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Archive for October, 2012

I’ll have to try and keep this brief as I have to prepare, but I have a very important business meeting to attend this afternoon. I am now on career venture number 5 since I started blogging, but I think this one has legs, and it’s the only one which has had the full and unwavering support of both of my mummies.

Now, you’ll understand that I can’t give too much away as it’s very much in its infancy, but I’ve come up with an idea for a range of dog biscuits. They’re not just any old dog biscuits, but I can’t tell you what makes them special just yet. I know they’re yummy though – not that I’ve tried them personally.

My mummies whipped up a batch under my careful instruction and we sent them out to Alfie and the crew up North, Wimbledon Alfie and my gorgeous girlfriend, Bella, and we used them to bribe Louis the Slug Tzu when he came over. Also, my mummies gave some to their friend, Chester, but I’m not allowed to meet him because he’s half Beagle, half Fox Hound and they’re worried he might eat me. He gave the treats two paws up as well, so that was all good news.

Chester. Does that look like the face of a killer to you?

So, today, we’re having the man from Trading Standards come over and help us with all the boring stuff like Health and Safety, Food Labelling, Testing and Analysis and stuff like that. That’s hurdle number one. I’m an excellent hurdler, but my mummies aren’t so great at it, so I just have to hope that this one doesn’t trip them right at the start. They’re worried about the same thing as always: expense. We’ll see.

Obviously, I’ll be heading the meeting but I’m having them come along because Mummy El has very neat handwriting so can make excellent, legible notes, and Mummy J can be the drinks monitor and keep everyone supplied with tea and coffee. I’ve got their outfits picked out so that they look professional but not too over the top. I’ve gone with smart/casual, that can never be wrong.

I, myself, will be going as-is; I may have them run a brush through my hair, but that’ll be about all. Mummy El wants me to tone down my mohawk so I look a little less ‘out there’, whatever that’s supposed to mean. This coming from the tattooed lady with more metal in her ears than is strictly necessary for one person – or even two or three people really.

Me sporting my cool do.

I’m not changing who I am, I’m keeping the mowie. I think it shows that I’ve got spunk and character.

Anyway, watch this space for new on my progress becoming a bunny CEO! Wish us luck!

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Today, I am well and truly pooped. I woke up full of beans yesterday, much to Mummy El’s chagrin, and spent all day bounding around, making the most of my free-range status.

See, apparently – violins at the ready – she’d been up most of the night. I didn’t know anything about it because I was busy sleeping, but by 8am I was feeling refreshed and lively but she was feeling exactly the opposite. I think it was down to the fact that she’s still creaking about the place holding her back like someone two and a half times her age, so she wasn’t really up to dealing with my so-called antics.

She was laid flat-out on the sofa with a face like a bulldog and I did a bit of athletics training! I love those days; she’s like a cross between a bouncy castle, a climbing frame and a springboard. And a toilet, but I’ll get onto that later.

So, I spent the majority of the morning doing laps of the living room, then jumping up and down, on and off the sofa and Mummy El, and then used her as a trampoline and bounce up onto the windowsill and do my bit for Neighbourhood Watch. Once I was satisfied that all was well with the workmen over the road I hopped back down and tried to find some trouble.

I didn’t find trouble, but I did find a new toy! It’s called a bucket and it’s got this handle thing on it. Mummy J uses the handle to carry it around, but she’s missed a trick, because it’s way more fun to take the handle in your mouth and then throw it up in the air. Then, you get your head out of the way – quick! – before it comes crashing back down and makes a really cool, really loud noise! You can balance it on your head as well, and then jump up in the air, and throw it that way; it’s very versatile. I considered getting in the bucket for a minute, but then I thought it too closely resembled a bin, and I’ve had bad experiences with those.

I accidentally binned myself 😦

Anyway, my neck was starting to ache from all the handle-flinging and I thought I’d probably be on thin ice making that much noise with Mummy J working next door (she’s working loads at the minute to fill the giant dent in her account that’ll be there when she has to write a cheque for the pup-mobile), so I thought I’d go and wind up check on Mummy El. She was face-down, flat-out on the sofa and looked a bit lonely and sorry for herself, so I hopped on her back to sit with her and let her know I care.

