George's Seventh Strand;Day Number 15
Now Playing: Our Noo Cuzzin!

 

See?

Sucker lights are infectious.

Yeah!

And at long last, we hab discovered dat they are spread byda wearing ob hats.

Auntie Grace let her daughter, Kaatie, wear wunna her hats, and Guess Whut? Kattie Rescued  Our Noo Cuzzin.

And this is her pikchur.

Auntie Grace calls dis bunny a "cow bunny" which is not quite fair, as she also usta call Our Belinda Bunny a "Cow Bunny", too, which made Belinda preddy upset.  But, then preddy much ennyfing Belinda didn't like tended to make her upset and dere were a lotta fings Belinda didn't like so she was upset preddy much all obba time, if you axt me, but Maman says dis is Normal for Inwish Spot Bunnies mainly onna'count obba Fakt dat dey are allus In Charge ob Ebberyfing.

Ennyways, dis Noo Cuzzin is diff'runt. She gives kisses, for Wun Fing, and this is important. Ebberybunny wikes bunny-kisses. (Belinda usta give Maman bunny-kisses, but only Maman. This bunny is more genny'rus.) 

Now, the Bestest Noos in alla dis, ob course, issat Anudder Bunny Has Been Rescued! And dis bunny is now gonna be a houserabbit forebber in her very own Forevery Home.

But da Udder Good Noos issat da discovery dat Sucker Lights are Infectious! Anna Discovery dat they can be transmitted from hoomin to hoomin byda wearing ob HATS as has bin prooven byda Fakt dat Kaati has nebber rescued a bunny on her own before! This wassa first time dat Kaati seed a Bunny OnAlone, dis time assa Child Photographer's Prop, and went all on her Onliest toda Rescue! And while Kaati was wearing Auntie Grace's hat, she piked up Dis Bunny and sed (wif her Sucker Light shining brightly!):

"Oh no! Dis bunny is coming home wif me!" 

 And when Kaati taked offa hat she was still saying da same fing! So now we hab discovered dat Kaati now has a Sucker Light because she was wearing Auntie Grace's HAT!

Now we know how Sucker Lights are transmitted from hoomin-to-hoomin!

We're talking hoomin-to-hat-to-hoomin transferral, folks!

Yeah!

And Dis just In: Da Bunny's Name is Desdemona, and she will be known as "Desi" - onna'count obba Fakt dat she issa Classic and she issa Moovie Star Bunny!

So there you are! You hab alla latest Noos and Infortymayshun aboudda Rescue and aboudda Sucker Lights and aboud ebberyfing... 

Oh, and I almost fortygot to add in Our Warren's Latest Noos (but it is thundering out and so I gotta post dis inna hurry!):

Our Beffy is pregnant. She's s'sposed to habba babby sumtime near da End ob January or da Beginning ob February.

And so before Maman knowed ennyfing aboudda "Transmission Obba Sucker Lights" or ebben dat dey were Infectious, Maman let Our Sista Beffy try on wunna Maman's Noo Hats... and Maman has dis very strong Sucker Light...

----------------By George
 

 

George's (Clover's) Seventh Strand; Day Number 10
Now Playing: Clover Tells The Truth

Maman always says, “The Truth will out.”

And this is generally true, so long as someone bothers to Tell The Truth.

Now I am going to tell you The Truth: I am not George. I am Ms Clover and I am half Inkwish Spot (See these ears?) and we always tell The Truth.

Bunnies are very honest creatures and Inkwish Spots are the most honest bunnies going.

But back to “What Maman said.”

Just listening to hoomins over my five years, I have learned that they make The Truth sound unattractive. They call it “plain” or “unvarnished”, like it is a work-in-progress that still needs to have its decorations put on. Only in Courts of Law on tellyvision shows, like Mr Mouse's Law & Order, is The Truth called Whole or Vital like it is enough in and of itself to stand up on its own hind legs. But mostly when The Truth goes out walking out on its own – and it rarely does because it is not attractive at all - it is always “ugly” or at the very most, “basic.”

