“Oh, you again,” said our pet rabbit, between little snuffling noises (his).
I nodded while opening his cage to drop a handful of hay on his head.
Between excited chews he said, “Look, what is it exactly you do around here?”
“I feed you,” I pointed out while rubbing his head. “I’d think that should make you at least a little happy to see me.”
“You’re not very reliable about it.”
“What do you mean? I’ve never seen you go twelve hours without being fed something.”
He sort of fluffed his head while shaking it out. “All that time before you started being here all the time, you barely fed me once.”
I was so unable to dispute this I couldn’t even think what to say next.
“But what I mean is, what is it you do all that time you sit in the forbidden zone and don’t move? Why do you do that?”
“The dining room. Well, I … do … web stuff. For a company.”
He snuffed. “And this is something that needs doing.”
“Don’t get so huffy there. What do you suppose you do all day that needs doing?”
“I,” he pronounced slowly, “eat all the hay. I don’t see you or the other one even trying to help with that.”
Suddenly I realized just how complicated was our relationship.
5 thoughts on “What The Rabbit and I Do”
Ernie says similar things to me when I feed him except he’s more sinister. Last week he told me that while I was out, he chewed the corner trim off the couch.
“Why” I said.
“Because stupid, I already chewed the bottom corners off the ottoman and the buttons off every remote.”
I haven’t told him yet that our last bunny was named Stew.
Oh, ours does like chewing much the same stuff, although he goes for keyboard cords and power plugs first. We’d try to scare him except he sees right through us and nibbles our toes.
Maybe you would be more appreciated if you put the hay in front of him, instead of on his head
Aw, but he looks so contented when there isn’t anything but food all around him. What would you say about someone who occasionally buried you in doughnuts?