Posts Tagged ‘Nibbling’

Happy New Year, people! I hope you’re all looking forward to the year ahead as much as I am. Sorry I’m a day late, but I spent yesterday sleeping off the night before. It was a heavy one.

Like you've never fallen asleep with your head in a bowl

Like you’ve never fallen asleep with your head in a bowl.

Have you made any resolutions? I haven’t, because I know I won’t stick to them. Like, last year my resolution was to not chew anything I didn’t have permission to wreck, but within hours nature had taken over and there were bunny bite marks all over the place. Fish gotta swim, footballers gotta spit and swear, bunnies gotta nibble. That’s life, folks.

Mummy El’s got a resolution alternative, she’s got a 2013 to do list. She says that resolutions are too wishy-washy, that if you say something general, like, “go to the gym more” or “go to the driving range more regularly” it’s too easy to default on it. So, she’s decided that 2 things of the things she’s going to achieve this year are adding at least 2cm to her upper-arm circumference and play that round of golf she’s been threatening to give Mummy J and Grandad for the last 3 years! (She blames her back for her skinny arms and lack of golfing effort, but I think 3 years is pushing it!)

See, her way of thinking is that if she has a specific goal then the resolution will happen on its own. To get a bit more muscle mass she will have to go out to her gym more often; if she’s going to book a round of golf in she’ll need to practice a bit, ergo, she’ll have to go to the driving range. (Good luck with the second one, Mum. I saw you holding onto the walls, creaking out to the bathroom this morning.)

As much as it pains me to say it, I think she sort of makes sense. So, with that said, my first goal of 2013 is to find an alternative route under the bed. What are your goals and resolutions?


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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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First and foremost I have an apology and confession to make. Although I am, chiefly, responsible for my blog I do get my mummies to deal with the technical bits and Mummy El does all of the scheduling and publishing. She messed it all up this week because yesterday’s blog was supposed to go live today and today’s was supposed to have been up yesterday. AND, she skipped a day! She reckons that it’s been a particularly stressful week and that she can’t think straight with all that’s gone on (and continues to), but I think that the sun’s frazzled her brain.

Whatever the reasoning, she’s been totally rubbish and it’s inexcusable. She needs to get her priorities sorted, and by that I mean that we need to go back to the old rule: What I say goes, and everything else is secondary. I don’t care if your hair is on fire or the roof has collapsed (neither of those things happened, by the way), feed me, get my blog done, then deal with whatever the problem is.

So, without any further ado, here is the third and final part, albeit, 2 days late and out of sync, of A Day in the Life.

17:27pm: I retreat into the living room and hang my head in shame after my failure to conquer the guest room. I chill for a bit whilst Mummy El gloats.


Chillaxing. It’s the word all the cool kids are using.

17:45pm: I go and see Mummy J and remind her that all work and no play makes a grumpy Mummy and a bored bunny.

18:00pm: Mummy J finally prizes herself away from her desk and comes to see me for a couple of minutes before dragging Mummy El off to the kitchen to help her cook. By “help” I mean stand, watch and be useless.

18:01pm: I have nothing better to do than have a wash and a kip.

18:43pm: My mummies come back, dinner in hand, I’m rudely awoken and have to get comfy again before I can relax and watch TV with them.

18:45pm: I take my place on the rug, right in front of the TV, wait for someone to fire up the Tivo and catch up with the latest goings on in Emmerdale. Don’t judge me, there’s a lot of drama in that village.

18:49pm: All of the food smells and their chewing makes me hungry so I join them in the chomping and have a nibble on my nuggets.

18:56pm: I come and join my mummies on the sofa and put up with all of their fussing. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for a comfy seat.


19:33pm: I get a bit involved in the televisual dramatics and only realise when I get moaned at that a little poopy has slipped out, so I leg it off the sofa into my loo.

19:36pm: I get off the loo and have a good wash.

19:47pm: Mummy El takes the plates out and I follow her to check on the door situation.

19:57pm: After checking all of the doors, several times, I sit outside the bedroom door and wait for someone to come and open it.