I have found that Hoomins, in general, don’t like The Truth. Given a choice between The Truth and Something Else, they will take the Something Else and believe it for preference. They always seem to feel that The Truth is “naked” and needs to be dressed up before it can come out.

So it seems around here in this carefully cryptic township where only the locals can pronounce it’s name (and that’s another conceit they cherish!). They really don’t like it when there’s “simple” Truth.

Someone doesn’t answer their door when the bin-men knock in the morning.

The lady living there is known not to go out very much, and her back door is open to the screen, but the front door is shut and it’s screen is locked. The car is gone from the drive. The resident Dawg barks, but No One comes to the door.

Well, isn’t the bin-man just angry? There is stuff at the kerb he doesn’t wish to take. It’s for another bin-man to take, but never mind – he is angry and he must say something in loud tones, using words such as obviously the “stupid, crazy, uppity, foreign bitch” who lives in the house, who “pretends” she’s some kind of “royalty” and keeps “all kinds of animals in there” (oh yes, and dark mutters about the legality of that!) and “couldn’t wait for her parents to die so she could take over that house” with her “foreign husband” she married in Europe after “running off and leaving her husband and kids here”…

And yes, that’s what is said and of course it is just all eaten up with a spoon in the hair salons and post offices and little gossip shops in the unpronounceable little township because “a lie can run around the world seven times before The Truth can get its boots on.” as Terry Prachett said in one of his wonderful books sitting on the shelves in Our Sitting Room.

But there is no blame, because, after all, who can be blamed for telling what they heard?

Because who is to say? If there is no one to home, and no one to hear the somethings a bin-man might, perhaps, have said that were overheard from someone else in some shop or another, and is now complaining about over the rubbish left at the kerb for some other bin-man.

As the Dawg said, it’s enough to make you want to bite someone!

But Maman says to us, “The Truth will out.” and says nothing at all to anyone else.

But I am half Inkwish Spot (You will notice my ears, please!) and I don’t believe in lies and I always tell The Truth because it is Whut We Do!

And I think, as I sit in my habbytat and meddytate while my fur sheds – which it is doing because it does and this is not my fault! - I think that hoomins don’t spread around The Truth because it is so much more Fun to believe in Something Else.

You will notice that the Something Else always is dressed up, like that Buk the Da Vinci Code, in fancy colours and Someone Else’s Imagination so that it has lots of levers and bits.

But Maman will not tell anything she might have heard because she believes in The Truth winning out. After all, since no one answered the banging at the door when no one rang the bell and everything that said was said in a group, with words meant to be overheard but not to be blamed, so that they cannot be said to have come from This Person or That Person. So there is no blame, because, after all, the words could have come from Anyone or No One or were Never Said At All because there was No One to Hear, or Something Else.

Isn’t it always the way?

But Maman says, ”The Truth will out.”

But I think that Hoomins love any Truth much better when it is dressed up into a story that is total Fiction - which is always Entertaining and never True - whereas The Truth often isn’t very Entertaining all on its own. Which is what makes the Something Else so attractive – it’s All Dressed Up in pretty, shiny things that catch the Wandering Attention of the "Easily Distracted".

And since it’s the "Easily Distracted" who have All the Time in the World to hang around the hair salons, post offices and little shops in this unpronounceable little township that glories in its obscurity, unpronounceable-ness and other little conceits (because it has no bigger ones of which to boast), who are attracted to the pretty, glittery Somethings Else and who grab on to them because they have so many more little moving parts and levers than the “plain” and “unvarnished” Truth.

Which is how it comes about that long after the Bin-men are gone, that a man can walk into a little shop and how a Woman (because she can’t be a Lady!) can ask him if he is the man who married “that woman” and call her by a name not her own, and describe “that woman” as the “woman” who “ran away and left her family” so she could “find 'true' romance in Inkland”.

And how that Woman (Because no Lady would ask such a question!) came to be so shocked and surprised when that man informed her that it was none of her business to ask such questions!

