Posts Tagged ‘Pet Shop’

Since Tucker arrived the mummies have been feeling a bit guilty beacause I now have to deal with his wind, his gob and his big ugly head gawping at me through the bars. I couldn’t care less, but I’m not telling them that, as Christmas comes once a week now!

I’ve had a few incidentals which aren’t worth mentioning (I know I sound ungrateful, but it’s true) but check out this little lot!

I got my very own wrecking ball. You know how much I love wrecking stuff.

Let's get wreckin'!

Let’s get wreckin’!

I liked it so much they bought me another wrecking ball!

I can nibble and wreck at the same time!

I can nibble and wreck at the same time!

Then I got this wicked cool tunnel…

On the run!

On the run!

…and look at this! An in-cage, living salad tray!

Obviously it's much better if you tip it out all over the carpet.

Obviously it’s much better if you tip it out all over the carpet.

And let’s not forget the best gift of them all.

You can't see my face because she was snogging it off.

You can’t see my face because she was snogging it off.

I’m going to practice my unhappy face and leave some pet shop tabs open.


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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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Right, after the stress of yesterday’s discovery I decided that the best thing to do was to be honest and have it out with my mummies. I was a brave boy and I just asked them outright if it was true, if I was really adopted.

They sat me down and told me what I already suspected. It’s all true.

I asked how it all came about, so they put the kettle on and we had the much needed chat.

It was actually just by chance or more by fate really, that we found each other. My mummies had gone shopping in town, which they don’t do all that often, but they’d parked just out of the centre, which meant a bit of a hike back to the car. On their way they happened to pass by a pet shop and, on a whim, they decided to go in. The parrots had grown a bit and were struggling to fit into the bowl they insisted on using as a bath soMummies El and J wanted to see if the shop had a nice big bowl for the birds.

Now Mummy El is a bit wet when it comes to animals and can’t help but go and make cooing noises in front of every cage in any and all pet shops they visit, so she headed straight past the parrot accessories to the back of the shop where all the fluffy people were. Apparently, our eyes met and it was love at first sight. Well, for her anyway. She said she can’t remember any of the other animals she saw that day, she only had eyes for me.

Now, the next part of the story shook me a bit, so prepare yourselves. I’m not her first bunny. There were bunnies who came before me. And I don’t just mean 1 or 2. Including her sister’s pet bunnies and some accidental babies we’re talking more than a dozen. Add to this that my other mummy, Mummy J, has had 3 other bunnies too, I had quite a bitter blow. I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it. It just came as a bit of a shock. The point is, Mummy El’s last bunny died when she was 11 or 12 so it’d been a long time since she’d had one around, and all of her previous rabbits had lived in the garden. It had never occurred to her or Mummy J as grown-ups to have a bunny, they always thought of them as children’s pets, although Mummy El had known a grown-up with a pet rabbit who lived in the house, and she’d liked the idea.

Anyway, Mummy J finally managed to drag her away from my cage and out of the shop, parrot bowl in hand (I think they paid for it first!) and off they went home.

All the way home they talked about me and neither of them could get me out of their heads. They’d never seen a Netherlands Dwarf like me before and when they got home they got straight on the computer and googled my kind (other search engines are available!). They compared every picture they looked at with me and decided (correctly) that I was cuter than all of them. It was too late for Mummy El, she’d gone past the point of no return and was in love with me.

She started researching the practicalities of having a house-rabbit, toilet training, what sort of health care I’d need, how much I would cost to feed and house… She knew she had to make it work – she needed me.

Anyway, as fate would have it, it was 2 days before Mummy El’s birthday and Mummy J hadn’t got her a present yet, she hadn’t been able to find the perfect thing. She’d seen the look on Mummy El’s face when she saw me for the first time and she saw the look on Mummy El’s face then, looking at hutches and pictures of not-so-devastatingly handsome members of my breed, and knew what she had to do. She asked Mummy El if they should go back to the pet shop the next day and bring me home. Well, Mummy El’s eyes welled up telling me about that part so I can imagine what a state she would have been in at the time. The shop had been shut for about half an hour when Mummy J put forward her proposition, so they couldn’t phone up right then to find out if anybody else had taken me home already, so they had a long wait until the next morning to make sure they made me theirs.

They set an alarm for 8:30am – unheard of for a Saturday – and waited anxiously, phone in hand, for the clock to tick over to 9am so that they could ring the shop. Mummy El couldn’t stand the wait though and decided at 8:50 that someone would be there by that time to get things ready and open up, so she dialled the number.

What luck! Someone answered! Mummy described me and asked if I was still there: I was. She asked if I was still available: I was. She asked if I was ready to move out of the shop into a new home: I was. She asked if she could reserve me: She could. The lady asked Mummy how long I needed to be reserved for and Mummy told her, as long as it took to neck a slice of toast and drive there.

Now, the memory is fuzzy, but when my mummies told me about the next bit, something started to come back. Not as a thought or picture, more as just a feeling. When they got to the shop the lady lifted me out of my cage and put me into Mummy El’s arms, and she held me whilst the lady put some saw dust into a box to transport me home in, and packed my new belongings that Mummy J had bought me into a bag. I remember feeling warm, safe and loved.

Mummy J drove home very carefully, and they told me that they remember listening to Barry White on the way. I would say that there’s no accounting for taste, but they had just chosen me, so I’ll reserve judgement.

They set up my new house, made it all cosy and put my new things in it for me, and Mummy J carefully helped me move in.

The first ever photo of me, being helped into my new hutch by my Mummy J

I’m so glad that it was them that chose me. Apparently I’ve got a real brother who was in the shop with me, but he was mean and bullied me – I’m glad I don’t remember that part. And can you imagine if I’d been chosen by people who weren’t as kind and gentle as my mummies? I could be sat somewhere getting my ears pulled and my eyes poked right now, or I could be sharing outdoor digs with another rabbit, or worse, a guinea pig!

Anyway, I’m glad that I had that talk with them and it’s all out in the open now, but it has to be our little secret; I’m not to tell Frodo. I was right, he was adopted too, and my mummies don’t think he’d take the news as well as me. Geordi knew all along that he was adopted and I think that we’ll make sure that the puppy knows from day 1 too, I don’t want him to stumble upon it one day by accident like I did.

Now that I know the whole story it makes me feel even more special knowing that I was adopted. I’m the central part of the best family in the whole wide world, and my life is exactly the way it was always meant to be!

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