For Rex: A Year of Love

In April of 2024, I found myself once again standing in the middle of yet another auction—rows of cages, pens, and frightened eyes silently begging for help. It’s a familiar scene, one that never gets easier. Among the sea of animals was a tiny wire cage, and inside, a broken little body with a thick coat of fur and eyes full of exhaustion. His name would become Rex.

Rex was a rabbit—barely moving, caked in layers of filth and neglect. His ears were crusted with mites, so badly infested that it affected his balance and ability to hop like a normal bunny. Most people looked past him. A few whispered that he was too far gone. Some told me I was crazy for even considering bidding. But when I looked at him, I didn’t see hopeless—I saw someone worth saving.

I managed to outbid the kill buyer. He was mine. And from that moment on, he would never be unwanted again.

The very next day, I bought everything I needed: medication, supplements, fresh greens, and a soft, clean place to recover. Treating his ears took time, but slowly, Rex began to heal. Week by week, the mites disappeared, and his strength returned. He started to hop again—shakily at first, then confidently, joyfully.

By the end of that first month, he was healthy. Whole. Happy.

Rex quickly became unlike any bunny I’ve ever known. He had no desire to wander far—he was my little shadow. I could let him out into the yard, and he would stay close, always keeping me in his sight. And when I brought out veggies, especially broccoli or carrots, he’d come racing toward me on his short, stubby legs, full of excitement, full of life.

He was obsessed with food—and honestly, obsessed with me, too. And the feeling was mutual.

Rex lived almost a full year at the sanctuary. A year filled with sunny naps, fresh greens, gentle pets, and warm arms.

A year of knowing what it meant to be safe. To be loved. To matter.

In March of 2025, Rex passed away peacefully in my arms.

It was one of the hardest goodbyes I’ve had to say—but it was also one of the most meaningful. Because Rex didn’t die in a cold wire cage. He didn’t die unwanted or unseen. He spent his final year surrounded by love. He left this world with someone who loved him more than words can say.

Sometimes, people ask why I bother going to these auctions. Why I fight so hard for animals that others have given up on.

And the answer is simple: because they deserve at least one person in their life who won’t give up on them.

Rex was that reminder. His story may have started in heartbreak, but it ended in love.

And for as long as Hope and Hooves exists, we’ll keep telling stories like his. We’ll keep showing up. We’ll keep loving the forgotten, the overlooked, the broken.

Because they’re worth it.

Every single one.

RIP Rex, I love you.