Raspberries

When you are small, soft, warm, cute and irresistibly cuddly like me, living indoors can be a bit of a nuisance at times. Being munched, kissed, cuddled and having warm raspberries blown on the back of your neck can be a bind when you've already settled down for a snooze and are floating gently over a garden full of carrot tops inhaling their perfume and mapping out where to land. Being a crepuscular animal I like to do this every afternoon but as soon as I prepare to put down my landing gear and pucker my mouth into munching mode, a voice says, "There you are." and I'm disturbed again.

Of course I love the cuddles, who wouldn't but I do need a bit of privacy now and again for, well, personal things. Afternoons are set aside for this. The caecotroph happening is something I'm not in control of and it upsets me so I like to sleep through the process and when it's over, shake the, er,um, poo off and move as far away from it as possible then pretend it has nothing to do with me.

I could write a book about the private life of the rabbit if it hadn't already been done. That might give them a hint about my need for my own space now and again but what if they took it to extremes and put me in a hutch at the bottom of the garden? NO, you gotta go with the flow when you live in a house with humans and have adopted them as your own. Anytime is the perfect time to put up with a few warm neck raspberries while I stretch out, put my chin on the floor, close my eyes and purr. This is the life!

And I love all the nose licks and even the muggings Harve. I think we've got it about right.

Genius or instinct?

Problems, problems. Every day a new problem. Take these dark mornings. My PCG gets up early, gives me my piece of carrot and has a cup of tea. M, my secondary care giver thinks it's still night time and doesn't move. Now this could affect my breakfast so I need to work out a way of getting him downstairs and slotted in position as crunchie provider number two in case my number one decides to have an early bath and forget my breakfast. It has been known but I don't hold grudges.

For a vertically challenged rabbit like me there are several moves. First the door to the hallway needs to be opened. Sit and stare at it. Then I take a long calculated look at the first step of the staircase. Will I be able to jump that high without bumping my head on the next step up? Which foot do I put first? I can never remember. Geronimo! Staircase secured! Next there's the mad scamper to the top followed by whether to turn right or left. Found him! There he lies, thirteen stone of lumpy human male under a rose covered eiderdown. I give a few tugs at his overhanging bedsheet with my teeth. Nothing. So Harve-the-mountaineering-hero, saviour of his crunchies, THUMPS!!! From the depths of the duvet he mumbles those reassuring words. "OK, you win, Harve." Eureka.

This would be called problem solving by humans, using known information to reach a conclusion. And they would claim it as intelligence and their perogative. My brainwork they refer to as instinct or conditioning. What arrogant nonsense. How can it be conditioning when I do a thing for the first time. Nope, I decide on a plan, work out how to do it then put it into action. On one hand there is nature, things I would do in the wild when survival comes first, then at home there's nurture where food comes first. Why would I want to know how to get a human out of bed if I lived in the wild? Have you ever spotted a human dozing by a rabbit hole with a packet of crunchies in his hand? Of course you haven't. No, I work out every problem as it comes up. All by myself.

I've never doubted your genius, Harve. You're a very independant young man with very definite ideas.
Thanks for the early morning call. No need to repeat it. M.

Marauders on the loose

Look what I found this morning on my garden path while I was sniffing around for a bit of late dandelion and an overlooked overripe Victoria plum. Someone had committed murder in the night although I didn't hear a thing. Whoever it was, and I have my suspicions, could have eaten some of the poor creature instead of just biting its head off and leaving it there for the flies. While the dottie was staying here she caught three flies on the window but at least she ate them. I was very proud of her because she was such a baby at the time.

When I go outside it is usually to help with the daily chores, not to kill somebody. This time of the year there is log stacking to be done. Each lump has to be checked in. I wouldn't like to think of beetles or spiders being burned alive, they are such useful creatures, so it's a lengthy job. Then there's the tidying round the back door. Lanky herbs have to be nibbled down, you can see the expert job I did with the parsley and the edges of my grass patch trimmed. It's all go now the nights are drawing in.

If I lived in a hutch my day would end there but in the house I have lots of things to keep me busy when I've finished outside. I find I doze more now I'm six and I like early nights and a slow start to the day.

In human terms is it sixty, Harve?

Dear Diary

It's just you and me for the next few days while everybody's away again. As usual I had to lend a paw with the packing otherwise they would have taken far too much stuff. I tried to explain that other places have shops but it fell on deaf ears. Then a brilliant idea came to me. I could hide in the suitcase and jump out when we got there. I could see the news headlines," 'arve, le brave. Le baggage binkying bunny," but as I knew they were going to France I changed my mind. Frogs and snails should be in the garden, not on plates thank you very much. A bit of crusty baguette can be tasty but it's not worth the journey.
There's a new hidey-hole in the kitchen. A sort of tent with cushions inside has been fixed up and there is a stool to climb on so I can reach the window seat. The tent is OK, quite cosy, but I would rather be under my big table to see what's going on. And what if Pauline the Postie can't find me when it's crunchy time? I like to be beside my bowls when I hear the back door rattle, it saves her such a lot of time.
The Canadians have gone away with them. I pee'd in their bedroom just to show them it's really mine and they shouldn't be there so I was under a bit of a cloud when they left. Time for a zizz before Simon or my Joanne comes to check me and say goodnight.

One carrot, two carrots, two and a half carrots ........