The Rex Problem Is Athleticism
A Rex, recognisable by her dense velvet coat, is a substantial, well-muscled rabbit with serious hindquarters and a spring to match. Pens that work by being just high enough fail with her, because just high enough was calculated for a rabbit who hops politely from the floor. A Rex crosses barriers athletically — a short run, a platform, a clean jump — and she also hits barriers athletically, arriving at a door at speed when something exciting happens on the other side. Build her enclosure on the assumption that both the jump and the collision will happen weekly.
Height is the first answer, and a secured top is the certain one. If her pen is open-topped, its walls should be tall enough to defeat a jump launched from the highest thing inside it, not from the floor — a recalculation that catches many owners out, because the inside of a working enclosure contains a house, a hay rack, a litter tray edge, and sometimes a second rabbit, all of which are launchpads. Keeping furniture central helps, but with a Rex the honest options are distance, height, or a top; a top, clipped down rather than laid on, also protects her from household predators and prevents the classic accident where she is startled upward by a dropped pan or a barking dog.
Panels and Doors That Survive Impact
Anchor her panels as if for a much heavier animal. A Rex landing against a panel, or driving her shoulder into a corner while digging, delivers force in bursts, and burst force pops friction connectors and walks unanchored pens across floors in jumps rather than by creep. Metal connectors at corners and beside the door, a perimeter fixed to a base or wall, and a push test delivered as a shove — not a polite lean — will show you what she will find.
Her door needs two fastenings and no bounce. A single central hook on a door with any play in it can be jumped open by one well-aimed collision, and Rex rabbits repeat successful accidents immediately. Bolt or clip the door high and low, eliminate rattle by hanging it snug, and place the fastenings where a flying arrival cannot strike them directly. Check, too, that the door opens inward or is otherwise guarded if she likes to lunge at it when she hears food preparation, both for the latch's sake and for her teeth.
Ground Level: Chewing With a Purpose
Between athletic events, a Rex works at ground level like any rabbit, but with more jaw behind the work. Bottom rails, pen base rims, and wooden hutch corners at her head height are her projects, and a thinned rail flexes under her, opening gaps that appear only when she pushes. Inspect edges monthly with a thumb, metal-guard favourite corners, and keep her chew rotation heavy — branches and dense material suit her better than token toys. Outdoors she adds fast digging at run edges, so outdoor time means a run with a secured top, edges checked for the first scoop of a dig, and an owner present; her jump, dig, and speed make unsupervised garden time her most likely escape scenario.
The Room Beyond the Pen
Think vertically about the room as well: a loose Rex can be over a baby gate that would stop another rabbit, so a closed door is the only reliable boundary, and she should travel in a solid carrier she cannot launch out of.
Settle into a rhythm: door clips tugged at every feed, a shove test on the panels and a glance at the corners weekly, edges felt monthly, and the top re-clipped every single time it is opened, without the exception for just-a-minute jobs.
Kept that way, her athleticism stays an indoor entertainment rather than a neighbourhood tour, and if she ever does clear a barrier at full stretch, KinsLe's Lost Pet Alert System shares her description with the Circle of Love nearby, and the gardener who spots her grazing an unfamiliar lawn can get straight to her owner.