And that’s how that Woman (Who couldn’t possibly be a Lady!) went back behind her counter and came to say very loudly that Our Dadda was a Very Rude Man, which just demonstrates her belief in compounded Somethings Else that are not The Truth. The Truth is that Dadda is a Gentleman who does not deal in Gossip and adheres strongly to The Truth and that he has The Right to defend his Lady, who is Our Maman.

As for that Woman, well, no Lady (in the true sense of the word) trades in Gossip, after all.

And so she continues to believe in Something Else.

As does the Bin-man, when The Other Bin-man came ‘round directly and collected all the rubbish of which the first one complained.

Because The Truth is all too Easy for some hoomins, so it must be wrong.

And this is another hoomin conceit, like the others that govern this bitter little township, that: anything Convoluted is Intellectually superior to that which is Simple and straightforward.

And it is a conceit that infects schools and universities, and has found its way into the popular imagination. The conceit states: “if something seems too simple and direct, it must be wrong”. Better to go by the difficult, demanding, more impossible road than to take the broad and straight way to the Top of the Mountain. Believing the Convoluted Lie makes some hoomins believe they appear intellectually superior to others. Ask any conspiracy theorist; they express pity for the inferior mass of mortals who think they are alarmist idiots.

Rabbits are not such dumb bunnies that we believe this drivel (You do notice my Inkwish Spot ears!)

Life is not easy for a prey animal so there is no need to make it more difficult than it is already. If something seems easy, then go by that way – unless there is a clear, visible danger. Take the easiest, most direct path available. If there is a rock in the way, go around it: why incur extra digging? Is there a tree on the path? Make a burrow in its roots, and thank God that it is there!

But make no mistake: there is no mystery to be made of the origins the Tree in the Path. A tree has grown up and so a burrow is dug. There is no Lore in this. Where the True Lore lies is in the preservation of the memory of Those Who Came Before, who dug that Burrow Beneath the Tree On the Pathway, and made A Haven where Some Were Given Shelter.

There are True Mysteries in Life without having to create them out of a fabric of lies. The Truth in its plain, unvarnished state is fantastic in itself. The Truth is beautiful. Finding it is Interesting. It is The Journey that is amazing.

And All Bunnies, especially those of us who are Inkwish Spot Bunnies, (note the ears, please!), understand this.

---------------------By Clover

George's Seventh Strand: Day Number 8
Now Playing: Nuffin' Going On 'Round Heer

Rabbits do not grow old, they just grow ‘Tellygint.

This is whut me,Hunny told me a long time ago, when he wassa Top Bun and I wassa berry small Youngbun who was Newly Arrived at Our Warren.

And ebber since he telled me dis I have deddykated my whole life to growing ’Tellygint so that I can someday become like me,Hunny, who wassa Most ‘Tellygint Housebunny I Hab Ebber Knowed.

So da Udder Day, Mr Mouse waked uppa Whole Houz by *THUMPING* rilly LOUD.

Now I hab to ’Splain sumfing to you:

All bunnies can *THUMP* and they usually do it to warn udder bunnies dat dere is Danger.

And usually da bigger da bunny, da bigger da bunny feets and da LOUDER da bunny can *Thump*.

Now if dis was Entirely Troo, I, George, would be da Loudest Boy-Bun Thumper Inna Warren. Onna’count obba Fakt dat I amma biggest Boy-Bunny in Our Warren and hab da Biggest Bunny Feets.

Howebber…

I lib inna same habbytat wif MissyBun Hawpa, a Gurl-bun ob Genny’rous Proporshuns. (In udder words, One BIG Bunny-Gurl! Yeah!) And whin dis chick is lying down, she can soak uppa lotta vibrations, which kinda puts a damper on my Thumper LOUDNESS Faktor.

And Beebe-Bunny!! libs wif Ms Clover (formerly ob Da Herd) who is also a Gurl-bun ob Genny-rous Proporshuns (or anudder one ob those BIG Bunny-Gurls! Lemme tell you!) Which also puts a damper on Beebe’s Thumper LOUDNESS Faktor, onna’count obba Fakt dat her reclining inna same habbytat as him soaks uppa lotta Thump-vibrations.

