Lastest Nite heer at Our Warren, we watched Maman and Dadda observe the Beginning ob The Turning Back ob Time!

It began with Cokie-the-Fat-Cat inna Kitchen. He came Downnastairs frum his 'Partmint atta Ushual Time and started getting bizzy poking his paws innu the laundry baskit and complaining OutLoud.

Anna Dawg was sota standing ober him, supervising. This is their way of 'Tracting'Tenshion while they're waiting around for Maman and Dadda to Start Feeding Time - which gen'rally coincides wif Our Salad Time, which issa Most 'Portant Time obba day. Gen'rally speaking...

So Maman heard Cokie making noise and saw Da Dawg standing over him and she came outta the Sitting Room to see Whut'sUp. And she said to Dadda,

"Whut's up with the Dawg? I don't like it when he sits over the Cat like that. It looks like he's plotting."

And then Dadda came outta the SittingRoom and stood ober Cokie and sorta gave him a prod-inna-butt wif his toe and said, "He wants feeding, I think."

And Cokie looked up, took an idle swipe atta Dawg and agreed wif Dadda, gen'rally speakin'...

So Dusty was out heer inna Bun Room, and he heard Maman and Dadda talking and started doing binkies to get their 'Tenshion. That's Dusty for you - he allus has to get 'Tenshion.

So Maman sorta wandered in through the Kitchen to see whut's up with Dusty onna'count obba Fakt he was making alla this noise, and she said over her shoulder to Dadda,

"Tell the Cat he's outta luck: it's too early for him to get fed."

And Dadda proded Cokie a little more, kinda thoughtful-like, and axted Maman, "Why is that? It's ten o'clock. I should take These Buggers Upstairs and give them their dinners."

And Maman reached in and started petting Dusty in his habbytat, to get him to Quiet Down. This is sorta like the beginning of Wun ob Auntie Grace's Goat-Ropes, or else the Continuation of sum Endless Projeckt: Petting Dusty is like eating peanuts, Maman says: once you begin, you can't stop. 

And Maman said to Dadda,

"Lookit, tonight is the night that we get turn the clocks back an hour to get rid of 'Daylight Savings Time'. That means that even if the clock says ten o'clock tonight, tomorrow it's going to say nine o'clock at this same time, but the Cat won't know it and he'll be yelling for dinner an hour early. It's best if we save time and get him used to the idea now instead of later."

So Dadda finked this over fora minit, and said to Maman, "You know that Cokie can't tell time."

And Maman (who was still petting Dusty) nodded and said, "That's what I'm talking about: catz can't tell time. So we have to do it for them."

And Cokie, who was lying on the floor suddenly sat up, looked back at Us Bunnies and growled, "Whaaat?"

But Maman kept going: "The fing is that the Cat will be yelling for his dinner an hour early tomorrow. And you know how insistant Cokie can be, Brian. Especially when he thinks he's being hard-done-by."

"He allus thinks he's being hard-done-by." Said Dadda.

And Cokie said, "Cos I aaaaam!"

And Maman sort of ignored Cokie because she was talking to Dadda while still petting Dusty inna absent-minded sort of way,

"Exactly. So the thing to do is not to feed him now, even though the clock says that it's ten o'clock which is his feeding time, because it's really nine o'clock which is an hour too early. Time is only an invention of mankind to measure their linier passage through the universe. It is illusionary and I'm not going to have Cokie trying to impose any illusionary constraints on our decision-making processes."

And Mouse looked over at me and saed whut everyBun of us was thinking, inklooding Dadda, (but probably not Cokie who had just rolled ober on his back and was waving all four ob his paws inna air, and not Dusty eidder, who had preddy much fallen asleep frum being petted) which was somefing onna order of,

"Oh pooties! Heer she goes again!"

Because as Dadda has pointed out menny times bifore, Maman could happily sit on the Rim Ob Hell and exchange opinions about the Probable Maximim Number of Dancing Angels Permitted to Occupy the Head of a Standard Pin.

She's just like that. But it means that Salad Time is gonna be delayed. By Lots.

And MissyBun, who was occupying the High Ground looked over and said to me,

"George! Do sumFing!" 

So I hadda Quick Fink, and suddenly, I called Da Dawg. It's easy enough to do - just *thump* and he comes waggin' ober to see Whut'samatta.

