Mom calls Kenzie and me her tiny tornadoes, and with good reason. We lay waste to our surroundings with lightning speed! Why, just this morning Kenzie flung the hay bowl off the top step of our pen. Hay flew everywhere! I did my part by scattering pieces clear out to the living room. By the time we were finished, there wasn't a square inch of our surroundings that wasn't buried in hay.
Usually Mom groans and drags out the vacuum. That poor vacuum. I don't know how it's managed to survive this long. But sometimes, like today, Mom just gives up. "What did I ever do to deserve this?" she moans, picking her way through the rubble. She needn't be so melodramatic. It's just hay. We'll eat it, sooner or later. Personally, I like being able to graze my way through half the house.
Mom tries to blame the sorry state of her housekeeping on us buns, but that's so unfair. It's not OUR fault there's a hairball the size of a small chipmunk in the bathtub drain. And that mountainous heap of unfolded clothes in the bedroom? That has nothing to do with US. Sure, we might try to scale it every now and then, maybe take a little nibble out of a T shirt here or there. We are curious little bunnies and that's what bunnies do.
Mom likes to tell us a story about two good little bunnies who are fastidiously tidy, never shed, and keep their poop piled neatly inside their litterboxes at all times. We don't believe a word of it. Bunnies were born to wreak havoc, and that's just what we do, on a daily basis. Why, Mom wouldn't know what to do without the crunch of hay underfoot. If it wasn't for us, she'd be forced to clean up her own cookie crumbs, and shred her own bills. She really ought to THANK us for our service.
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