Soda upshot ob alla dis issat neither Beebe-Bunny!! nor I (George) can *THUMP* as Loudly as we rilly can onna’count obba Fakt dat we hab Natchural Handycaps inna persons ob our Wifebunnies.

In Fakt if my Missus, MissyBun or Ms Clover takes it innu dere heds to *THUMP*, then Beebe and I end up flying up-inna-air frumma sheer force obba Thumps.

Cos bof Missy and Clover hab paddle-feets and when they slam those paddlefeets down, you’ll see eidder Beebe or me go sialing up-inna-air and den come down wiffa *bang* - which is NO FUN!, lemme tell you!

But Mr Mouse issa Bachelor Bunny and libs on his own in his Berry Own Habbytat inna Bun Room.

Here issa pikchur ob his habbytat when the Bun Room was Noo and we had just Moobed In, before there were enny toys or Fings. And dis udder pikchur is ob Our Habbytats also when They Were Noo before we got alla our crocks, wadder bowls, Toys and Fings like we hab Now. (Maman says dat we hab far too menny Fings and dat we rilly need to do a “Clean Out” one ob dees days. But she is allus saying dat.)

But because Mr Mouse lives in His Own Habbytat, dere is no udder bunny to soak up enny ob his *THUMP*-vibrayshuns. So when he *Thumps*, he can *THUMP!* and make it Stick.

Which is how he can wake uppa Whole Houz like he did da Udder Day.

So it was wike about Sbben O’Clock, and Mr Mouse is wike, “Where are dey?”

And I’m wike, “Where’s who?”

And Mr Mouse is wike, “Maman and Dadda. Dey are usually awake and outta da BedRoom by now.”

And da Sun is shining in through the Our Warren Memorial Window and MissyBun and I are habbing some hay left ober frum Last Nite, and I’m thinking to myself dat Mr Mouse is right – Maman and Dadda shuld be awake and feeding us by now.

And frum Uppastairs inna Study, I can hear Da Catz protesting dat da Door is shut and dat dey want to come down and go out onna Screen Porch, which is where they usually go inna Morning so dat dey can watch da Birds and pretend dat dey are Fierce, Wild, Hungree Catz instead obba Couple ob Lazy, Couch-potato, Hungree Catz.

And I realised dat Da Dawg was missing.

So I sed to Mouse, “Whut’s happened to Da Dawg?”

And Mouse sed, “I dunno, but da Sun is shining and dere’s Nuffin Going On Around Heer and dere Shuld Be.”

And MissyBun is wike, “So whuttaheck are you gonna do aboudda'Fakt dat dere isNuffin Going On?”

And Clover is wike, “Well, whutebber you do abouddit, make shure dat we ged sum treats outta it. I’ve had just aboud alla hay and pellets dat I kin take for One Morning.”

And she snorted which is Clover’s way ob saying dat she’s getting ‘nnoyed wif fings. And since Clover is at least half Inkwish Spot it issn’t wise to let her get too ‘nnoyed wif fings.

So Mouse settles himself down inna corner ob his habbytat and says, “Watch dis.”

And he lets go wif a good, solid *THUMP* that rattles his wadder crock and toys and ebberyfing.

And den he lets go wif anudder.

And anudder.

And we can hear Da Dawg inna Bed Room and he’s wike, “Whuttaheck?”

So Mouse lets go wiffa’nudder *THUMP* that preddy much rattles da Our Warren Memorial Winder.

And den I hear Maman’s voice and she’s wike, “Brian! Brian! Wake up! There’s something the matter with the bunnies!”

And Mouse gibs an’udder, rilly good *THUMP!*

And Missy is wike, “Ouick! Ebberybun lie down! Stretch out dose feets!”

So Clover and Missy lie down and stretch out, and Beebe runs ober toda pellet-crock and grabs a mouf-full ob pellets and starts chewing. And I grab a strand ob hay and start chewing on dat.

And Mr Mouse gibs one more, habbytat-rattling *THUMP* and settles down.