20:09pm: Mummy El goes into the bedroom, I try to follow her in, but she strategically opens it just a crack, sticks her foot in the threshold and closes the door quickly behind her. I stick my head in and grunt, but it’s all in vain. Mummy El – 2, Tino – 1. It’s not looking good for me.

20:10pm: With the two of them having showers I hop and run around for a bit then make sure I go and park myself in the best spot on the sofa before they get back.

20:33pm: My mummies come back and I realise, once again, that the sofa comes accompanied with cuddles, kisses, stupid high-pitched baby voices, and lots of stroking.


20:35pm: Having let them have their fun and taken all I can of all of the cuddling and cooing I decide that it’s now time for affection the Tino way. I lower my chin to the ground and look up at them with my big beautiful eyes, and they know the drill. It’s time for nosey kisses. They’re my faves. My mummies do a kissy relay, one taking over when the other’s neck is about to snap, stroking my nose from tip to forehead with their face. I don’t know what all the fuss is about – it doesn’t hurt me in the slightest. If they stop I remind them that I’m still here and haven’t said they can stop by shoving my nose under whichever body part of theirs is closest. It gets them every time.

20:52pm: Both of their necks have had it, which means an end to the kisses and the need for an extremely thorough wash. It feels lovely at the time but I end up filthy.

21:00pm: I get my one hour warning to have a run around and enjoy myself before I have to go back to my hutch.

21:01pm: I run around like a loon, jump up on the sofa, use my mummies as spring boards to get on the back of the sofa and then jump onto the window sill and have a look out of the window.

21:02pm: The sight of one of the over-the-road neighbours scares me to death and I hop back down.

21:05pm: I get over the shock and start circling the coffee table at speed. I’ve got some serious four-wheel drive and traction control.

21:08pm: I have a little rest and go again.

21:12pm: I have a refreshment and comfort break, then, of course, a wash.

21:30pm: I go and see Frodo, despite warnings from my mummies.

21:31pm: Warnings not heeded, a tiny paw comes through the bars and I get a smack round the face. Why can’t we all just get along?

21:37pm: Mummy El feeds Frodo. She puts a nice big pile of seeds in the palm of her hand and opens the door; he clambers out, sits on her hand and starts picking out the bits he likes the most and pouches them, item by item. I love Sunflower seeds – it’s a weakness – but they’re not included in my fruit salad or nuggets so I hop on over to see if maybe I can scrounge one. Mummy El knows what I’m after so picks one out for me, but Frodo also knows what I’m after so I get a second smack. They think I’m a fool for continuing to try to foster a relationship with him, but I think I’m just an optimist, hopeful that one day he’ll realise that I’m a nice boy really, and just want to be friends.

21:39pm: I sit and have a nibble on my Sunflower seed, feeling a bit sorry for myself and have a little wander, killing the last few minutes before “the b-word”.

21:53pm: I hear the familiar and tempting sound of the bedroom door opening and see the perfect opportunity to avoid “the b-word”. I hare towards the door at lightening speed and manage to get past Mummy J! They’re a bit dozy by that time of night, bless them. Mummies – 2, Tino – 2.

21:54pm: I realise that my naughtiness has been preempted. The bed is completely blocked off and they’ve already built my ramp. Poop. Mummy El joins Mummy J in the bedroom and they try to cajole me up onto the bed and onto my ramp with cries of “Come on, Tino, bedtime!” “Up into bed, there’s a good boy!” Good boy and into bed, my fluffy backside! I grunt and double-back, only to find that Mummy El has closed the bedroom door, and I’m stuck here. Mummies – 3, Tino – 2. I fear it’s too late in the day to pull this one back.

21:55pm: I lay down as far from the bed as I possibly can and have a sulk by the drum kit, out of principle.

Having a sulk

21:59pm: My principles are overpowered by my tummy. I hear my bowl being replenished with nuggets and decide that maybe my hutch isn’t such a bad place to be after all. I hop in, Mummy J gives me 3 pieces of dried apple and then I get lots of cuddles and kisses, which I’m more in the mood for now.

