Archive for August, 2012

So, firstly I have to apologise for bringing this blog post a day late again. I was having technical difficulties. Well, Mummy El who’s my technical advisor was having difficulties. I’ve been looking forward to telling you about the highlight of Louis’s visit, which took place late on Thursday.

It was pretty late at night and he went into the garden to relieve himself before bedtime (why dogs can’t learn to use a toilet like a civilised person or rabbit, I’ll never know) and started leading the household a merry dance, quite literally actually! He was bouncing around the garden shaking himself and cavorting in a manner we hadn’t seen before. On closer inspection Mummy El realised why. He had a slug stuck to his chest. Ew.

They managed to get him indoors in the usual way: bribe him with treats. Then came the slug-ectomy. Mummy El, who is not a big fan of anything remotely creepy, crawly or slimy, had to get a piece of kitchen towel and try to prize the slippery little sucker out of Louis’s ample chest hair. It left behind quite a nice sticky mess, but as time was getting on and they didn’t have any brushes or dog shampoo they wanted to avoid bathing him, so Mummy El grabbed Frodo’s wet wipes and gave him a good rub down in the sluggy area thinking that would suffice. It did suffice… For his chest.

Mummy El was pretty pleased with her mollusc removal efforts until she looked at his head. Apparently, Louis had made efforts to remove a mollusc from his little self as well, one that had sat itself in the little tuft of hair sitting on his forehead, right between his eyes. Here’s the thing though, Louis’s method wasn’t quite so delicate as Mummy El’s, he’d either scraped his head on the path or he’d got it out with his paw, either way the slug hadn’t survived the ordeal, as its entrails were smeared in his hair in something Mummy El described as a “There’s Something About Mary” quiff. I don’t understand that reference and I’ve been banned from taking to YouTube to see if I can find out what it means.

Mummy took another wipe and tried to get it out the same way she had with his chest, but she said it had set completely solid and wouldn’t shift, so a bath it was.

Thank goodness for Nana is all I can say, because Mummy J had work the next day and is a very grumpy bear if she has less than 10 hours sleep at night, so she toddled off to bed as Nana was very luckily there and offered her (maimed – but that’s for another day!) hand.

I can’t tell you how badly I wanted to take pictures or video it for you, but I wasn’t allowed because it was past my bedtime, it’s not sporting to make fun of others and it was too late for any of my shenanigans and for anyone to put up with me mucking about, apparently. Whatever. He looked hilarious with this big orange and yellow quiff sticking right up between his eyes though!

I was good enough to lend my shampoo and comb to the cause, despite my not being allowed to document it and mock him mercilessly, and I left them to it when I realised that slug guts don’t just wash out, but have to be scraped out, one sticky shred at a time. I’ve got a strong stomach but that was too much! Also, I got a bit jealous as Nana kept picking him up mid-wash, holding him close, snuggling him and rocking from side to side, cuddling and kissing his head and neck, which I thought she only did with me. Oh, the betrayal.

I heard the hairdryer going on a bit past midnight, and if I know Louis I think there would’ve been fun and games trying to get him dry. I don’t know what time Mummy El came to bed because I was fast asleep, but I do know that Louis was an angel the next day. I think he was exhausted, the poor little chap.

Yuck. Slugs. Just another reason I’m glad I’m an indoor rabbit!


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I’m really sorry that I only managed to complete one blog post last week, but as my incarceration came to an end a new restriction started. Puppy sitting.

Mummy El’s cousin has a little Shih-Tzu who came for not one, but two sleepovers; he came over on Wednesday morning and that was me tied up until Friday afternoon.

It’s not the first time that Louis has come to visit, he comes over to play quite a bit, but it’s the first time he’s come to stay over. I think it’s fair to say that when he comes over to see us life is never boring, and I’m happy to say that when he left on Friday afternoon everyone and everything was still intact, unlike last time.

My partner in crime

The ground floor of our house is a loop; the hall leads to the dining room, which leads to the kitchen, which leads to the conservatory, which covers the back of the house, leading to the lounge which leads back through to the hall, which spells fun for puppies and disaster for puppy-sitters.

See, Louis has a very special way of getting your attention, it’s called “grab and run”. The problem is he knows that grabbing something of his own doesn’t work so he grabs things that he really shouldn’t be getting his paws round and then legs it!