And here comes Maman wif her slippers flapping, and she's pulling on her bafrobe, and her hair's all ober da place. Anna Dawg is bouncing along b’side her, getting in her way, and Dadda’s coming along behind her in his bare feets, pulling on his bloo bafrobe and trying to get it tied as he goes.

Anna Dawg bounces innu da Bun Room and starts snuffling at our Habbytats and Maman follows in afta him and starts yelling at him to “Stop it, Marc!” atta same time as Dadda’s trying to getta look in and axting us, “Whuttsamatta, bunnies?”

So Maman goes right on through Da Bun Room, opins da Door Toda Back Gardin and pushes Da Dawg outta Door. Den she turns and wooks at us. And Dadda is standing inna doorway, wooking at us.

And Dadda says, “Whuttaheck issa matter wif you bunnies?”

And Missy is lounging and Clover is lounging; and Beebe and I are eating and Mr Mouse is just sitting there with his ears pointed forward.

And Maman is like, “There’s nothing going on!”

And Dadda comes and looks at Alla Us Togedder one-atta-time, and he axts,

“All right. Who was *Thumping*?”

Like we’re going to jump right up and answer that one.

And Dadda says to Maman, “Everybun looks all right. Nobun looks sick or in any kind of distress. Look at Missy.”

“She couldn’t be more relaxed.” Says Maman. “Look at Clover.”

And Clover waggles her ears and looks meaningfully at her treat-bowl.

“She just wants raisins.” Says Dadda.

“She always wants raisins.” Says Maman. “But she wasn’t the one who *thumped*. If Clover *thumps*, Beebe ends up in a heap, and he’s standing over there, eating pellets like nothing’s happened.”

And Beebe looks up wif his mouf full and says, “Yo?”

“And it wasn’t George or Missy who *thumped,*” says Dadda. “So that leaves Mouse.”

And Mouse just sits there and looks Dadda right inna eyeball.

And Maman just throws up her hands and walks fru da Bun Room innu da Kitchin and she says as she’s going fru,

“I don’t get it. What was all the *thumping* about? It’s seven o’clock in the morning and there’s nothing wrong. I just don’t get it!”

But we do.

It’s sebben o’clock inna morning and dere's Nuffin' Going On 'Round Heer!

---------------------------- By George

Posted by Our Warren at 12:54 PM EDT

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George's Seventh Strand: Day Number 4
Now Playing: HOPPY BIRFDAY TO US!

Once upon a time when the day called “the 4th of July” rolled around, many years ago when Our Warren's me,Hunny was a relatively young-bun of five, the person me,Hunny decided was called "Our Maman" came into the "kitchin" and declared:

"Today is Tristan's Birthday!"

Now Tristan was the Ancient Dog of Our Warren and he was a Basset Hound with short, thick legs, long, droopy ears, and very dark, soulful eyes.

He had been the Very First to be adopted into Our Warren long years before, when Sistah Beffy was a little girl and Phil-da-Lad was still no more than a baby. So he had lived at Our Warren for a very long time, much longer than either Heatherington, the black-and-white Dutch Bunny, or me,Hunny who was a Tri-coloured miniLop.

And me,Hunny asked the Ancient Dog, who was 12 years old back then (which was in 1997), "Whut's a
'birfday'?"

"It's sumfing you hab written on your 'doption papers." sighed Tristan. Basset Hounds usually sigh when they are questioned by rabbits.

"But I don't hab enny 'doption papers." said me,Hunny, doubtfully. "The Maman-wady just taked me frumma 'Horrible Man' afta she threw dose 'munny'-paper fings at him. She was too mad to axt him for enny 'doption papers, I guess. So I s'spose I don't habba 'birfday'."

And the Ancient Dog lifted his large, broad head and appeared to think.

"Well," he said after a few minutes. "Ebberybunny is supposed to habba Birfday, I fink. It is kind of, sort of your own ‘peshul Day Obba Year. You are s’sposed to get treats."