That’s when I got a good idea. My old bud Geordi told me that an important part of being a dog is to mark things that our yours by, well, relieving yourself on them. I decided that whilst I was in position on Mummy El I may as well give this marking thing a try, (I needed to go anyway and it saved me getting down to use my loo) and my reasons were two-fold. Firstly, I need to start acting a bit more like a dog if I’m going to be big bro and chief role model to a puppy, so I can help bridge the gap between him and our mummies, and secondly, à la Geordi (although he never used this technique on Mummy El), I wanted to let her know she was mine. It all made perfect sense.

The thing is, she was covered up with a blanket because it was pretty chilly, especially if you’re not moving around much (or at all in her case) so she didn’t notice that I’d had a little tinkle on her back. It defeated the object of letting her know she was mine really, because apart from the fact that, well, she didn’t know, I think, technically, only the blanket’s mine now. Mummy J let her know when she came in though, and it didn’t go down as well as I’d hoped. I’ll have to give it a go at some other point and see if I can get them to come round to my way of thinking.

Then I got bored with dull, old, decrepit Mummy El and wanted to go and demand that ask Mummy J if she wanted to pack in work for the day, only she’d shut the door. Now, as you may remember, I figured out how to open the bi-folding door, but they then figured out that if they flattened the hinges my technique doesn’t work, so this time I had to sink my teeth in a rattle the door, HARD. That technique did work, but not in way that I’d hoped. The door did open, but by Mummy J’s hand. There she stood, holding her phone, trying to video my vigorous attempts. Of course, I stopped immediately. I’m a rabbit, not a performing monkey.

I went back to see Mummy El, only to find that she was having a little power-kip! I don’t care that she’d only had 3 hours or so of sleep, I’m the only one who gets to snooze in the day. What about poor Mummy J who has deadlines to meet? She doesn’t get to have forty winks. She doesn’t get to have any winks! So, I did the honourable thing and jumped on Mummy El’s head. That woke her up. Hopefully she’s learnt her lesson.

I spent the evening chilling out with them, nibbling on carrot tops and watching TV, and we watched this really cool show on Animal Planet called “Dogs 101”. You’ll never guess which breed of dog popped up… An Entlebucher! All right, they just put a still photo up (it wasn’t of any of my pals, which is disappointing as all of them are way better looking than the pooch they chose) and the guy’s pronunciation of the breed was a bit wrong, but it’s the first time I’ve seen one on TV! It got me all excited again and I had to keep repeating my mantra… “Don’t count your chickens, Tino. Don’t count your chickens…”

Anyway, it was a fabulous ending to a brilliant day, but I’m going to have to take it easy now for the rest of the week. It was a lot of excitement for a little bunny.

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I’ve been sitting on some news for a very long time now. Well, it feels like an eternity but I think it’s only been 2 or 3 weeks really. You remember I said yesterday that Mummy El tells me not to count my chickens before they’ve hatched? Well, she told me that in relation to this news rather than the car.

See, here’s the thing. I might, might, and I have to stress again, MIGHT be getting my puppy in January.

I’ve told you about my bud, Alfie, before; he lives in a very faraway place called York where they talk like the people off Emmerdale. He’s the Entlebucher who lives with 3 other Entlebuchers. 2 of the others are girls, I’m not sure if they’re housemates or if they’re all adoptive brothers and sisters, but one of the girls is quite mean to him sometimes, which makes me think she’s his sister, and one of them might, might, MIGHT be pregnant with my puppy!

I’m not sure how it all works (my mummies say that it’s grown up stuff) but somehow girl dogs decide a few times a year that they fancy having some puppies, and then their humans/parents take them to meet a boyfriend, and then… Well, then my mummies get fuzzy with the details, but if they’re lucky, their boyfriend gives them puppies!

Megan (the one who must be Alfie’s sister) thought she fancied puppies earlier on this year so went even further away from York than York is from here and met her boyfriend. I think they liked each other and I think he wanted to give her puppies, but it didn’t work out. That’s life, eh?

Alfie tells it much better than me, but the short version of what’s happening now is that when my mummies abandoned me to hug wallabies, Shadow, that’s Alfie’s other girl, decided it was puppy time so her human/mummy/mistress took her all the way to Switzerland to meet a boyfriend, and Megan went along for the ride too. I think she must be very sophisticated and well-travelled. Then, when they were getting ready to come home, Megan decided that she wanted puppies again too!

