Her Spottedness, though bouncier than ever and now possessed of an appetite that would astonish even the deceased George (who believed that a good carrot could make any plane ride or vet visit worthwhile), is supposed to take her medicines for awhile yet and continue to get subcutaneous fluids. She puts up with the fluids pretty well--evidently it really must not be that painful--but refuses the medicines, which must then be syringe-fed. I am not certain why such an intelligent creature doesn't quite get that if she ate the mixture out of her dish, she wouldn't have to have the syringe stuck in her mouth and lick the driblets off her fur. But we all have our little blind spots. At least she forgives us right away.
In non-rabbit news, John and I have managed to arrange to do research at the Getty next week, so we are now hastily arranging to visit various friends in that region, especially those who will be so kind as to put us up. I hope we'll manage to see at least everyone we've contacted, but this could get tricky. Evenings only last so long.