ALAN'S NOTE: We recently lost a beloved "family" member, if the definition of family is seriously elastic. Our daughter Amy's pets are all rescue animals, and Walden was the first. It was our son-in-law's introduction to Amy's penchant for animal rescue, though he really didn't have a chance to say "No", despite the way Amy couches it when she tells the story of how they came to be the household staff for "Walden the Wonder Bunny". Amy's account is below - enjoy : -)
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We picked him up at a house off a country road in Maine.  A sign on the mailbox at the road proclaimed, ‘Rabbits – Free to Good Home.’  I insisted to Jon that we had a very good home for a rabbit.  Jon wasn’t so sure, so I first went with Pam to check out the bunnies. 
Amy with Walden

The fuzzy little dude was closed in with chicken wire under the porch, doing penance for having fathered a litter of 10 or so baby bunnies.  The owner of the house explained that they thought they had 2 girl rabbits but when one of them turned up pregnant they quickly sequestered the one that was not in the family way now that they knew he was a male.  The Mainer would only give up the one male as a single, all the others had to be in pairs so they wouldn’t be lonely.  Knowing I was pushing my luck with one rabbit, I explained to the man that I’d be back with my husband.

Jon’s allergic to cats, so I was most concerned that he would be allergic to rabbits as well.  I brought Jon back to the house with me, and snatched the kicking, snorting rabbit from under the porch.  In a cloud of white rabbit fur I thrust him at Jon, “Here, rub him near your nose to see if you’re allergic!”  My less than thrilled husband complied, and we took the bunny back to Bill and Pam’s cabin after ensuring Jon wouldn’t go into anaphylactic shock.

The rabbit glared at us from the back of his travel crate, clearly unhappy with the current state of affairs.  “He’s grumpy,” I commented, “He should have a grumpy-old-man kind of name.”  We were staying in a cabin on Walden Pond, so we decided on Walden for both the geographic significance and the grumpy-old-man ring it had. 

I insisted that rabbits had personalities like dogs and could be trained to a litter box like a cat so we could let him have run of the house.  Jon, ever skeptical, helped me gather the appropriate bunny-training set up.  Within a few weeks of us all settling into our new townhouse in Virginia Walden was exclusively using the bathroom in his litter box and wreaking havoc on all things chewable in the house.  Books on the bottom bookshelf, magazines in a decorative basket on the floor, the magazine basket itself, every wire in the house, chair legs, baseboards; you name it, he nibbled it.  Jon was not happy but tolerated it as I pleaded, “But I love the little dude!”

We finally settled into a bunny-proofing routine.  Walden settled into nibbling fewer items, though the magazine basket was sacrificed and we had no remote controls with buttons any more.  Walden next took up the habit of laying in wait outside our bedroom door in the morning, snorting and charging at our ankles as we walked out.  This either amused him or our startled cries served to assure him of his dominance, I’m not sure which. 

The next year we got a dog and Walden turned his attention to terrorizing his dear ‘sister’ Molly, a corgi-sheltie mix, snorting and charging at her chest.  He further confused her by alternating his corgi-chest-height ambushes with attempts to greet her bunny style by touching noses with her.  Molly took to avoiding him at all costs.  Walden was undeterred and promptly took to plopping himself down and taking a tongue-bath right next to Molly’s bed.  Our third furry addition to the family, Ginger, a corgi, made peace with him much sooner.  The two of them spent most afternoons napping under a vanity together, her stretched out along the wall, him napping with his back to her in total trust.

Walden was an integral part of our little critter family, everyone knew the Allens had a houserabbit.  People visiting wanted to see him, curious at the former barnyard animal now residing in a house like a cat.  I was head-over-heels about my little 4-lb bunny terror.  By now he would scratch at your ankle to be petted, and stand up on his haunches to beg for the occasional Mini-Wheat or strawberry from the breakfast table.  Walden finally won Jon over by sitting in Jon’s lap to have his ears petted through the entire Red Sox World Series saga in 2004.  Jon was relieved Walden wasn’t a Yankees fan.

A few weeks ago Walden started to noticeably slow down.  We attributed his lack of ankle-charging to aging.  Just to be sure, I made an appointment with a vet specializing in small mammals like rabbits.  It was for a Monday, but Walden took a turn for the worse over the weekend.  We checked him into the intensive care on Monday, but he was gone by Monday evening.  We think he was about 6 years old. 

I miss him terribly every day still.  I find myself about to buy his favorites in the produce section at the grocery store and starting to go let him out in the morning from the corner where his crate used to be.  Jon took down his crate when I burst into tears at Molly peering in the day after he was gone, as if she were looking for him. 

Jon no longer doubts that rabbits have personalities.  And I will always miss my little dude.  In the words of Dr. Seuss’s Horton the elephant, “A person’s a person, no matter how small.”  And that’s reason enough to share our hearts and home with furry friends, even with the heartbreak when they leave us.

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 Walden eating dinner with one of his vassals. "Miss Molly", the Corgi/Sheltie mix