22:05pm: I’m snuggled up, safe and warm with Big Brother on. I watch it for as long as I can keep my tired little eyes open, then drift off. My mummies cover my hutch with a blanket to make me feel secure all night (and to stop me chewing on the bars at 5am) and that’s the end of another day in the life of a very happy bunny.

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It’s Wednesday, and I know what that means. Abandonment. That’s what.

Mummy El’s started this thing called Pilates; she has to go out to do it, so I’m not really sure what it entails, but I do know that the first time she did it she ended up doing further damage to her already dubious back and spent all weekend in bed. In fact, I don’t think I even want to know what it is – it must be bad!

Anyway, she braved it and went again the week after and took Mummy J with her. She either didn’t want to suffer alone or it’s fantastic exercise and amazing for toning your abs, depending on whether she was talking about Mummy J or to Mummy J. Mummy El wasn’t too bad after her second go, and Mummy J didn’t have to take to her bed, but she did have a bit of a groan when she sneezed or coughed. Yep, they can definitely leave me out of it, whatever it might be.

Last week, they went again! That’s when I noticed a pattern forming. It’s ritual abandonment. Last week took the mick though; they left at 7 and didn’t get home until 10:30! 10:30! They didn’t phone, didn’t text, nothing. Just left me shut in the living room with stinky Frodo and Billy the Puffer Fish. Have I mentioned that I’ve got a pet Puffer Fish? I don’t think I have. There’s not much to tell, really, although we do have a lot in common. We both live alone, we’re both very intelligent, we both have a good sense of humour and we both have large, sharp front teeth.

A pretty rubbish picture of Billy admiring himself

Billy, not posing for his picture again. He’s camera shy.

Anyway, getting back to my situation; apparently, with my gift for eating the mouldings and taking a disliking to the occasional carpet, when they leave the house and I’m not in my hutch I get shut in the living room, as was the case last Wednesday. Now, they don’t have much of a social life so only tend to nip out for an hour here or half an hour there, which is acceptable, but 3 and a half hours?! I ask you! In fact, someone phone the RSPCA.

The worst of it: they didn’t leave me a light on! Allegedly, they intended to be back at 8:45, straight after Pilates, well before it gets dark, but on the spur of the moment decided to go to the 24 hour supermarket with the big green letters, since they were in the area. That’s their story, and they’re sticking to it. Did they buy me anything to let me know they were thinking of me, or to compensate me for my woes? No.

Well, I let them know exactly what I thought of them when they got in. I ignored them, wouldn’t let them cuddle me and stood outside the closed bedroom door, demanding that they open it and let me go to bed at once. Then I had a good old-fashioned sulk in my hutch and watched Big Brother. Don’t judge me, it’s good TV.

Just chillin’, having a drink, watching a bit of BB

Anyway, I’ve got it sussed now and I’m prepared to spend tonight sad and alone. They’ve promised they won’t leave me for any longer than they have to and that I won’t be sat in the dark this time, but I’m not sure how much I trust them.

Please can somebody send them a gentle reminder that they’ve got a furry little boy waiting for them at home?

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I think I mentioned a little while ago that my mummies were both building their own guitars, and I have to say that Mummy J’s is coming along an absolute treat! She’s almost finished but seems to be having a spot of bother with the wiring. Being the good, generous boy that I am, I offered my assistance, but was shot down in flames with a firm no.

Mummy’s cool guitar being soldered

Apparently, the reasons were two-fold. 1) Me and wiring are a bad combination and 2) the last time I “helped” we had to crack out the white spirit, throw out a rug and make an emergency phone call to the vet. I still maintain I was blameless.

See, here’s what happened; Mummy El was out, Mummy J was halfway through her paint-job and I was incarcerated. Whilst Mummy J was waiting for her paint to dry she packed everything up, put a nice tight cover on her mixed paint (it took her ages to get the colour she wanted) and let me out to play.

Now, it all happened rather quickly, but from what I recall, I was chewing up, I mean, helping to organise Mummy El’s business files, which are kept on a shelf I shouldn’t be on, so Mummy J came to lift me off. Since I knew I was in the wrong I legged it, slipped, and fell off the shelf right on top of the pot of beautifully mixed paint. The impact broke the seal, and before I knew it I was knee deep in green wood stain.

