Tonight is New Year's Eve, and Kenzie and I have plans to celebrate in style! Granny sent us a special sea grass chewie just for our holiday enjoyment. We'll nibble on that for a while, then toss around some apple wood sticks, maybe shred some newspaper, and cap off the night with our very own slices of tangerine!
Mom's evening will not be nearly as eventful. It's almost sad, really. She'll camp out on the sofa in her flannel jammies, all alone, with a bottle of wine, watching It's A Wonderful Life and struggling vainly to stay awake past 10 PM. Mom's not exactly a night owl. But then, the elderly always do tend to turn in early.
Mom tells us the new year is a time to make resolutions, declarations of future improvements. She suggested that Kenzie and I give some thought to how we can make her life easier in the coming year. I've wracked my brain and I can't come up with a single thing that we should do differently. Mom, on the other hand, compiled a rather lengthy list for us, with such ridiculous suggestions as "Stop chewing on the box spring", "Eat ALL the broccoli, not just the tasty florets", and "Use your litter box EVERY time".
Whoever heard of such nonsense? I say Mom should stick to her own resolutions and leave us out of it. I've got some ideas for HER. Starting with "I will not vacuum when Frederic is trying to nap". And "Give the bunny a WHOLE grape". And "Just because I go to bed before sundown doesn't mean the bunnies have to". I could go on, but you get the idea.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Who needs a Hoover?
Kenzie has learned that it's advantageous to follow Mom around when Mom is eating. I'm not saying the woman needs a BIB or anything, just because she leaves debris strewn in her wake....bits of baked goods, chunks of cheese, dollops of dessert--if it's on its way to Mom's mouth, part of it is going to make a pit stop onto the floor.
This is especially exciting now that it's the Christmas season, with all the accompanying cookies and tarts and even fruitcakes. Kenzie waits for Mom to hit the Tupperware full of good stuff, then she knows it's just a matter of time before her share will come tumbling down in front of her.
Mom denies being a slob, of course. "I do NOT eat like a five year old," she sputters, crumbs flying. Mom would have you believe she drops all that food on purpose. "Kenzie looked hungry," she'll insist. "Nothing worse than a scrawny bunny." The hungry part, that's true. Kenzie's got the appetite of a pack of starving sled dogs. Scrawny? Not so much.
Mom is fond of complaining that we bunnies make too much of a mess with our hay, but in our defense, we're only taking after her. If she can leave remnants of her lunch from here to Timbuktu, why, so can we. Everybunny knows that hay tastes even better when it's scattered across the dining room floor.
This is especially exciting now that it's the Christmas season, with all the accompanying cookies and tarts and even fruitcakes. Kenzie waits for Mom to hit the Tupperware full of good stuff, then she knows it's just a matter of time before her share will come tumbling down in front of her.
Mom denies being a slob, of course. "I do NOT eat like a five year old," she sputters, crumbs flying. Mom would have you believe she drops all that food on purpose. "Kenzie looked hungry," she'll insist. "Nothing worse than a scrawny bunny." The hungry part, that's true. Kenzie's got the appetite of a pack of starving sled dogs. Scrawny? Not so much.
Mom is fond of complaining that we bunnies make too much of a mess with our hay, but in our defense, we're only taking after her. If she can leave remnants of her lunch from here to Timbuktu, why, so can we. Everybunny knows that hay tastes even better when it's scattered across the dining room floor.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Hey hey hay
When it comes to hay, Kenzie and I are voracious eaters. We prefer western timothy, specially ordered from Oxbow. Granny buys it for us in 50 pound boxes, so we'll never be caught short.
Recently Mom decided that we were "wasting" too much. "It's bad manners to play with your food," she groused. "Bunnies in India would give their right paws for the hay you take for granted." So Granny made us each our very own hay basket. The idea was that Mom would fill them daily, with our allotted portion, and everything would stay neat and tidy.
You know what they say about best laid plans, don't you? Every morning Mom delicately tucks our hanks of hay into our baskets and sits back and admires her handiwork, then goes on about her day. And every evening she comes home to find hay scattered from one end of the pen to the other, with a goodly portion strewn across the bedroom floor and out into the hall. It never fails to send her into a tizzy.
"HOW can you make such a mess day after day?" she moans, and holds her head. The vacuum is no match for our hay-hurling prowess. Mom has to pick the hay up by hand, piece by individual piece. "A GOOD bunny would feel guilty," she says, but we know better. We are just doing what bunnies were born to do--wreak havoc on a grand scale. Besides, she's always saying she needs more exercise. What better way to get it than cleaning up after us? She really ought to THANK us.
Recently Mom decided that we were "wasting" too much. "It's bad manners to play with your food," she groused. "Bunnies in India would give their right paws for the hay you take for granted." So Granny made us each our very own hay basket. The idea was that Mom would fill them daily, with our allotted portion, and everything would stay neat and tidy.