As I may have mentioned before, Mummy El is not quite as limber as you would hope, particularly given her chosen profession, so it’s quite a giggle for everyone except her when Louis does a runner and she has to make chase. This is my long-winded way of getting around to what happened last time.

Mummy El was just getting out of the shower when my Nana shouted up the stairs that Louis had something he shouldn’t, and couldn’t stop him. Mummy El made her way down the stairs as quickly as she could, wearing nothing but a towel, and hatched a plan with Nana that they should split up, go in opposite directions and grab him where they met.

Here’s the rub: Mummy El had been ironing in the conservatory and a few drops of the spray she uses had made its way onto the floor, and not only does it make the iron glide effortlessly over the clothes, it also makes people glide effortlessly across the floor…

Louis’s like me, he’s got a low centre of gravity and four-wheel drive, making him a lean, mean, sprinting machine who can corner like a pro. Mummy El… Well, she has none of those attributes. She was trying to round a bend, through the kitchen door and past the conservatory table but skidded on the slippery spot and ended up flying through the air before ending up on her hip. No long-term damage was done and they eventually caught Louis and prized the offending object from his jaws.

This time around Mummy El managed to stay on her feet, although she did end up chasing him under the dining table several times and separating him from a stone, a tissue an eye-glass cloth, a sweet wrapper, an iPod charger and a couple of other things which have escaped my memory.

I haven’t been able to write my blog, not because I’ve been helping, but it’s been very time-consuming mocking my mummies and aiding and abetting Louis’s antics!

I’ll tell you about slug-gate tomorrow!

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I have to apologise for my lack of posts on Friday and yesterday, but as well as being under hutch arrest I also ended up having my internet privileges revoked. I used my charms on Thursday evening and convinced Mummy El to let me out, but I went on a Facebook rampage, which I got into trouble for and then the upset and annoyance of it all led me to relieve myself on the sofa again. As a consequence, my sofa privileges have now been revoked too.

As you can see, I have now managed to wangle my internet access back, but I have been restricted to blogging and only 10 minutes a day on Facebook until my behaviour improves significantly. There’s not much else for me to do online anyway because Mummy El appears to have changed the passwords on her eBay and Amazon accounts. Not that I knew what they were before, or that I would ever use her account to buy stuff, and I definitely didn’t go there today with the intention of buying anything else…

I’m finally out of lock-down, and I understand that my actions all have consequences. I’ll try harder to control my anger and my bladder and become a model citizen in the hopes that they’ll help me to continue pursuing my modelling career. Besides, a bunny needs his freedom and Moo Moo made a rubbish cell mate.

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I’m in trouble. BIG trouble. I mean, I get into trouble a lot, a good 3-4 times a day, but this time I know I’ve done it.

My mummies don’t know what’s gotten into me, and I suppose if I’m truthful, neither do I. They’ve blamed the weather for now, trying to put it down to a case of bunny SAD, but instead of it making me, well, sad, they think it’s making me less person-like and more bunny-like.

I suppose I have felt the urge to do things I don’t normally do. My hair’s been falling out at quite a rate again, which I thought might be a good supplementary bed-building material so I’ve been doing a bit of construction work in my hutch again. They still insist on calling it nest building. Women.

Also, I’ve been (temporarily, I hope!) banned from the landing. I don’t like stairs so thought I’d try to make a Tino-approved tunnel to the ground floor. Apparently, neither the carpet nor my mummies approve of that move, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting, well, more like needing to try. I don’t usually do that either.

Then there’s that magical blue grass that peeps out from under the door from one of the mystical and mysterious banned rooms. I have to say, I thought there was something odd about it when I started ripping big lumps of it out; it was a bit dry and had a bit of a woolly texture… Anyway, it turns out it’s not blue grass at all, but another carpet, which is a second and compounding reason for my landing ban.

Apparently, my behaviour yesterday was the last straw. What I did may, but only may, have been wrong, but here’s why. They’ve rearranged the living room, where I was restricted to due to the digging and the ripping and I’m not keen. I do not like change. They’ve moved my loo, my rug, my toys, everything! Needless to say, I had the right ‘ump.