I knew I was still in trouble, add to that the shock, what’s a bunny to do but just keep running?!

Mummy J finally caught me but not before I’d flicked green paint everywhere (I found a spot on the duvet cover the other day, which obviously never washed out, but don’t tell them!), trodden it into a rug (which Mummy J had never liked, so she wasn’t too upset) and smeared it all over the (thankfully, wooden) floor.


Mummy J secured me, then phoned Mummy El all of a panic. When she’d finished laughing hysterically she said she was on her way home so would pop into the pet shop to get some bunny shampoo; funnily enough, they didn’t have any specifically designed to get paint out.

Mummy J wiped the excess off my leg and tummy with tissue then ran a sink-full of warm water to try and wash the worst of it out until Mummy El came home to give me a right good lathering. I did not appreciate that bath, let me tell you. I kicked my little legs in protest, covering the whole bathroom with green splashes; shower screen, loo, tiles, windows, you name it.

I should have just behaved myself in the sink though because things got so much worse when Mummy El arrived with the shampoo. They put me in the bath and turned the shower on!

It was sweet of Mummy El to record my misery. You can see the green tint in the water!

I grunted and groaned and tried waving my little legs around again, but they had me beat. I just resigned myself to sitting like a good, quiet boy in Mummy J’s hands and taking it like a man.

Oh, the humiliation…

They got most of the colour out, I was just a bit green in patches, and Mummy J trimmed out the bits of hair which were the deepest shades. Mummy El checked the back of the paint can to see what to do in an emergency; there was a warning not to ingest it or get it in your eyes, but there was nothing to say how you should deal with the situation if your furry friend jumps in it.

I like to wash myself a lot and my mummies were worried about me, essentially, licking the paint, so to be on the safe side Mummy El phoned the vet. When the nurse who answered stopped laughing and composed herself she went and checked with the vet what should be done. Mummy El heard more laughter in the background, apparently my plight was very amusing, and then the nurse came back, pulled herself together, apologised and relayed the vet’s advice to just keep an eye on my food and drink intake and then what came out of the other end.

I was fine, apart from an interesting dye job and a questionable haircut, but thinking back on it, maybe I should keep my help and my paws to myself in the future.

A picture of misery, getting dried off


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Okay, firstly, I have to apologise for my blog yesterday. Mummy El and Mummy J were both quite upset when they read it, and said it was unbalanced as I neglected to mention that I was allowed to try their crisps and have a beer with them during the Euros, which most bunnies aren’t allowed to do.

I did enjoy the beer though

They quite rightly said that they didn’t bring me up to be mean and ungrateful which I apparently was in spades yesterday, so sorry Mummies, and sorry readers, I was just having a bad day and feeling a bit emotional – I think the whole waiting for a puppy ordeal is getting to me a bit more than I would have liked to admit.

So, anyway, one of the (allegedly, many) disparaging remarks I made in yesterday’s post was about my educational toy, but in fact, it has taught me a valuable skill which I was able to implement for the first time today! Yay!

I managed to open the bi-folding bedroom door all on my own!

Geordi tried and tried to show me how to do it but being a dog and having a muzzle it was easy for him; he just wedged his nose into the gap and flicked his head to the right and, voila, it was open. If there wasn’t a big enough gap he knocked the centre fold where the hinges were with his paw and created the gap, and the job was a good’un.

I don’t have a muzzle. It’s been argued that I don’t even have a nose to speak of. Someone once said that I looked as if I’d run head-first into the patio door, which was hurtful but, on some level, true. I do have a bit of a flat face. Geordi’s technique is just not practical or doable for me, so I’ve had to develop my own.

I think I’ve spoken before about my attempts to open the door, which has resulted in some chipped paintwork and quite a bit of shouting, but today the fruits of my labour were there for all to see! An open door, and a rabbit under the bed! Success!

I realised early on that chewing my way through would be a lengthy process, not least because it rattles a lot when I’m having a nibble so someone always comes running out to tell me off, hence my having to find another way.

