Comfort zones

Another success for rabbit-kind! YES! My hints for a litter tray upstairs in my bedroom have worked. Of course I am always my usual fastidious self in my concern for cleanliness, apart from that one tiny slip-up when I had to point out to visitors they were trespassing by sleeping in MY bedroom. The first rule according to the Great White Rabbit on Rainbow Bridge is never mess on ones own patch. This meant when I was upstairs and needed the -er- bathroom, I had to leave my comfort zone, scoot along the corridor, scamper down the stairs, freewheel across the hall, long jump from mat to mat in the kitchen and hook a right into the utility room cross legged.

Now, whenever I want a spot of personal space I can stay put in my favourite upstairs room, next to the airing cupboard and above the Aga. That's three separate areas in three different rooms I can call my own. Woe betide anyone who says they're not mine!

Must dash off and enter telepathic mode to get a bowl of water up there in case of overheating, dehydration or mirages. Water ... water ... water ...

Food and drink stay downstairs you lazy bun.

Kitten days

Here I am on my first day in my new home when I was mostly a big fluffy head with floppy ears and not much rear end.

Bet you can't guess which is me. I'm on the left of course. My brother Dylan who was bigger than me was a bit bad tempered and didn't like me much so some friends took him to live with them. He had a fenced in lawn and a large smart hutch but he was never a house rabbit. He died a couple of years ago. Sadly he ate some grass that had weedkiller on it. Poor Dylan.

I suppose I have always been a bit bossy, even as a kitten. Willow, my dog, soon got used to being told what to do, where she was allowed to sit, and when she could play with me. My game rules, naturally. You can tell she's waiting for instructions in the photograph. We were great buddies. It's nice to see old pictures and reminisce.

Harvey fell on his feet when he was bought for £30 from a pet shop. Had we known about rabbit rehoming and rescue he wouldn't be where he is today.

Filling in time

I've been busier than usual this morning, just filling in time till I hear George has come back home. Kept a beady eye open from my lookout in case he passed by but I think he lives too far away for that. I leaned out as far as I dared just to make sure.
Then I heard the lawnmower so that had to be watched.
Then I thought they were throwing my cardboard tunnel away because I don't use it so had to sit inside to stop them.

Then J went upstairs so I followed in case she went into my room. She did, so I hid under the bedspread to make sure nothing was moved and did a lot of thinking. If George had been chasing a rabbit down its hole he will be able to back out when he gets a bit thinner so that's what I'm waiting for. I've heard of this sort of thing before. A family friend has a little terrier called Jasper who got stuck once. They walked and walked until they heard him whimpering, then had to dig him out.
I've decided to keep a clean page in my diary for when George comes home.

George

George, my friend Celia's cat, is missing and we are all very worried in case he has been run over or caught in a trap. He's much younger than me and has a very happy home with plenty to eat, soft warm beds to sleep on and a wonderful garden next to fields and hedges to play in. My human had a lovely cuddle from him when she visited. She said he was very polite and came when he was called which I don't always do.

It was Celia's idea for me to start my diary when George was doing his but I don't feel like bothering till he comes home. He always left me a message on my blog along with my other feline friend Smudge. This is George, I wish someone would find him and take him home. If you visit George's website you will find out what you can do to help. http://george-online.blogspot.com

We are all hoping George will come home soon.

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?