"Well, we bunnies allus get treats, wike grapes and raisins and sometimes a slice ob ‘nanner - just wike you get dose Milk-Bone Dawg-Biscuits ebbery nite. But I don’t habba ‘peshul Day Obba Year, I don’t fink." Replied me,Hunny, his Loppy ears drooping even more. “Mebbe I’m not ‘peshul cos I hab no ‘doption papers.”

"If it makes you feel enny bedder," Piped up Heatherington, the black and white Dutch bunny who lived in the habitat next door to me,Hunny. “*I* don't hab no 'Birfday' eidder. Pet shops don't gib out 'doption papers wif bunnies and dat’s where Maman found me - sittin’ inna horribul widdle tank surrounded by cedar shavings, gasping for air!"

“Mebbe Birfdays are just Wun More Fing dat bunnies don’t seem to hab.” Said me,Hunny, sadly. “So few good homes, so few nice hoomins, and no birfdays, eidder.”

And the Ancient Dog was quiet for another extended period, which the two bunnies took to mean that he was once again engaged in what passed for "Deep Thought" in Basset Hound Dogs.

And then Tristan said, "Well, hokay. I amma Big Dog wiffa Lotta Birfdays behind me, so I guess dat means dat I hab lots obb'em to share. So frum now on, when I habba Birfday - which is allus onna 4th ob Jooly - ebberybunny in Our Warren will also habba Birfday. Howzzat, Bunnyrabbits? We will all share One Birfday in Our Warren."

So, from then on, everybun in Our Warren - bunnies, kitties and the Ancient Dog - all celebrated the 4th of July as their very own Birfday, with special treats and a pawtee and lots of extra hugs and pats "alla'round."

Tristan, The Ancient Dog, (who was, indeed, a Basset Hound) left for the Rainbow Bridge in 2003 at the advanced age of 18 years old; Heatherington, the feisty black-and-white Dutch bunny began his journey to the Rainbow Bridge in 2000 at the age of 9. And me,Hunny, the Tricolour miniLop, the *SeniorBun* of Our Warren saw Thirteen-and-a-Half Birfdays before he also left us to follow down the road that leads to the Rainbow Bridge, in 2005.

But we still celebrate everybun's "Birfday" on July 4th - every bunny, kitty and Dawg who has ever come to share their lives with us at Our Warren.

And when we got the 'doption papers for Zachary-Marcus, Border-Collie, didn't we just find listed under "birthday:" - yes, exactly! - "4th of July"!

So it's a very, special, lucky day here in Our Warren - and all because Tristan, the Ancient Dog began the tradition with "lots to share."

---------------- Hoppy Birfday to Ebberybun in Our Warren!

George's Seventh Strand: Day Number 3
Now Playing: Fireworks!

Hullo again!

Furst, I wanna wish Ebberybunny a berry Hoppy and Safe HOLLYDAY!

Yeah!

Hoppy 4th of July!

May your day be filled with thoughts ob freedom, accomplishment, quiet pride, generosity, and lots ob respect for ebberywun you know!

And please bemember alla Our Young Hoomins who are serving inna Armed Services all ober da Werld, tomorrow, too! Please be proud ob dem, and if you see wun in unnyform, go up to dem, shake dere hand and Fank Dem For Serving!

Don’t go all stoopit weepy on’em, just Fank dem. Onna’count obba Fakt dat dey are following inna Tradition Obba Continental Army by volunteering for dooty.

Sekond I wanna wish Alla Us Togedder heer at Our Warren a Bunderful Hoppy Birfday! tomorrow, too!

Hoppy Birfday to Us!

And onna’count obba Fakt it is going to be Our Birfday I habba ‘speshually alreddy-typed-up blog entry to stick in for tomorrow so I don’t gotta write it on my Birfday. I’ll just stick it in and post it tomorrow, hokay?

Great!

Third I wanna mention da whoebber is setting off dose BIG, LOUD Firecrackers dat are shaking dis Houz and skerring Maman, and worrying Da Dawg are rilly a whole bunch ob selfish, stoopit JERKS!

Don’t they know it is against da ROOLZ to hab firecrackers?
Don’t they know dat it is DANGEROUS to be playing wif firecrackers?
Don’t they know how SELFISH it is to go boddering ebberybunny else just to make a lotta noise?