So we went nose-to-nose and I'm wike, "Whut aboutdda Patrol?"

Anna Dawg looked atta Back Door and his ears went Up, and he started doing his "Crossed Paws" Dance, which is preddy hard to ignore since it takes up most obba space between Missy's and my habbytat anna WashingMachine. And it involves alla dawgie-toenails on alla his four feets tappin' onna lin-o-le-um all at oncest, like a bucket ob castanets fallin' downnastairs.

So the noise obba Dawg toenails drew Cokie da Fat-Cat to come see Whut'sUp (because there might be Food involved!), only he was shamblin' atta pretty good clip and hadda sorta slllliiiiiiide to a stop, preddy much unner'neaf obba Dawg.

And Maman (whom he hadda pass on his sllllliiiide down the floor) flared up at him and yelled, "Cokie! You know 'No Catz Inna Bun Room'!"

And she sort ob stopped petting Dusty for a minit, and closed his habbytat lid.

So Dusty, who wasn't getting petting at just *that* sekond, waked up from his pet-induced trance and suddenly began to binky-binky-binky-hop around his habbytat inna circle. Which made ebberyfing in his habbytat bounce and bang right along wif him.

So there we had the pile-up in front obba Back door, wiffa Cokie-Cat swearing atta Dawg, and we hadda Dawg trying to get away frumma Cokie-Cat so Maman couldn't accuse him ob Starting Ennyfing, and we had Dusty bouncing and banging ebberyfing in his habbytat around like a tinker's bag ob pots and pans.

And MissyBun bounced outta the pootie-pan (giving me a momint ob zero-gravity) and hopped over to me and said, "Well, she isn't arguing 'bout Time ennymore, but we're not getting Salad, either."

And I'm, wike, "Wookit, wike Dadda says, I can't work wonders and poop miracles!"

And Dadda came innu da BunRoom, wooked in and said to Dusty, "Calm down, sunshine, before I introduce you to the concept of 'stew'."

And Dusty was too bizzy doin' his "Notice Me!" dance to notice Dadda, so Mouse yelled ober to him, "Cut the racket, Junior!"

And Dusty froze for a minit, and then periscoped, wooking ober at Maman and whuffled the air. And down inna Hospiddle Cage (cos she *still* isn't bonded to Mouse) Foxie stuck her nose out and made a nibble for Dadda's shoelace.

And for justa sekond there was silence inna BunRoom.

And then Maman said to Dadda, "And we're gonna go through this every night an hour earlier from now on inless we start teaching them the concept of 'one hour later'."

And Dadda shook his head and opined the Big White Box Where The Green Grow; and he took out nice plastic bags of fresh-frumma-market Romaine, and flat parsley and curly parsley and Baby Organic Carrots and wun-by-wun he gave them to Maman to hold. And then he took out tins of Dawg food and Cat food and he and Maman traipsed back innu the Kitchen.

And oncest they were there, and Maman was laying outta leebs to make Romaine Cups for Us Bunnies, and Dadda was loading uppa FoodBowls, Dadda said to her,

"Not tonight, Sweetheart. While it's easy to waste time, and lose time, and take time, and find time and even warp time, it takes a lot more effort to shift time. So let's  cross that bridge when we come to it - around ten o'clock tomorrow night."

---------------------- By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 11:46 AM EDT

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Well, today Maman and I have read a lot of blogs about Where We Live heer at Our Warren. There is a inneresting bridge a ways away frum heer (downna River) of which a lotta hoomins take photographs (ironic or udderwise) that spells out "Trenton Makes - The World Takes" in big neon letters. Some clever Noospaper Reporters take the name of their personal blog frum it.

So ennyways...

We live inna little place called *Ewing* which usta habba Mayor who did a lotta whut Maman says were Not Good Fings and he got dis-elected - that is, booted outta office. He was replaced by Jack Ball.

Now Jack issa preddy Good Guy. He hassa Dawg, which issa good fing. He is neighbourly. He can talk to udder people. He is kind to animals. He is honest. In short, Jack Ball is not some money-grubbin', secretive, opportunistic, self-seekin' career-pollytician only innerested in lining his own pockets atta expense obba tax-payers.