That’s not everything though; Mummy J has been very, very busy which makes her stressed and means she doesn’t have as much time for me, and Mummy El’s been flat on her back again making her stressed and also very boring. So, yesterday, Mummy El was up and about (after a fashion) and could potentially have been sharing some quality bunny time with me, but no. She decides, in her wisdom to sit there, and package and bag up dog treats. Don’t ask. It’s a long story.

I’ve always believed that actions speak louder than both words and grunts, so I let her know how unhappy I was that dog treats were seemingly more important than me. There are 5 different varieties, all in little sandwich boxes and they were all lined up on the sofa, so I simply went along the line, took the lid of each one in my mouth and threw it off the edge. Unluckily for me, it didn’t make as great an impact as I’d hoped as the lids were all on; I was hoping for a nice big spill and loads of crumbs, but I’ll take what I can get. Nana was there at the time and found it hilarious! It wasn’t supposed to be funny – I was trying to prove a point!

Realising that my unhappiness wasn’t being fully appreciated I stepped up my game. After being well and truly ignored during the picking and packing process I decided to give Mummy El a taste of her own medicine. They talk to me in cutsie voices, snuggle me and pretend to love me, then ignore me or deny me pet goats! So, I did the Tino equivalent: I got on the sofa, snuggled in close, let her think I was giving her all my love and then just relaxed 🙂 She felt something nice and warm seep into her trousers, yelled, and I legged it!

You piddle all over my feelings and dreams, I piddle all over your sofa and leg. Simples.

I hid under the TV cabinet on my shelf for her to calm down, which she did eventually, and I thought that having made my feelings clear I was bound to get more attention, especially since Mummy J actually finished work at a reasonable hour! But, no. As they got changed into sportswear I remembered it was Wednesday. Pilates day. Abandonment day.

They went out and didn’t even leave the TV on for me to watch the hockey until they came back. Obviously I hadn’t stressed my point strongly enough, so I reiterated my views and feeling, this time on a cushion and the sofa, and left a little pile of tiny round objects of my disapproval to go with it.

They came home. They got the point. I got put under house arrest. Well, hutch arrest.

At least I’m not in solitary. Moo Moo’s doing time with me.

Life’s just a bit too much for a little bunny to take sometimes. Their stresses rub off on me, then they rearrange my room and my stuff, I’m on tenterhooks about getting a puppy, then I have the disappointment of my herding career ending before it began… Now it doesn’t look as though anything will come of the modelling since I’m hutch-bound (apart from my work, and by work I mean blog-writing duties) and apparently “turning into a Diva”.

Anyway, I’ve been told I need to have an attitude adjustment and then we can go back to being a happy family again. I suppose I’ve got no choice but to sit here and think about how I’m going to do that. Oh, and how I’m going to pay for a detergent and steam cleaner for the sofa on top of the £246.21 I already owe

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Okay, the hurdles are higher than I thought and apparently there’s quite a lot of training involved in becoming a professional athlete. Who knew?

I’m still young, I’ve got my whole life ahead of me, and maybe one day I’ll have the dedication required to hone my sporting skills. The next Olympics aren’t for four years anyway, and I don’t see myself needing more than a couple of months to prep for it.

For now, I’m going to rely on my other natural ability: looking mighty fine.

Everyone always coos and fusses about how beautiful I am when they come and visit, and Mummy J’s constantly got a camera in my face; at some point you have to give in and agree. So, I’ll admit it. I’m a sexy beast. I hope you don’t think I’m being arrogant! It’s not like I can help it, I was born this way – I’ve just accepted the fact that I’m soul-destroyingly handsome, the same way Mummy El has accepted the fact that she has a face for radio. (Thank God I’m adopted.) It would be stupid of me to not take advantage of my good looks, wouldn’t it?

I’ve been watching America’s Next Top Model, taking some tips from Tyra, and working on some ‘looks’.

My ANTM Smize

I think this makes me look sultry

My deep and meaningful, pensive look

To achieve the ‘deep’ look you just squeeze your bum cheeks really hard

And my innocent look

I think this should be my headshot

Mummy El said I might be suitable for print campaigns but doesn’t think I’d be a good candidate for catwalk. I have to agree as I’m definitely more of a dog man.

Mummy J and I had another impromptu shoot this morning, so Mummy El’s job at the weekend can be to start putting my portfolio together. Feel free to leave your details in the comment box if you’d like to hire me. I won’t work for peanuts, but I may work for carrots…

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.