You know what they say about best laid plans, don't you? Every morning Mom delicately tucks our hanks of hay into our baskets and sits back and admires her handiwork, then goes on about her day. And every evening she comes home to find hay scattered from one end of the pen to the other, with a goodly portion strewn across the bedroom floor and out into the hall. It never fails to send her into a tizzy.
"HOW can you make such a mess day after day?" she moans, and holds her head. The vacuum is no match for our hay-hurling prowess. Mom has to pick the hay up by hand, piece by individual piece. "A GOOD bunny would feel guilty," she says, but we know better. We are just doing what bunnies were born to do--wreak havoc on a grand scale. Besides, she's always saying she needs more exercise. What better way to get it than cleaning up after us? She really ought to THANK us.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Ho ho holiday
Mom decorated for Christmas last weekend, and it was great fun for all of us. So many boxes to explore! Kenzie and I have our own Christmas ornaments, hand painted for us by one of Mom's friends. And we have our very own stocking too. (We have to share the stocking. There's only one. Maybe Santa will do something about that this year.)
Possibly the most exciting of all the decorations is the miniature lighted village Mom set up on the dining room table. Every one of the buildings has its own electrical cord, ripe for chewing! AND there's an extension cord tying them all together. So tempting.....Mom did her best to block off that corner but we are crafty house bunnies and not easily stymied.
Kenzie and I have our lists ready for Santa. Kenzie wants more sea grass chewies. She's partial to those that make noise, like the ones Granny fashions with little bells attached. Kenzie enjoys making her presence known. Me? My needs are simple. Fresh orchard grass for my hay ball, new shredded paper for my burrow box, and of course, a multi-million dollar book and movie deal. Should be a snap for someone like Santa.
Possibly the most exciting of all the decorations is the miniature lighted village Mom set up on the dining room table. Every one of the buildings has its own electrical cord, ripe for chewing! AND there's an extension cord tying them all together. So tempting.....Mom did her best to block off that corner but we are crafty house bunnies and not easily stymied.
Kenzie and I have our lists ready for Santa. Kenzie wants more sea grass chewies. She's partial to those that make noise, like the ones Granny fashions with little bells attached. Kenzie enjoys making her presence known. Me? My needs are simple. Fresh orchard grass for my hay ball, new shredded paper for my burrow box, and of course, a multi-million dollar book and movie deal. Should be a snap for someone like Santa.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Ho ho horrible
Mom did her holiday baking yesterday, which made for an interesting morning. See, Mom isn't the most culinarily gifted among us. Her idea of successful cooking is not getting the bagel stuck in the toaster. So it was a bad idea right from the start, her attempting an elaborate recipe for pecan tartlets. WE all saw certain disaster looming, but no one asked US, so we hunkered down under the bed and prepared to enjoy the show.
Mom tends to use the entire kitchen when she's baking, meaning every available surface was piled high with mixing bowls and measuring cups and big bags of flour and sticks of Crisco, and that includes the floor. Mom's a big fan of the three-second rule. Pick it up, blow it off, and who's going to notice a little bunny fur anyway?
You have to admire the effort. She whipped and blended and folded her little heart out. She even managed to navigate the oven without searing off an arm, or setting anything afire. Imagine her pride as she whisked the first batch of tartlets out of the oven and turned them onto a rack to cool.....and watched them collapse into a smoking gelatinous mess.
You mustn't think we're heartless. Just because we choked back laughter as Mom choked back sobs...we tried to warn her, remember? It's not our fault nobody ever listens to the bunny.
It wasn't a complete loss. She managed to chisel out a few edible chunks to feed to some poor unsuspecting sap. Kenzie and I, we're just glad it won't be US. We'll stick to our grapes and tangerine slices. Even Mom can't destroy THOSE.
Mom tends to use the entire kitchen when she's baking, meaning every available surface was piled high with mixing bowls and measuring cups and big bags of flour and sticks of Crisco, and that includes the floor. Mom's a big fan of the three-second rule. Pick it up, blow it off, and who's going to notice a little bunny fur anyway?
You have to admire the effort. She whipped and blended and folded her little heart out. She even managed to navigate the oven without searing off an arm, or setting anything afire. Imagine her pride as she whisked the first batch of tartlets out of the oven and turned them onto a rack to cool.....and watched them collapse into a smoking gelatinous mess.
You mustn't think we're heartless. Just because we choked back laughter as Mom choked back sobs...we tried to warn her, remember? It's not our fault nobody ever listens to the bunny.
It wasn't a complete loss. She managed to chisel out a few edible chunks to feed to some poor unsuspecting sap. Kenzie and I, we're just glad it won't be US. We'll stick to our grapes and tangerine slices. Even Mom can't destroy THOSE.
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