Being a boy, and too cool to care, I don’t know much about the female psyche, but I’ve heard they’re prone to jealousy and wanting what other girls have got, so I’m going to go with that for the reasoning behind her decision. Mummy El says it’s more likely to be biology, but refuses to clarify the finer points, and I think Nana had been at Mummy El’s painkillers because when I asked her about it she started telling me some rubbish about storks and cabbage patches, so I’m sticking to my theory until somebody can come up with a better one.

Jealousy, biology, giant winged birds, I don’t care! The point is, Megan stayed in Switzerland for a bit longer and met a boyfriend too, so if they’re both carrying puppies, and they both have enough healthy puppies – which is the most important thing in the whole wide world, even more important than me getting a puppy (you have no idea how difficult that was for me to say!) – then their human/mummy/mistress might, might, MIGHT let me bring one home in January!

Now, that’s a lot of ‘might’s. Mummies El and J keep telling me to keep my hair on (which is very difficult for one who moults so profusely) because we don’t even know if either of the girls are pregnant yet, and that’s just the first ‘might’, but a bunny can’t help but dream, can he?

Blogging is exhausting stuff, so I’m off to have a snooze now, I promise to try and count sheep though, not chickens.

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Yes, you read it right. New wheels. And seats. And doors. Well, actually, a whole car. After the disastrous events surrounding the last German wheelie bin, they decided they wanted to try again. Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with jumping, frolicking and bounding, but my mummies seem to think that’s impractical. Think about it. Me: leaping, running and hopping; fit, healthy and lean. Mummy El: getting driven around everywhere: stiff, creaking and shuffling. You know I make sense.

According to them, though, I hadn’t properly thought this through because cars are, apparently, useful for carrying my nuggets and potty litter home from the pet shop in, making the beach 7 minutes away instead of 75 minutes and leg-ache away (not that I ever get to go), and, of course there are those twice annual trips to the V-E-T, and even I have to admit that it’s a bit of a long way to go on foot when you’ve just had such a traumatic experience. If I’m honest, I don’t move particularly well when instruments have entered what should strictly be kept as an exit.

I knew there was no changing their minds, so all I could do was try to advise them. You’ll remember that I tried to warn them against the TT, but they weren’t interested in my opinion, but having reflected on that, and the fact that if they’d listened to me they could have saved themselves a deal of hassle and money, they agreed that maybe I should partake in this important decision-making process.

Obviously, the most important thing to consider when buying a car is how cool it is, so I discounted anything ugly or boring. Then, despite fervent protestations from Mummy J, I quashed any ideas they had of buying German. Spending billions of pounds on insurance and spare parts is a mistake I wasn’t prepared to let them make a second time. With the puppy in mind, it had to have nice, cosy back seats, and with the way Mummy El packs for day trips and holidays they need a massive boot. Looking at the volume of luggage they took I think she must have misheard Mummy J’s holiday proposition last month; she said “four night break”, not “fortnight break”!

So, my conclusion was that they needed a small SUV; something that wasn’t so big that it drank its way through their bank balance and they couldn’t park it sensibly, but something that wasn’t so small that the puppy was scrunched up in the back, wedged between winter jackets and cool boxes, and Mummy J couldn’t see out of either windscreen due to overhanging kayaks and surfboards. (Oops! I hope she doesn’t read this, I may have just let her Christmas present slip!)

So, I presented them with my findings and they added a couple of boring criteria to the list, like low mileage and age, and then heaved a massive sigh, as this apparently comes at a price. What do I know about that stuff? I thought you could buy diamonds with root vegetables. It took me forever to realise that’s not what they meant by 2 carats. So, new car = Mummy J working her poor little fingers to the bone + bored Tino.

I borrowed her laptop and started to search for a good deal for them whilst I had nobody to play with, and found them a couple to go and look at. Anyway, an already long story short, after a couple of dead ends I found them what I thought was the perfect car and arranged for them to go and drive it on Saturday. Mummy J dragged Mummy El’s creaking bones off to the garage, and 24 hours and a bit of haggling later, Mummy El was on the phone reading out the long number on her debit card, putting down a deposit! (Don’t worry, I made a note of the number as she was reading it out for future reference.)

