📅 Friday, 11 September 2026 · No. 162

Surviving Hormones Until Neuter Day

💤 Behavior Diaries · ✎ 5 min · by Azmi in Meknes

Azmi's note My personal log from Meknes, not vet advice. Just what I did and saw tonight.

I am Azmi, writing from Meknes, and my flat currently belongs to a four-month-old boy whose hormones arrived like uninvited guests who immediately claimed every chair. He roams in loops, he mounts the cushion, he marks the corner he marked yesterday, and my room has become his kingdom with me as the tolerated staff. His consultation is next week and the surgery follows after, and until then I am officially in survival mode, document in hand.

Countdown dispatch: fourteen days and counting

I started this countdown because without it I was just enduring, and enduring without a plan makes every sprayed wall feel personal. So here is the honest count: roughly two weeks until the vet sees him, then the booked surgery date, then the slow weeks after while hormones fade from his system. Veterans of teenage rabbits keep telling me the same thing, that marking can linger for weeks or even months after the operation, and that patience is not optional but part of the treatment. I believe them, because nothing about this boy suggests he will retire his kingdom quietly on day one.

Anything medical, I leave to my vet here in Meknes, and I check every plan with the clinic before I act, so this dispatch is not advice, just my survival log. Day by day, the job is to protect the flat, protect my temper, and protect his trust in me, in that order on bad days and reversed on good ones. I keep reminding myself that he is not being rude. He is four months old, flooded with signals he did not ask for, doing exactly what unneutered teenage rabbits do in every house on every street.

Ten days out: laundry and air

The laundry situation deserves its own paragraph. I run extra loads now, blankets first, cushion covers second, my own shirts third because he has claimed those too. I blot fresh marks with plain water and a clean cloth, I wash what can be washed, and I run the small air purifier in the corner where he holds court. It does not erase the smell entirely, nothing short of the calendar will do that, but it keeps the room livable and keeps me from spiralling at midnight. I also rotated in washable throws over his two favourite spots, so the furniture underneath survives until neuter day.

Humour is the second item in the kit, and I mean the extra-large daily dose. When he circled my feet this morning honking like a tiny taxi, I laughed instead of sighing, and the whole day went easier. When he mounted the stuffed toy and then flopped beside it looking pleased with himself, I took a photo instead of delivering a lecture he cannot understand. Teenage weeks feel endless from the inside, so I log the funny bits deliberately: the kingly chin-rubs on every table leg, the dramatic flop after a full lap of the room, the way he grooms his paws clean right after making a mess, as if presentation matters.

Five days out: what actually helps

Shorter free-roam loops with a pen rest between, so excitement never boils over into nonstop marking.
Washable throws on his chosen corners, swapped daily, so cleanup is a swap, not a scrub.
Cardboard dig box and willow chews on rotation, because a busy mouth marks slightly less.

Routine steadies both of us. He gets the same wake-up, the same hay refill, the same evening play session, and I get fewer surprises because his energy has somewhere to go. I also stopped introducing big changes this close to surgery week. No new furniture layout, no new scents, no visitors reaching into his pen. Boredom I can fix with a tunnel and a paper bag; stress I would rather not add while his body is already busy growing. A friend pointed me to a neuter night diary that walked through the overnight stay calmly, and reading it lowered my own heart rate about the part after my countdown ends.

I am also preparing the recovery corner early, a low pen with clean fleece, water close by, hay within easy reach, nothing to jump from. My vet will give the real aftercare sheet on the day and I will follow that exactly, but having the corner ready makes the wait feel useful instead of helpless. I keep thinking ahead to the settling-in weeks after surgery, the slow return to calm that this settling back diary describes so honestly, where progress is measured in fewer marks and longer naps rather than overnight miracles.

Night before the consult: the bye-bye party

We are holding a small bye-bye party, just the two of us, with his favourite greens and an extra-long cuddle session on his terms. It sounds silly, and it is, but rituals help me mark the end of hard chapters. The teenage weeks get logged faithfully in this diary, every honk and puddle and midnight zoomie, because one day I will miss the chaos even as I enjoy the calm. Veterans promise it gets better: the roaming narrows, the mounting fades, the marking slows, and the sweet boy underneath all that static comes fully into focus.

So until neuter day, the plan is laundry, laughter, and low expectations held with love. The piles stay high, the purifier hums on, and I keep telling the little king of my room that adulthood is loading, calm is coming, and his staff remains devoted. We will get there, one washable throw at a time, and the diary will be here to record the exact evening when the kingdom finally quiets down.

🐰

Written by Azmi

I track my rabbits' diet, weight and naps to see what works. Photos are mine, mess included. Say hi on the contact page.

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