Hello. It's Belinda.
I'm writing this blog on Thursday. I'm calling off work tomorrow (Friday).
I need a "mental health day" if you want to know the truth.
I'm a wreck.
I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news but Abigail the novelist is very sick. She's been at the vet for days.
I knew something was wrong when she didn't show up for our weekly staff meeting.
This photo shows how it's supposed to be. The two of us talking about hay and catching up on what's new at home.
Well I logged into the system the other day and I waited and waited.
But Abigail never showed up.
She's always on time.
Then my roommate and I got an urgent message from "Dad." Which is what Abigail calls her roommate.
He told us that Abigail stopped eating. That was just part of the story.
I'm not allowed to say anything else about her private medical information. You can read an update in Abigail's blog on Wednesday.
She must be so scared at the vet. Anybody would be.
It's bad enough to be there for even an hour. Spending the night would be terrible. For one thing the whole place smells like floor cleaner.
I hope they remember to turn off the lights. Abigail likes a dark room.
Some rabbits sleep underground. Think about it.
I can't sit still.
"Technically," Abigail is my employee. She's the best writer I know.
But along with Little Fang, she's my best friend.
She didn't have to do that.
I would give Abigail my entire stash if it could make her feel better. Including all of my healthy snackers and loops.
You might think I'm exaggerating but I'm not. You don't make jokes about something like this.
I know one thing for sure. All the fuss about the clicker training racket and working in the leaky bathroom seems silly now.
I wish Abigail's Dad would send an update. My roommate says we have to stop pestering him.
If I could talk to Abigail I would tell her to come home soon. To do what the vet says and take the medicine. Even if it tastes like dish soap.
Just listen to the vet. And please come home soon.
Spokesrabbit, Small Pet Select