Day Nineteen / First Strand
Now heer's a subjek: Rice Chex.
You know dem, da crunchy widdle squares ob mainwy air dat come inna bloo an white box. Hoomins refer to dem unner da broad heedin ob "Cer'wal", bud in Lagomorphin, dey are classed unner da ebben broader heedin ob "Tweats".
Tweats are not Food. Food is whut is dere, alla time, dat you eat whedder you wike it or not. Mostwy, it is gud for you. Da way to find oud if sumfing is food is to twy it. If you kin eat it an it's allus dere, id is food. If id is rilly good an onwy arribes at 'peshul times, accompanied by songs, dances an udder ebents, den itsa Tweat. Tweats make your mouf happy.
Sum tweats are hard to eat, bud worf da effort. Yo-Gurt an punkin are wike dat. Dey arribe on "spoons" -sticks wif flat ends - an you gotta wick da gob ob stuff offa end obba spoon. Dis kin be twicky sumtimes. Moob your hed wrong or misjudge your distance wiffa nosey, an you kin end up wearin most obba tweat. Dis is hokay as you kin sab sum for waider an gwoom it off atchur leezure. Sum tweats kin wast fora whole day dat way.
Sum Tweats are sticky. Maman found dees Zante Currants inna store an bwinged dem home for us. Dey're a widdle wike raisins, onwy smaller an stickier, bud dere BERRY sweet. Almost as sweet as dried blooberries, an dat's berry sweet. Dried blooberries ara Cwistmass Tweat dat onwy seem to come frum dat Santa Claws guy dat I nebber seen (a figmint ob Maman's 'maginashun. Dat woman hassa wotta figmints.). Where he geds dem is ennybunny's guess. Bud he gibs dem to Maman an she gibs dem to us inna mornin afta Church. Blooberries are formal: Maman hasta be dwessed up to gib dem to us. I don know why.
We hadda Zante Currants da udder day. Maman comed in wiffa box ob dem, an ob course, I gotted mine furst. Cos Maman wuz comin in atta dif'frunt time ob day, Hunny an Poet haddn't figgered oud dat dere were enny tweats comin, so dey were still sort ob just millin aroun in dere habbytat while I was eatin. I didn' say ennyfing cos my mouf was full an its not polide to tawk wif your mouf full. So dey didn't know aboudda tweats. Dey are berry owd rabbits an can't see or smell dat gud, aldouh Hunny hassa preddy gud bocabulary an knows alla tweat werds an can rekinize most tweats when he kin gedd'um in fokus. Bud his nose doesn't werk berry well ennymore, so Maman kin sometimes ged innu da Bun Room wif tweats an gib me mine before Hunny hassa cloo, which wuz whut wuz happenin wiffa currants. I wuz eatin mine rilly quiet-wike.
Den Missy suddenwy figgered oud whut was going on cos she seed me chewin an she hollars oud, "Tweats!" an scoots into her witter pan so she can be taller when she stands up to ged her share frum Maman.
Well, as soon as she sed it, Owd Hunny pops rite up on his back wegs, axtin, "Huh?" an dopey owd Poet, who is followin on cwose behind Hunny, knocks innu him an dey bof fall ober.
So ob course, rite away Maman leebs off gibbin me currants an hasta hurry ober to make sure datta owd fools habbent hurt demselbs. An as she's goin, she twips ober Mouse's habbytat (cos its crowded inna Bun Room wike you wouldn't belieb!) anna box ob currants goes flyin outta her hand.
So I'm watchin da box fly fru da air an I'm finkin, "Its goin in dere habbytat." an it does.
Da box ob currants wands onna edge obba habbytat anna currants come flyin oud, wike beez outta a'hibe, an dey wand on Poet an on Hunny. I fought dey wuld bounce off obb'em an wand onna floor wike raisins, an den dere wuld bea mad scramble to pik dem up, bud da currants didn't bounce. Dey stuck onto Poet an Hunny's fur. Wooked wike freckles. Or wike wrinkled pooties.
So dere's Poet wookin at Hunny an she's got dis wook on wike she's nebber had before (Poet's a nice gurl, bud she's notta brightest bud inna flower patch, if you catch my meanin.) an Hunny is peerin at her wif his wun gud eye an twyin to fokus, his widdle Loppy-boy hed goin up an down as he's twyin to take inna site. Cos dis babe is cobbered in currants! Dere's ebben wun stuck to da end obb'er ear!
So he reaches obber an wicks a current offa Poet. An she noses in cwose an wicks a current offa Hunny's eyebwow. An preddy soon dere's a gwoom-fest goin on -da furst boluntary gwoomfest dat I ebber seed dat didn inbolb Poet chasin Hunny down, pinnin him toda floor an gibbin hima cwean. Dere siddin togedder side-by-side, pikin currants offa each udder wun-atta-time an lubbin it.
So Maman seed dis, an you kin see da smoke risin outta her ears while she finkin so hard, an she goes ober to Beebe an Clober an sprinkles currants all ober dem. Sure enuf, da currants stick to dem, too. Beebe issa mainwy white widdle bunny an when Maman geds fru wif'im, he wooks wike he's cobbered in pooties, bud lemme tell you, he nebber wooked so good to Clober! Onna udder paw, she issa big 'Gouti bun, so Beebe hadda wook rilly hard to seeda currants dat wuz stuck to her. Bud he'sa persistant widdle guy, speshully when it comes to Tweats, so he spenta day bouncin afta her, cweanin her fur for her. An Clober issa big gurl.
Den Missy was wookin kinda scruffy, Maman sed, so Maman sprinkled her wif currants, which Missy didn fink wuz attall funny. It 'nnoyed her, an she spenta rest obba day gwoomin herself, wookin fru her coat for currants. Den SnoBall godda dose obb'em, an Luckie, an Mouse an den Maman dwopped a few on my hed for good measure.
Maman wif wunna her "good ideas" issa pain inna butt!
Which bwings me toda Rice Chex. Dey are gud for you an dey don stick to nuffin. Dey aren't as sweet assa currants, bud dey are nice. Berry crunchy. Just watch da crumbs. If dey fall onna floor, wet dem go. If you snuffle afta dem, dey go up your nosey, you gedda snootfull an den you sneeze. Habbin Maman sepprate dem innu hafs is best. Den dere are no crumbs.
So sumtimes Maman's "good ideas" issn' so bad. Depends onna idea an how weird she's bein.
Dis issa gud subjek. I will type more on tweats tomorry.
Fank you, Auntie Paula, for bemindin me to tawk to me aboud dis!
Posted by Our Warren
at 9:10 AM EST