You ever have one of those moments in farming where you stare at an animal like it personally betrayed you? Because that’s exactly where I was this spring, standing in my rabbit barn, looking at a chinchilla kit that should not exist.
See, last year, I bought a New Zealand Black buck from a breeder I trusted—the kind of breeder who swears by keeping lines pure, only breeding blacks to blacks, whites to whites, etc., so that genetics stay predictable. And while I don’t breed that way, I was counting on her practices so that when I made my own crosses, I could predict my outcomes.
Well. That plan went straight to hell.
Because this buck, supposedly a self black, turned out to carry chinchilla—a gene that should not be in his lines if he was truly a purebred black New Zealand. And how did I find out? By crossing him with one of my albino does (who’s a genetic grab bag anyway) and expecting nothing but black kits. Instead, I got a chinchilla kit, which means both parents carry chinchilla.
Let’s break this down:
- Black is dominant.
- Chinchilla is recessive.
- If he were actually self black, he couldn’t pass chinchilla at all.
- Yet here we are.
And when I reached out to the breeder to check his pedigree—because, at this point, I needed answers—I was told she no longer has it.
Look, I understand accidents happen. Breeding rabbits isn’t an exact science, and sometimes genetics throw a curveball. But when you’re selling stock based on purity, and that purity is the entire selling point, you better know what’s in your lines. And if you don’t? Then don’t act like you do.
Now, am I devastated? No. Am I furious? Also no. Mostly, I’m irritated, because I trusted the genetics I was sold, and now I have to recalculate everything. Had this rabbit gone to a breeder with specific lineage expectations or someone trying to improve a particular color line? That could have been a massive setback.
Fortunately, I was the one who found out—me, with my tendency to double-check everything instead of blindly accepting what I’m told. But it still stings. Because now, I have a buck with genetic surprises, and I have to decide whether I want to keep working with him or call it a loss.
That said, there’s a silver lining: this allows me to update both parents’ genotype in my records, so going forward, I’ll know exactly what to expect in future pairings. This year, I decided to test breed everything I have before making culling decisions—and after this experience, I’m even more convinced that was the right call.
Lesson learned: always, always test breed your animals. Trust is great. Verification is better.
Ever had a genetics curveball knock your breeding plans sideways? Pull up a chair—let’s talk about what happens when pedigree promises don’t quite add up.