Our Maman is sik wiffa Migraine and she hasta take meddysin tiday. She was trying to sleep, ‘cept dat ebbery thirty minits or so, dere wuld be dis horrible, Big, Huge – BANG! - like sumbunny exploding da Houz, anna Dawg wuld bark, anna Catz wuld skerry and Alla Us Togedder wuld - THUMP! -
And Maman’s hed wuld just hurt worse and worse.

Now I fink it is just TOO BAD when sum hoomins fink dey are bedder denna ROOLS. Dey fink datta “Democracy” means dat dey ONLY hab to follow da ROOLS dat dey wants, wike when it comes to firecrackers.

Just because they want fireworks, they go and get fireworks, ebben though fireworks are against the ROOLZ in Noo Joisey.

These hoomins fink dey are bedder denna ROOLZ.

Well, Maman says that they don’t have to live in Noo Joisey, eidder. If they want fireworks so much then they should leave heer and go live swumwhere’s else where fireworks are legal.

“Democracy” Maman says, is about having “free choice” and dat includes da “free choice” to go lib sumwhere udder hoomins fink alike, not in making ebberybunny fink da same as one hoomin.

Besides, dere is gonna be a Free Fireworks Show put on for ebberybunny atta skool accrost da street tomorry night. It’s going to be paid for byda Township put on by REAL professional pyrotechnical engineering hoomins (and not sum Jerk wiffa ciggyret) anna Free Fireworks Show is gonna feature da kind of fireworks only REAL professionals can buy – bigger, and much bedder den da widdle firecrackers dis local JERK is using to torment the Neighbourhood, werry Da Dawg, upset da Catz, make Maman’s hed hurt and make Us – Thump!.

And lemme tell you, if Maman culd figger out which houz da Selfish JERK libbed in, she’d calla Police. Inna heartbeat So they could arrest dat person for ignoring Da ROOLZ.

(Anna person finks dey are SO SMART, too, by setting offa big bangs about thirty minits apart, so nobun can figgerout where dat houz is! If he keeps bodderin da neighbourhood, sumbun will take da time and trubble to hunt da JERK'S Houz down.)

Almost invariably, Dadda says, JERKS wike dat are habbin’ pawtees, wif lots of noise, beer, lines ob cars, beer, grill-smoke, and beer. The kinds of hoomins who leeb cans behind in your gutter afta they’ve climbed outta it.

So mebbe dis JERK can ged arrested, and taken down toda station, and den hab to pay a fine and help make nextest year's 4th ob July Free Fireworks Show atta skool ebben bedder!

------------------ By George

George's Seventh Strand: Day Number One
Now Playing: Obsessions


And I’m back.

So tiday Cokie-da-Fat comes Downnastairs and complains to Alla Us Togedder heer at Our Warren,

“Da Dawg libs.”

And I’m wike, “And, um, dis is noo, hextactly, how? Da Dawg has bin libbin’ heer ever since we moobed in.”

And Cokie says, “Hextactly. And he’s still libbin’ heer, which issa Effruntery To Catz!”

And Clover pipes up and says, “Yeah, and Dadda just told you to ‘Ged ober it’ again, just wike he did yestidday whin you sedda same fing. So whut else is noo, Cat?”

And Cokie just glared at Clover and wint on out onna Screen Porch to tell Beep-da-Udder-Cat to “moob it, Sistah” becos she was sitting in “his” sunbeam. Whut Beep told him is not fit to be printed in dis Blog. But she moobed it, ennyways, onna’count obba Fakt dat Cokie was in his normal Morning Bad Mood, which is preddy normal, considering he issa Cat.

So denna Dawg came fundering Downnastairs and he’s all happy-stoopit, mainly onna’count obba Fakt dat he issa Border-Collie-Wif-Sumfing-to-Do. Gib dees guys a Job and dey are happy-for-Life, I fink.

“Dadda and I are gonna werk inna Gardin!” he woofs, standing atta Back Door, wif his butt wiggling, he’s so happy.

