Ear Drop Days and the Windmill Shake
Medicine week: ear drops twice a day. He hates it, forgives fast, and does the great windmill head-shake after every dose that flings drops everywhere except where they belong. This is my medication-admin log: the vet’s orders card, seven days of entries, and the windmill gallery. Strictly personal record, not vet advice of any kind, I state no drug names, no doses, no guidance; everything here was directed by our vet for this rabbit. For any ear issues, see a vet. He still loves us through it all, which feels like a small miracle.
The orders card (vet’s words, read-only)
Taped inside the notebook: drops twice daily, morning and evening with meals; calm hold, quick administration, instant treat after; full course to completion even if shaking flings half across the room. Recheck date circled. That card is the whole protocol and I add nothing to it, no internet research, no adjustments, no skipping the evening one when he looks annoyed. The card rules; the log records. Below it, my contact line for questions (the clinic’s number, called twice: once about shake-off volume, once about a missed-time question, both answered kindly, both logged).
My med log: seven days
| Day | AM + PM | Which ear | Shake rating |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1-2 | Done + done | Left, left | Violent; drops on my shirt |
| 3-4 | Done + done | Left, right | Moderate; treat accepted faster |
| 5-6 | Done + done | Right, right | Mild; resigned head dip after |
| 7 | Done + done | Right | Single shake; professional patient |
Dose + time + which ear, every time, the three columns never miss. Calm hold, quick drop, instant treat: the hold loosened over the week as trust in the routine grew (day-one burrito-wrap, day-seven lap-sit). Shake count as my sign it went in, violent shakes mean volume flung, mild means settled; the vet confirmed the logic when I asked. The ear shakes earned him his name all over again: Windmill in action, drops flying, speedy recovery wished by all. He hates the medicine and loves us anyway. Two more days on the sheet, then done, and the course finished complete, recheck attended, ears cleared. The windmill retires undefeated.
The windmill gallery: a shake taxonomy
Shake type one, the full windmill: head rotates full circle, ears helicopter, drops reach my shirt two feet away, days 1-2 exclusive. Shake type two, the half-shake: brisk side-to-side, drops stay local, days 3-4. Shake type three, the dignified shiver: single ripple nose-to-tail, day 5 onward. Shake type four (final day): one ear flick, pointed look, done, the professional. The taxonomy tracks comfort precisely: violence fades as trust in the routine grows. Photos attempted throughout: all blurred (physics defeats cameras), kept anyway as modern art. Video once: 4 seconds, 3 rotations counted, viewed 11 times by family. The windmill earned him his name all over again and a place in house lore: future ear events will be measured in windmills (mild = one rotation, severe = full helicopter).
After the course: recheck and retirement
Two more days on the sheet, then done, and done meant: final dose logged with a small ceremony (extra flower heads, ear rub,Windmill’s last stand rated dignified-shiver). Recheck attended: ears clear, course complete, vet pleased with the log (brought the sheet, the sheet always travels). The log’s afterlife: filed under health history with visit date, recheck result, and the shake taxonomy (for future reference and family amusement). Lessons for the next course, hoping never needed: burrito-wrap day one (security first), lap-sit by day five (trust the routine), treats upgraded mid-week (morale matters), questions called in early (the clinic prefers early calls, their words). He hates the medicine and loves us anyway, that line from day one still stands, miracle intact. Windmill retired; ears perfect.
Course retrospective: numbers and gratitude
Final tally: 14 administrations, 14 treats, 14 log lines, 0 missed, 2 clinic calls, 1 recheck passed. Shake evolution: helicopter (days 1-2), half-shake (3-4), shiver (5-6), ear flick (7), improvement you could graph. Forgiveness index: treats accepted within 60 seconds every single time, flops resumed same evenings, lap visits uninterrupted throughout. The miracle line from day one, he still loves us through it all, upgraded to confirmed fact by week’s end. Gratitude entries: to the vet (clear card, kind calls), to the treat supply (flower heads, unfailing), to the patient (ears, champ). The med log joins the health file; the windmill joins the lore. If ears ever need drops again: same card, same columns, same treats, the system is proven and the patient is, regrettably for comedy, now a pro. Speedy recovery: achieved, logged, celebrated quietly.
Aftercare notes: ears checked nightly for a week post-course (clear throughout), shake taxonomy retired with honors, treat levels returned to peacetime rations. The orders card stays taped in the notebook, courses recur in life, systems persist. Next time: same columns, same calm, same flowers. The windmill spins down; the log stays open for whatever comes next, medical or otherwise.
Course complete, ears clear, miracle confirmed.
Fourteen doses, zero misses, one windmill legend retired.
Windmill forever.
Shake taxonomy archived; patient adored.
Done.Next in this chapter…
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