What the hay?

Our pet rabbit denies it, but somebody must have ordered this box of deluxe hay that somehow got shipped to us. I didn’t even know there was deluxe hay, but this stuff’s supposedly infused with a papaya flavor. I’m taking this on the rabbit’s word. He swears he didn’t order it, and I’m pretty positive neither did I. But as everyone my age remembers from those public service advertisements (where an Eskimo gets one of those old-fashioned electric fans in the mail, the ones they used in black-and-white movies and attach ribbons to so people could tell they were fans and not oversized microphones, and thanks the camera), if you get something in the mail you didn’t order, you don’t have to return it, which is good because I’m pretty sure our rabbit would attack me if I tried returning it.

Funny thing is this box of hay came packed in a much bigger box, about twice the volume, with styrofoam peanuts all around, so it didn’t get damaged in transit somehow.

I could swear some of the squirrels were watching as we took delivery, though, and I’m wondering about that now.

Author: Joseph Nebus

I was born 198 years to the day after Johnny Appleseed. The differences between us do not end there. He/him.

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