Same Bunny, Nine Years Apart: My Photo Comparison Habit
I found an old photo from year one next to a new one. Same angle, same bunny, nine years of naps in between. The face barely changed, only the naps got longer. This post is a diptych: left panel year one, right panel year nine, then what the comparison taught about photographing and caring across a decade. Personal history, not senior-care advice, for aging questions I follow my vet. Old bunnies slow down but the personality stays. My sheet proves it.
Left panel, year one
The old photo: kitchen tile, harsh noon light, tiny bunny mid-zoom with one ear flopped sideways, blurry because he never stopped. Everything in the frame is motion, paws, ears, even the whiskers look fast. Mood line from that week’s sheet: fearless, electric, everywhere. Weight note beside it reads like a different animal. I remember taking it one-handed while laughing; the angle is crooked and the horizon tilts. It is technically my worst photo and emotionally my most valuable. Year-one lesson visible only now: joy needs no composition.
Right panel, year nine
Same rug corner I reconstructed for the shot, same crooked tilt (deliberate this time, matching the original’s lean took four attempts). The bunny: loafed, chin down, eyes soft, ears at rest. The face barely changed, markings identical, only the muzzle a touch silver and the eyes softer around the edges. What changed is tempo: year-one photo caught mid-sprint, year-nine mid-nap. Naps got longer, zoomies shorter, appetite steady, curiosity intact, he still investigates every new bag. Ten years and he looks younger than year one, softer around the eyes. My comparison method, refined over the years: same angle, same light, once a year, weight + coat note next to each photo, one line about mood that week.
Ten-year care notes from my sheet
The vet says slow down the jumps and keep the routine. Translated to furniture: I added a low ramp this month, a firm cushion staircase to the couch, tested with parsley lures for a week before it counted. Jump log since: couch via ramp 8 of 10 times, direct jumps twice (both on zoomie evenings, noted without scolding). Stiff days versus binky days: my sheet marks S or B each evening; spring ratio runs 2 stiff to 5 binky per week, winter flips to 4 and 3. Stiff-day routine: extra mat on the tile path, hay pile closer to the hide, no change otherwise, same hours, same order, because routine is the senior rabbit’s favorite toy. The personality stays: same hay parade habit, same flop corner, same 19:20 tile claim. Nine years apart, same bunny. The photos prove what the sheet already knew.
The annual ritual: how the comparison gets shot
Every spring: same rug corner cleared, same crooked tilt matched to the original (the tilt template is a pencil line on the frame’s backing now), noon light avoided after the harsh year-three attempt washed everything out, late afternoon 17:00 is the standing appointment. Weight plus coat note beside each photo, mood line beneath: year six read zoomy, year seven read dignified, year eight read sleepy-but-game, year nine reads content. The ramp training week deserves its own paragraph: day one parsley trail ignored, day two halfway then jump down (counted as attempt), day three full climb with a celebratory flop at the top, day four routine. A week of lures for years of easy couches, the cheapest renovation in the house. Stiff-day extras that earned their keep: the tile-path mat (slip-free mornings), the closer hay pile (less commuting), the unchanging evening order. Binky days still outnumber stiff ones in every season but deep winter, and deep winter gets extra blanket forts without apology. Nine years of naps between two photos, personality untouched. Same bunny indeed.
Closing the diptych with year ten’s resolution, written in advance: same corner, same tilt, same late-afternoon light, tenth mood line to come. The ramp holds, the routine holds, the naps lengthen gracefully. Year one’s blurry rocket and year nine’s soft loaf hang side by side above my desk, motion and rest, same animal, full circle. Personality stays; only the naps got longer, and the sheet proves it line by line. Same bunny, nine years apart, tenth frame loading.
Practical appendix for decade-scale photo habits: back up yearly (April, with the comparison shoot), print the diptych (the desk pair outlasts every phone), keep the tilt template (pencil on backing board, transferred twice now). Mood-line glossary from nine years: zoomy means under three, electric means under one, dignified means five-plus, content means now. The sheet’s vocabulary grew with him and reads like poetry in hindsight, fearless, everywhere, softer, still. Personality stays; the log keeps the receipts and the wall keeps the faces.
Same bunny, nine years apart, one page. The diary continues beneath.
Nine years of naps, one unchanged soul.
Year ten loading, same corner reserved.
Diptych complete.
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