Let the fur fly

It's truly winter in Chicago - the river has frozen over, and women with rich husbands are sporting thick fur coats.

I really hate to see people with fur coats. To me, it's not a status thing; I just hate the thought of all those dead animals, killed so some suburban soccer mom can look "good."

I think I'm bothered more than most, because our bunny Zelda was almost part of a fur coat, and she's the sweetest bunny that ever lived. About a year ago, a letter I wrote to the Chicago Sun-Times was published, and I'll re-publish it here:

I read "Watch the fur fly -- off store racks" [editorial, Dec. 22, 2005]. Not many topics prompt me to write back to editorials, but this one hit home for me.

I never was very fond of fur, but last year my husband and I took in a rescued bunny who was from a fur farm. Our bunny, Zelda, is one of the most sweet, loving animals I have ever known, and I believe this nature is partly because she is so thankful to be in a loving home after the horrible treatment she received at the fur farm.

She was living in her own filth for a month before she was rescued, so there were festering sores on her feet, and she had an upper respiratory infection that still gives her trouble. When she nuzzles my hand, I can't imagine someone clubbing her and skinning her poor body for the fur off her back, and I can't imagine a person who would want to do so after having met her.

If more so-called savvy consumers rescued (or even met) some of the poor animals at these farms rather than buying into this bloody industry, I think they would find the true nature of these furry, cuddly animals. I would much rather have Zelda as a pet than as a coat.