Now, Mummy El has always told me that counting your chickens before they’ve hatched can cause you to get egg on your face, and in this instance I think she means for me not to get too excited about the car, as it’s not sat gleaming outside of our front door yet. So, on that note I’ll leave you to get on with your day and I’ll go and cross my paws that this time next week I can tell you all that I’ve been for a spin around the block in our pup-mobile. Does it still count as counting my chickens if I try reeeeally hard to see them as just eggs…?

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Firstly, something I’m making a habit of doing, apologising for my Mummy El and the fact that she’s pretty much just plain rubbish. Apparently, she was dealing with “grown-up things” (don’t ask me what that means, I’m just glad I’ll never be a grown-up, I’ll be my Mummies’ baby forever!), then she had one of her infamous week-long headaches, then she and Mummy J did something completely unforgivable, which I’ll get into later, and now karma has kicked in and the universe is punishing them for their unforgiveable act. Mummy El is flat on her back again, which means Mummy J is having to play housekeeper and nurse maid. Serves them both right. Normally I try to feel sorry for Mummy El and be understanding, but this time she brought it on herself, besides, it’s hard when I’m suffering along with her. What about me? What about my blog?

Anyway, she’s not exactly 100% but I’ve told her that if she can prop her head up and balance a laptop on her legs she can upload my blog, so here I am!

Now, on with the news.

Yesterday, I woke up with a very peculiar feeling. I found myself wanting to be particularly kind to Mummy J and thinking about being a good boy. It was German Reunification Day, probably the most important bank holiday in the German calendar, and since Mummy J is German and away from home, I thought I should sympathise a bit. Everyone in Germany was off work, relaxing, and probably enjoying a Weißbier or two and Mummy J was slaving away at her desk, with Mummy El laid in a useless heap whinging about her back, so I thought she deserved a bit of Tino love. For a second. Then I remembered their heinous crime against bunnies. Well, bunny. Well, bunny and hamster. And fish. And parrots. The familiar feelings of hurt and resentment came flooding back and all was right with the world again.

“What was their crime?” I hear you ask. They went on holiday. On holiday! Without me!

It was all very last minute, so I didn’t even have time to get my head around it, and to add insult to injury my Nana and Grandad were away too, so I didn’t even get the bunny’s best friend and biggest softy in the world making a fuss and spoiling me!

I did, however, have June taking care of me. June’s Louis the slug loving Shih-Tzu’s Nana and, luckily, she likes bunnies. She comes round to our house for dinner a lot, and sometimes, if she’s lucky, I come down to say hello. It’s good to do personal appearances with your adoring public, but I’m not always in the mood and, besides, it pays to keep them wanting more.

Anyway, she did a very good job of taking care of us all; I had lots of treats and only had to tell her off once. She kept telling me every day how nice my dried apple was, and when she kept her hand in the cage for too long at one point I was quite concerned that she’d want to try it for herself, so I was forced to fend her off with a dive and a grunt.

After 3 whole and 2 partial days of loneliness with only Frodo for companionship… Actually, on the subject of Frodo, they really rubbed salt into the wounds there. They moved him into our bedroom to keep me company. Keep me company?! All he did was chew the bars of his cage, run in his squeaky wheel at stupid o’clock in the morning and stink the place out. Unacceptable. Anyway, they came home eventually, gift-less, I might add, made noises about how much they’d missed me and then proceeded to tell me what a wonderful time they’d had. Thanks, Mums.

It gets worse. They uploaded their snaps to Facebook, and look what I found.

Mummy J holding hands with a wally, I mean, a wallaby

Mummy El cosying up to someone who isn’t me

Instead of staying here and snuggling me, Mummy El chose to spend her birthday making gooey eyes at this. A wallaby. It has bigger ears than mine, bigger feet than mine, a longer tail than mine… I think my hair’s probably softer and more lustrous, and my vocabulary is likely to be broader, and I have a far more refined accent, but still… I’ve been made to feel entirely inadequate.

So I decided I didn’t care if it was German Reunification Day, Christmas Day, Mummy J’s birthday or just plain Wednesday. No cuddles for bunny abandoners.

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