DILEMMAS : The whole family can learn from this rabbit

This week's problem: Tina's son, Jay, who's six, had a pet rabbit. When Tim, his eight-year-old brother, was playing with the rabbit when Jay was away, it was injured by accident. Unknown to Tim, the rabbit later died. Tina and her husband buried it in the garden and told the boys it had run away. Jay's now miserable worrying about it, Tim's being difficult and as usual the boys are at loggerheads. How can Tina put things right?

The opposite of being cruel to be kind is being kind to be cruel - just what Tina's done. True, she avoided short-term pain for Jay by lying about his rabbit's fate, but at the same time she created long-term pain which was far more acute. Even I was reduced to a gibbering wreck when one of our cats went missing for two months. I was out night after night, crying and calling for it, pinning up crazy notices, even praying. I know that Jay must be anthropomorphising like mad, imagining his rabbit feeling lost, cold and hungry, longing for mum. His suffering must be immeasurable.

And Tim's being difficult, too, because even if he doesn't know exactly what happened, as something of a participant in the scene of the crime he's aware something is up. What is up, he doesn't know, but he's uncomfortable - and small wonder.

Was it partly to avoid her own pain in witnessing her son suffering that Tina lied? Even though she had no idea how he'd react? After all, children can be terribly unhappy when a pet dies, but many's the parent who, having spent hours choosing exactly the right time and words to break the painful news to a child, finds their blood running cold when they're met not with tears but with a callous shriek of delight and a spine-chilling demand to get another one, "now!"

So what should she do? There's only one answer. She must tell the truth and admit she was wrong. It's not up to her to rat on Tim's possible involvement in the scenario. She could say that when the rabbit was last running about something might have fallen on it, or perhaps it had a heart-attack. Who knows. When Tim asks her, as he will, whether he played any part, she can explain that while there's a possibility, it wasn't certain, and that it's up to him to tell his brother about it if he wants. He should realise, too, that it could be kinder to his brother to say nothing, for Jay could be unhappy enough about the rabbit without the added burden of feeling his brother might have been responsible.

The rabbit should be dug up, however old, maggoty and smelly; and a funeral should be arranged, with contributions from all the family.

That way everyone will learn some important lessons. Jay will learn that all living things die. Tim will learn that anyone who handles small furry or feathery living things must be exceptionally loving and careful. They'll both learn that even adults can make mistakes. And Tina will learn that apologising, and asking forgiveness from a child when you're wrong is one of the greatest gifts you can give.

The truthful parent

Confess! You will then be giving a gift to your children as they discover their parents can say they made a mistake and apologise for it. The alternative is a secret in the family which they will pick up and which could do long-term damage.

My daughter's much loved young cat was killed while we were away and was buried by a neighbour. She dug down to see him and cut off some fur to put in a locket. She strewed flowers on his body and wept terribly; we all cried, father and brothers, too, for an unusual and delightful family friend. After these rituals and a few months' mourning, she felt ready to choose a new kitten.

Elizabeth Calvert,

Hertfordshire

The mother who put things right

Jay will have to be told the truth eventually - that the rabbit is dead - and perhaps helped to devise a "memorial service" at the place where it is buried. Tim's part in its death could perhaps be played down; it was an accident, after all. If he joined in the "service" it might help him, too.

My daughter Hannah grieved for her rabbit for three years. It died when she was five, killed by a dog which jumped over the fence, and my husband buried it without her seeing the body. She drew pictures and wrote about the trauma over the years but was really only helped when my older daughter's guinea pig died and we had a "burial service" for it. Hannah realised that was what she would have liked for her rabbit. So we had a "memorial service" at its grave. She wrote BUNNY on a plank with pieces of grass. My husband buried this and we laid flowers. I then read "Rabbit that is born hath but a short time to live" from the Prayer Book and other comforting words. If you dislike the idea of religious words, something rabbity from Watership Down would do. I think I also made up a song.

Best of luck!

Emma Tristram, Arundel

The child who was denied the truth

When I was seven, my beloved cat Tinkerbell was taken to the vet in the middle of the night and I was told "she would be back soon".

The days went by and I expected my cat's return. When I asked about her I was told she would be back "tomorrow". Walking back from school I would say, if I reach that tree before that car she'll be home tonight. I did reach it and I got home so happy and excited. "Tomorrow," they said.

My expectations, hopes and fears carried on for weeks, then months. Obviously at some point I must have understood she wasn't coming back. In time, I was given two adorable kittens, but even aged nine, I broke into tears for my lost cat.

I forget how old I was when I finally learnt the truth - perhaps 16, maybe older. Tinkerbell had died of cat flu that first night. My parents hadn't told me because they didn't want to upset me.

Tina and her husband should create the right moment and tell their sons the rabbit died (there is no need to link it to the accident) and let the boys decorate the grave together. They should also explain that, however boring, parents can occasionally make the wrong decision.

Gillian Crossley Holland, Norfolk

N E X T W E E K' S D I L E M M A

Dear Virginia,

I've been married for 15 years to a basically kind man for whom I feel no physical attraction. I married him because I was drawn to him spiritually and emotionally and sex was just about OK because of my depth of feeling for him. But now the bottom line is that I don't fancy my husband, have not for years, and feel frustrated and deprived as a result. My husband suffers loss of esteem as a result as we haven't had sex now for two years. If we didn't have a nine-year-old son whom we both cherish and adore I doubt if we'd be together. But even psychosexual counselling hasn't convinced me that chemistry can be revived where perhaps there wasn't much to start with. Should I accept a marriage without sex and concentrate on family life, should I consider finding satisfactory sex outside my marriage, or should we separate?

Yours sincerely, Gwen

All comments are welcome, and everyone who has a suggestion quoted will be sent a Dynagrip 50 ballpen from Paper:Mate. Please send your personal experiences and comments to me at the Features Department, the Independent, One Canada Square, Canary Wharf, London E14 5DL, fax 0171-293 2182, by Tuesday morning. And if you have any dilemmas of your own that you would like to share with readers, let me know.