Which just goes to show you how little it takes to make a Border-Collie even stoopiter than they are alreddy.

And den Maman comes Downnastairs frumma Study and she’s gotta buk and a bottle of stinky stuff dat’s for her fingernails.

Now you gotta unnerstand dat Maman has dis fing about her fingernails. Alla her life, she says, she had “Ugly Fingernails” onna’count obba Fakt dat she played da ’sello (big fing wif strings onnit dat libs inna Lounge-Where-We-Do-Not-Go) and now dat she can’t play, her fingernails don’t grow rite. So she takes dem to a Groomer to be made nice. She says dis is her “One fashion indulgence.” and she and Auntie Grace talk abouddit onna tellyphone sumtimes, onna’count obba Fakt dat Auntie Grace has dis fing aboud her fingernails, too.

But dis last Groomer where Maman went to hab her fingernails made nice, didn’t do a good job, and now Maman has these bottles of Stinky Stuff to take her nails off. She says it will be a “Long Process” and a “Smelly Process” and she’s whining aboud “Alla Time” it is going to take.

And she ebben had Dadda go to sum kinda store to buy these speshul bottles of Stinky Stuff for her to take off the nails the Groomer had done for her.

So Maman comes Downnastairs frumma Study and she looks around the Bun Room where I’m sitting heer, cleaning my toes.

And she takes a wook at me and she says, “George Bunny, you are obsessed with your Toes!”

And put down my foot and sit there, and I’m wike, “Whuttaheck?”

And she’s standing there in her Bafrobe, wif her bottles of Stinky Stuff and her Buk, and her hair wrapped up inna striped towel wif her Flippy-flops on.

So she puts alla her stuff down onna Washing Machine inna corner byda Back Door toda Gardin and she comes over and starts wooking at MY FEETS!

And den she goes ober to Clover and Beebe’s and starts wooking at THEIR FEETS!

And afta that she goes and hassa wook at Mouse’s FEETS!

So we’re ALL inna UPROAR!

All onna’count obba Fakt dat NOBUNNY is s’sposed to be wooking atta Bunny's Feets except DA BUNNY DA FEETS BELONGS TO!

And den Maman says, “You guys.”

And she shakes her hed (which is wrapped up inna pastel-stripped towel!).

“You all need your nails trimmed.”

And MissyBun is wike, “Oh NO Wady! Pull da udder one, it has bells on! MY nails, I’ll trim’em, Fank Yoo!”

And she follows dat up wiffa rilly big, Missy-sized THUMP which makes me fly up-inna-air and land down again.

I wish she wouldn’t do that!

Then Clover starts to shiver, onna’count obba Fakt dat she doesn’t wike to be piked Up.

And Beebe start strutting, onna’count obba Fakt that he issa Nethy Dwarf and Nutz, and he finks sumbun is alreddy “Messing Wif His Wommin” and he’s gonna Defend Her.

And dat’s Beebe’s Widdle Fantasy which we let him hab onna’count obba Fakt dat we can’t ged him to Ged Ober It.

And Mouse is sitting inna corner wif his butt against da side obba Habbytat, just basically grunting and daring Maman to come and get him for a nail trim. Becos he knows she’ll send Dadda (who is currently Out Inna Gardin riding onna Tractor and yelling atta Dawg to “Ger’outta it!” – whutebber dat means. I fink it means Da Dawg is somehow behaving daft and/or stoopit - no s’sprise there. But since Dadda currently sounds angry, I’m not gonna axt too menny Questions ebben whin he comes back inna Houz.)

Den Maman blinks a second or two and hassa widdle fink and says, “Wookit, I’ll do my nails furst. Then we’ll worry about bunny-nails. Howzzat?”

And becos we know dat Maman hassa rilly bad short-term memory, we just sit there and appear not to listen.

So she goes out onna Screen Porch wiffa Catz and her bottles of smelly stuff and her Buks.

And just for da Rekord, I am NOT “obsessed” wif my TOES!

----------------- By George (now returning to cleaning MY toes!)

Posted by Our Warren at 11:28 AM EDT

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