Hello, it’s Belinda! Today’s a significant day, marking the Midwest BunFest in Columbus, Ohio. If you’re attending, I hope you have a fantastic time. I’d love to hear about your experience and what you enjoyed most.
Before I dive into my latest adventure, I have a small favor to ask. Please stop by the Small Pet Select table at the event. While you’re there, inquire about the hay. Ask the “spokesperson” how it tastes. I suspect they won’t have an answer, as humans don’t typically consume hay. Ideally, I would be the one at that table, engaging in conversations with fellow rabbits. However, circumstances have led me to be home with a petsitter. My roommate embarked on a mysterious “weekend getaway” without divulging the destination, necessitating the petsitter’s arrival yesterday morning.
Feeling rather disgruntled about the entire situation, I decided to pull a big prank on her even before she settled in. The petsitter is quite pleasant, but I maintain that my roommate’s presence is preferable. It prevents rabbits from being compelled to make poor judgments. My first lapse in good sense was succumbing to the urge for mischief. My subsequent misjudgment involved heeding the advice of “the English.” It’s quite astonishing that I’m admitting this.
Here’s how it unfolded: I enlisted Little Fang’s assistance to “brainstorm” a suitable prank. Little Fang, bless her straightforward nature, readily offered suggestions. “Hide her shoes,” she proposed. A genuinely clever idea, in my opinion. However, the execution was too fraught with risk. It would require covert maneuvers to reach the bedroom level, and I’d need to accurately distinguish between the petsitter’s and my roommate’s footwear. Far too much effort involved. “Turn on all the lights in the house,” she suggested next. Another A+ prank concept! Regrettably, I am vertically challenged, and I generally dislike the harsh glare of overhead lighting. There’s an appropriate time and place for such theatrics. Throughout our “brainstorming” session, I was oblivious to the English’s presence. He was, predictably, eavesdropping. “I have an idea,” he interjected. I, naturally, ignored him. My interest was zero. “Listen to him,” urged Little Fang. “Listen to his idea.” She harbors a significant admiration for him, though I’ve attempted to enlighten her about his true nature – rabbits, unfortunately, are not receptive to such discussions.
The English meticulously groomed his left ear, projecting an air of unhurried leisure. He dedicated considerable time to this grooming ritual, deliberately prolonging our anticipation. Finally, he unveiled his grand idea: “You should pretend you didn’t eat your dinner.” This was his masterstroke. To be completely candid, I must confess that I do not appreciate the petsitter’s method of serving my meals. The “plating” is, to put it mildly, uninspired. My preferred presentation involves arranging my hay to one side, my pellets to the other, and a delicate “sprinkle” of herbal mix atop. Finally, my loop, positioned precisely at the “noon” mark. The petsitter, however, disregards all these culinary conventions. She simply deposits my hay as if I were a common farm animal, then combines my pellets and loop on the same dish, with the herbal mix relegated to the side.
Therefore, feigning a “rejection” of my dinner seemed like an exceptionally brilliant prank. Last night, I put this plan into action. I consumed my meal, but then executed a grand “fake out.” I retrieved hay, pellets, herbal mix, and a loop from my hidden stash. This endeavor was time-consuming, primarily because I was aware of the English observing my every move. I had to contort myself into awkward positions to prevent him from discerning the location of my preferred provisions. I transported all these components to my plate and unceremoniously dumped them. Then, I waited.
It wasn’t long before the petsitter returned to the lower level. She approached me, a water pitcher in one hand, and abruptly halted mid-stride. “Belinda!” she exclaimed. “You haven’t touched your food!” She then glanced at Little Fang’s plate, which was empty, and then at the English’s, similarly depleted. She turned back to me, her expression a mask of concern – the very same look she adopted last year when I was concealed and she couldn’t locate me.
Mission accomplished, I mused, feeling a considerable sense of smugness. The petsitter ascended the stairs and reappeared moments later, phone pressed to her ear. “Not one bit of it,” she reported to the person on the other end. She then fell silent, intently listening. “Yes, the other two ate everything. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” She continued to listen as a tinny voice emanated from the phone. I distinctly heard the words “trick her” and “carrier.” My roommate! “OK, I’ll call the vet right now,” the petsitter declared. A wave of panic washed over me. “I’ll let you know what they say.” By the time she finished that sentence, my course of action was clear: I began eating. I consumed hay with unprecedented speed, followed by a vigorous attack on my pellets, chewing audibly. “What on earth!” the petsitter gasped. I continued to stuff hay into my mouth. “You won’t believe this,” she announced into the phone. The petsitter stood, observing my frantic consumption, though I feigned obliviousness. “She just started eating. It’s as if she understood us.” Laughter, loud and tinny, erupted from the phone. “She tried to pull a fast one,” the tinny voice proclaimed.
I shall dispense with further details for today’s blog. The rest of the story remains untold. Ultimately, the prank was on me, orchestrated entirely by the English.
Sincerely,
Belinda
Spokesrabbit, Small Pet Select
Belinda@smallpetselect.com
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