The markings of my work

So, back to my educational toy: stage 3 sees 4 individual lids placed randomly over the treat-containing recesses, but instead of just picking the lids up and chucking them off like in stage 2, they’ve been slid in on tracks, so I have to manoeuvre them in a particular way, following their line of movement rather than using my old faithful smash-and-grab tactic.

As we all know by now, nothing gets past me and I worked it out quicker than Mummy El worked out how to put it together, but then the cogs started turning… From what Geordi showed me, the same principle must apply to the bi-folding door; sliding it along in a fixed direction.

This morning I got the chance to try it out. Now, I’m still muzzle-less so there still had to be a bit of involvement from my teeth, but I sank them in, pushed the door to the right, and hey-presto, I was in!

What are they going to do to keep me out now? I feel some more antics coming on!

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Why did I get stuck with a couple of namby pamby, health food-nut, au naturel, borderline hippies? I swear they’re one small step away from renaming me “Dharma” and dragging me off to some retreat somewhere to hug a tree and wail at the moon.

I am sick of my so-called treats and jokes of Birthday and Christmas presents. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it’s just not fair. Day in, day out I have nuggets and hay, hay and nuggets and then some more hay followed by some more nuggets, which I’m happy with – they’re my faves – but a boy needs some fun in his life.

I have my veggies when they have theirs, fair enough, and the odd bit of fresh, juicy, crunchy apple and pear, which is tasty, but sometimes I just want something naughty and frivolous, you know?

Mummy El is supposed to be a Personal Trainer and Nutritional Advisor and yet I’ve seen her routinely noshing chocolate and ice creams. Am I allowed a nibble? Not a chance. What can I have? A bit of dried up beetroot. Yes, beetroot. Or parsnip.

For my first Birthday do you know what I got? A big pot made from compressed alfalfa and seeds, stuffed with a few bits of dried up dandelion. Oh, and an educational toy. I ask you – an educational toy?! They put my rubbish treats into little recesses, cover them with a lid and I have to “figure out” how to get to them. What a waste of money that was. It had 3 levels which I aced in no time; that toy stood about as much chance of beating me as England had of beating Germany, had the game happened.

Me being clever, as usual

Christmas, what did I get? The aforementioned dried up parsnip and beetroot and a packet of dried apple chunks. I’ll grin and bear the apple; it’s sweet and chewy and I like the squeaky noise it makes on my teeth, but it’s no yogurt drop.

I turned 2 about a month ago and I’ll admit I was excited about my pressies, but it was short lived. What did I get from my mummies again? More flippin’ health food! Alfalfa bales this time. Haven’t we done the whole alfalfa thing? It’s basically just more hay! They think it’s cute and different because it’s all in little compact mini-bales… Well, I’m here to tell you, Mummies, it’s not.

I really thought that this year, after I’d endeavoured to be such a good boy and I was being so helpful with all of the puppy stuff that they’d push the boat out a bit, but no, it was business as usual, and this year that was all I got. One measly bag of dried up green stuff. Apparently, they were sick of wasting money on things I won’t eat. Here’s a tip in that case: BUY ME SOMETHING TASTY!

They thought that maybe I was turning my nose up at it because it was compact, not loose, so they broke it all up and put it in my treat bowl, and put it on the floor for me to try. I couldn’t hold in my upset and frustration anymore.

I’m not picking that up.

Luckily, I have an extended family that care about my happiness. My Nana and Grandad have bought me all sorts of cool things; fruity biscuits, wicker balls, which I love to throw around with Nana, and for Christmas I even got a really cool ball with a bell in it! Mummy J loves it! I was even bought my very own patch of grass to grow indoors last year – now there are some people who know how to buy gifts.

I’m internet savvy, I’ve seen what’s on offer at larger chain pet stores; I know for a fact that there’s rabbit chocolate, yogurt drops, fruity jellies and myriad other things that deserve the label of ‘treat’. Please, please pet owners, human companions and parents of furry people, let toys be toys and treats be treats, no more educational this and healthy that – there’s only so much we can take!

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