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That’s it. My hopes have been dashed, my dreams shattered, and the remnants of my future are smattered all over the walls. They said no to the goats. And the sheep. And the Alpacas. I didn’t bring up the chickens.

I was on such a high yesterday, imagining myself darting around the garden, grunting commands at my new bearded, horned friends, guiding them into my run, and sharing the odd bit of carrot and cabbage with them; rallying them when we were all exhausted of the same routine, giving inspirational speeches about how we would be celebrated the world over for our uniqueness and brilliance. I even downloaded an application form for Britain’s Got Talent. But it’s all just a distant, painful memory now.

I found some goats in a shelter just down the road and was emailing them to make some enquiries when Mummy El caught me in the act. I showed her the video, which she thought was brilliant, but pointed out that that bunny lived on a farm, not in a four-bed detached in the suburbs.

Mummy J got in on the act of urinating on my carrot chips then, and piled on the reasons for not having goats. Apparently, they’re omnivorous in the strongest sense of the word. She said she’s had enough problems with slugs and snails eating her veg without farm animals getting in there as well. She reckons we’d see the end of the fruit trees and flower beds too, but I think she’s being over-dramatic.

They also said there’s a fine line between people affectionately calling the house a petting zoo and it actually becoming a petting zoo. They think they’re on the verge of being known as the crazy animal ladies. Only on the verge? I thought they were there a fair while ago, to be honest.

Another apparent problem with goats is that they’re not housetrained, nor can they become so. They said they have neither the time nor inclination to pick up after them day in, day out.

I begged, I pleaded, I pulled my best cute face and even tried demonstrating my natural talent for herding by running around their legs, nibbling at their ankles, but it was all to no avail.

They’ve put their feet firmly down on this one. So that’s it. No more Tino the Goat Herding Rabbit. No name up in lights. No Britain’s Got Talent.

I’m so depressed I could barely write this blog. I’ve spent that last 24 hours in mourning. I know I’ve got to pick myself up and try to move on, but I’m just not sure how.

Wake me up when the pain’s gone…

Maybe I should focus on my athletics career. Surely my mummies can’t have a problem with that?

I’m off to wipe away my tears and check if there are any specific rules banning the participation of bunnies in the 110m hurdles…

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My eyes have been opened, my horizons have been expanded and the world looks like a new and exciting place all over again. I have new goals, wild aspirations and big dreams to fulfil. This is how the world must have felt when man first landed on the moon. My friend Bella’s human posted this video on my Facebook wall the other day, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Can you believe it? A herding rabbit?! I watched “Babe” over Christmas and mocked that little piglet, but I take it all back now. That’s proof that anyone can do anything if they have the right mindset, attitude and drive.

This is what I have to do with my life; I have to use this as a base and expand upon it. I want to enter championships, win trophies, be the world’s greatest! Then, when the puppy comes I can teach him, and we can become an unstoppable team! We’ll be the most famous herding team ever and they’ll make a film about us. Babe? Babe who?

Now I just need a herd. Sheep have been done and are a tad cliché in my opinion. And, all right, you can sheer them, but apart from being woolly they haven’t got a great deal of use, especially since I don’t like Feta.

Alpacas, now there’s an idea! I’ll grant you they only have the same function as sheep, but they’re so much cooler! I’m not sure if they spit or not though, and their heads might be a bit far away from the ground for me to make much of an impact vocally.

I’m discounting chickens straight away. One of Mummy El’s not so genius ideas a while ago was to get some chickens because my mummies eat a ton of eggs, but Mummy J said no way. One of their friends keeps chickens and said they’re proper messy and destructive. Mummy J said Mummy El makes enough mess for her to cope with indoors without contending with chicken destruction outdoors.

I’ve got it! Goats! Mummy El loves goats! I can sell this one to them easily! Goats will eat all of our scraps and veggie peelings, so they’ll be cheap to feed, they’ll keep the grass down so that’ll be one less job for Mummy J, and Nana loves goats cheese so we can get a little cottage industry going on the side!

Mummy El cuddling a goat

Tino the Goat Herding Rabbit. You’ll see my name in lights.

Right, I’m off to research where I can get a handful of goats from. Watch this space!

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