. We kept her alive and some movement was eventually restored although it would be an exaggeration to say she ever truly hopped again.
George too kept going even though he was equally immobile (through choice, apparently) and worryingly unhygienic.
Ringo and Sadie used to groom one other. George wouldn't even groom himself which made him an easy target for fly strike.
The first time it happened we assumed he would have to be put down, but no. The vet restored him to full health, albeit at a cost of several hundred pounds.
When it happened a second time I secretly hoped we might lay George to rest. Not a bit of it.
A few days later he was back in his hutch while I once again counted the cost of his poor personal hygiene.
To cut a very long story short, Sadie died last year, aged four, and last week George joined her in rabbit heaven. (I hope they don't fight.)
One corner of our garden now looks like a pets' cemetery with rocks, stones and even a small boulder marking the various burial sites.
According to my daughter our pets' cemetery now has four rabbits, two guinea pigs and three hamsters.
All but one were buried within a few hours of death.
Ringo however got the full treatment and it was not his body that was laid to rest but his ashes.
I wrote about it here: Farewell Ringo Clark.