From Bonzo to Nibbles: A Life Devoted to Rabbit and Rodent Rescue

Some people grow out of their childhood love for animals. I never did.

My earliest memory of caring for animals goes back to when I was about four. My mum brought home a pair of gerbils, and I remember the excitement of setting up their cage, standing on a stool at the sink to wash it each week. Their tiny claws felt scratchy in my hands, and I didn’t particularly enjoy holding them—but I loved being near them, watching them, caring for them. Even then, something inside me quietly recognised the joy and meaning found in offering care.

As I got older, that quiet pull only grew stronger. At boarding school, I discovered the small animal section—rabbits, chinchillas, hamsters—and was instantly drawn in. I wanted to be involved, and once I started, I never looked back. Most children eventually grow out of their fascination with rabbits and rodents. I never did. Even when it felt like I didn’t have many animals in my life, I always had more than most would consider "normal."

Feeding Sally and her kittens was where I first realised I could make a difference.

One group of animals, in particular, left a mark on me during my childhood. Between the ages of eight and thirteen, I became fixated on a colony of feral cats near our home. I used my pocket money to buy them food and eventually persuaded my mum to help. We managed to trap the last female, Sally, and her litter of kittens. Sally was spayed, and one of her kittens, Sheba, stayed with us. That experience taught me something important: that I could make a difference—just by caring, just by showing up.

Me with Sheba on my lap and Bonzo nearby—1993. A quiet moment that meant the world to me.

Around the same time Bonzo came into my life.

I met Bonzo thanks to a school assembly offering students the chance to take a school rabbit home for the holidays. I couldn't wait for my weekly call home and breathlessly asked my mum for permission (before even saying hello), and was shocked when she agreed. I still remember heading up to the animal lab, letter in hand, to choose my rabbit. Bonzo was just the one. I couldn’t have explained why.

He travelled back and forth with me each term until I left school at 13—and then he came home with me for good. Bonzo was patient, gentle, and tolerant. I look back with some guilt now, knowing what I didn’t know then about rabbit welfare. I cuddled him far too much. But he forgave me. He was my constant, my quiet companion, and our bond became a foundation for so much of what came next. During the holidays when we were home from school, Bonzo would leap onto the chair to share my apple when I sat down to watch Neighbours. One bite for me, one bite for him (though he never stuck to the rule).

Around 1995: Me and Ramone, my first rat and the start of a lifelong love.

Then there were the rats. Ramone, my first, came into my life when I was around 14. She sat on my shoulder without trying to escape, unlike hamsters. That was it for me—I was hooked. Rats became my favourite small animal (a fact that still surprises many). In my late teens, I was already taking in unwanted rats, at one point housing around 70 of them in my bedroom. There’s a photo of me surrounded by them, and I smile every time I see it.

Surrounded by mischief—1997/98. Just a few of the 70 rats I was caring for at the time!

Surrounded by some of my favourite rescues—Squirrel, Leon, and Oliver—all safe, loved, and home. Circa 1999

My passion for rescue work started in college. I had to choose between sport and work experience, and there was no way I was doing sport. I found Heaven's Gate, a NWAT rescue centre, and convinced my mum to drive me there every Sunday morning. She hated the early starts. I loved every second. Scrubbing kennels, bathing puppies, walking dogs, cleaning the duck pond—whatever they asked, I did it with joy. That was when I knew. I wanted to work in rescue.

But life took a few detours. I returned to education, completed a degree in Animal Behaviour as a mature student, and moved to Wales in 2013 intending to work as a dog trainer and behaviourist. I still had my own little family of small furries, but rescue felt like a dream from a different time.

Then I looked around.

In all of South West Wales, there was virtually no rescue support for rabbits and rodents. I had a bit of land I’d hoped to use as a veg patch. But the need was too great. These animals—quiet, often invisible in the wider world of companion care—had no one. So I became someone. I stepped up. Nibbles was born.

It was unbelievably hard. Everything needed doing. I had rabbits before I had a functioning rescue. The land was overgrown, cluttered, chaotic. I still don’t know how I managed it in those early days. Ten years later, some personal jobs are still unfinished. But the rescue grew. It became real. It became home.

And now, in 2025, we are facing our greatest challenge yet. Unless we secure enough monthly funding, Nibbles will close at the end of the year. It breaks my heart to turn animals away, but our resources are stretched beyond their limit. Still, I keep going. Because if I stop, there is no one else. Because these animals matter.

My love for animals has shaped everything. It’s changed how I view welfare, rights, and rescue. I’ve learned, often the hard way. I used cages I now know were too small. I built better. I built housing myself to meet their real needs. Because the pet trade has failed them. Because people don’t see their suffering. Because they deserve joy, comfort, and dignity—not just survival.

If there's one thing I hope people take from my story, it’s this: you can make a difference. You don’t need to open a rescue. Maybe you start by feeding a stray. Maybe you volunteer. Maybe you foster. Maybe you donate. Every little bit matters. Every act of compassion is a lifeline.

My dream? To save Nibbles. To keep this rescue alive. But if I could wish for more, it would be this: a national organisation, a real safety net, for rabbits and rodents across the UK—a network of centres, a united voice for advocacy, a future where these animals are finally seen.

If I could speak to my younger self, I’d say: Don’t give up. They’ll tell you it’s impossible. It isn’t. It’ll be hard, but it will be worth it.

Because Bonzo was worth it. Ramone was worth it. Every animal I’ve ever known was worth it. And so are the thousands still waiting for someone to care.