Damn it!
I knew I'd heard someone say something about kennels. I should have guessed! Littlest spent all morning packing, which meant moving her collection of furry, but pretend, rabbits, from one room to another,until she found a bag big enough to hold them all (what's the point of a pretend rabbit? - I wish I could tell her, 'If it can't hop, it can't be chased, so it ain't worth it. And a mouthful of rabbity fur is no fun if it can't wriggle - don't tell Littlest, but I've tried). Then, Mum came home all in a flap with "far too much to do." The signs were all there, but no-one had the courtesy to tell me. It's like telling someone they are going to the Dentist, only when you arrive at the dentist's front door: not fair, not fair at all. Luckily for Mum, I didn't have to pack anything.
Sadly, at the end of my week's reign, I was just beginning to get everyone - all my girls - into a routine. Food, lazing around, sleeping, more food, sniff around outside (real rabbits; real rabbit droppings - furry ones are just constipated with stuffing, which is not yummy at all! and tends to explode out if you worry them a bit), eat again and discover new places to sleep (mainly at or under the girls' feet and as near as possible to any food they were eating; that is a particularly favourite sleep of mine - the one where you look totally comatose and perhaps dribble a bit for extra effect, but all the tine have one eye just open a slit, focused on whatever tasty morsel might be abandoned in my reach; I am the king of wishful thinking).
I won't get a chance to be king at the kennels - "Young Upstart!" more like!
I knew I'd heard someone say something about kennels. I should have guessed! Littlest spent all morning packing, which meant moving her collection of furry, but pretend, rabbits, from one room to another,until she found a bag big enough to hold them all (what's the point of a pretend rabbit? - I wish I could tell her, 'If it can't hop, it can't be chased, so it ain't worth it. And a mouthful of rabbity fur is no fun if it can't wriggle - don't tell Littlest, but I've tried). Then, Mum came home all in a flap with "far too much to do." The signs were all there, but no-one had the courtesy to tell me. It's like telling someone they are going to the Dentist, only when you arrive at the dentist's front door: not fair, not fair at all. Luckily for Mum, I didn't have to pack anything.
Sadly, at the end of my week's reign, I was just beginning to get everyone - all my girls - into a routine. Food, lazing around, sleeping, more food, sniff around outside (real rabbits; real rabbit droppings - furry ones are just constipated with stuffing, which is not yummy at all! and tends to explode out if you worry them a bit), eat again and discover new places to sleep (mainly at or under the girls' feet and as near as possible to any food they were eating; that is a particularly favourite sleep of mine - the one where you look totally comatose and perhaps dribble a bit for extra effect, but all the tine have one eye just open a slit, focused on whatever tasty morsel might be abandoned in my reach; I am the king of wishful thinking).
I won't get a chance to be king at the kennels - "Young Upstart!" more like!
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