I like being cold as much as most cats like being wet. My hands in particular feel cold intensely, going rather quickly from pink to blue to blocks of ice white and a few times even to black. Warming up again is a challenge, and painful, make me cry kind of pain if I'm not careful. So when morning temps are well below freezing, going outside to tend rabbits takes a strong crack of my internal whip. You may have heard that kerrrACCCCCK this morning.
My bunnies live in hutches, not a barn. They are sheltered from wind and wet, and all that angora they grow protects them from cold. They handle a rough New England winter with far more comfort than summer. Angora mittens protect my hands but I cannot wear mittens while thawing frozen water bottles nor while emptying ice out of the cans I use when temps make bottles useless. Gloves are worse than bare hands because the only hope my hands have to stay warm is if my fingers share body heat just like baby bunnies do in their nest. That is why watering the bunnies in winter is a chore I. Hate. Stomp my feet toddler temper tantrum kind of hate. But look at that face. The sweet and cute makes me melt and I cannot bear the thought of those little foofy things going without. It is a maternal type drive that sends me outside to give them water.
Feeding the bunnies is a different story. There is something peaceful and satisfying in the sound of critters munching hay. I can stand outside huddled in a hood with mittens snuggling my hands while that munch munch munch just warms my soul. It is a gentle sound, so unlike the gutteral gulp of carnivores. It is a gentleness that tempers the harsh and unforgiving bigger world that sweeps masses of people out to sea while wholesale destruction stomps all over their land. Taking care of these foofy little fiber factories is my sanctuary.