And Jack didn't push through building contracts for unwanted malls, light industrial office parks and senior centres even the Seniors didn't want, and he won't despoil the last of the township's greenland in back-room, unner-handed deals the people of the Township don't get to vote against. 

So we LIKE Jack around heer!

And we'd like to see the Township Committee stop stonewallin' him ebbery chance they get. So whut if they aren't on the same political party as he is? Loyal Toda Pawtee or Loyal to the People Who ElectedYou - which is morally correct?

We'd also like to see The College of Noo Joisey get off their high-horse: they will "never be enny better than they ought to be" (as the saying goes). I hear udder hoomins asking alla time, "Who decided College rent-a-cops were rilly "police" and could threaten township residents off of the campus?" Maman says the phrase "jumped-up" comes to mind.

Of course, Maman can remember when the campus of "Trenton State Teachers' College" (which is whut they were) was open to the members of the township drive around, and walk through and enjoy just like the students. She remembers when the college *asked* for the Township community's help to house their students. She remembers when alumni were treated with respect, not suspicion.

And now, The College of Neoo Joisey (like it is the only college in Noo Joisey!) is closed to the whole township, and has its silly rent-a-militia (with firearms), and vivid light-pollution, like it is someplace special on the planet, above and apart from the community!

Maman also remembers when the Rescue Squad would have been happy to get a new member and moved quickly to integrate him/her into to a crew. But that was back in the day when the siren blew and volunteers had the admiration of everybun in the township - and people who were generous with their time and courage didn't have to wait upon the Township Committee's letters of acceptance. Can the Township Committe afford to be so slow, and so tight with funding that they can't approve a new member, and can't pass a budget for bandages?.

And where is a pleasant Shelter for Lost and Stray Animals in the township? There is a building with huge potential as a shelter on Ingram Avenue, but it isn't developed. The Township Committee (again) says there is no money to develop it, but we pay high taxes (with a low-expectation school sysytem) and have very taxable businesses in the area (if you listen to the braggarts of the Olden Avenue Development crew) - so why is there no money to build a safe, no-kill shelter for animals? Why are only dogs and cats given shelter? Our Warren has tried to donate bunny-related care items, only to be told, "We don't have rabbits."

And why can the Township not adopt a Trap-Neuter-Release Program for feral kitties? The funds were made available, the organisation is there, but again, the Township Committee drags their feet. Howcome?

Jack is a GOOD Mayor. He is animal-friendly. He has a dog. We DON'T believe Jack would turn away a bunny OnAlone.

Whut we DO believe is that Jack and all the other good people in Ewing (some of whom volunteer to save lives!) are being ham-strung by a bunch of self-important, self-seeking career pollyticians from the Township Committee on Up.

And it has to stop.

Maman says that people get the government that they deserve - so come November, we are urging EVERYbun in Ewing who can, GET OUT AND VOTE! - because only voters can change the way things are run in their area.

People get the government that they deserve - and Ewing deserves a better Township Committee! We have a GOOD Mayor - let's give him some GOOD support!

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

Posted by Our Warren at 5:18 PM EDT

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Today Our Warren is saying Prayers and Ear-flapping *Vibes* for alla bunnies who are in Danger frumma wildfires in Southern California.

God be Wif You.

We are rubbing alla our Lucky Rabbits' Feets for the safety ob alla Our Friends and Relayshuns who have packed up their cars, got stuffed in their carriers, and are being Evacuated - Sundae and Beezer, Pogo & Kit-Kat, and alla Ashyville, anna San Diego House Rabbit Society, Ruthie, and Auntie Marisa's bunnies.

God go wif you!

And we are praying wif those who watch and wait, who smell smoke onna wind and know that there is Fire nearby but who are not in danger - Norman, Ragin' Riley and Little Urchin (we are so glad you found Auntie Carla!) and Gabriel and Maggie and Buttons and LuckyHoney-Dawg anna Krasi-kitties!

God be wif alla you! 

We are praying for alla critters who are out there OnAlone, running for their lives frumma towering flames.

God proteckt you.

We are urging alla Hoomins, please, leave noBunny behind! Those whom you have tamed are part of you, and you must not turn your backs on them. Their fate is bound up wif your own! *Things* can be replaced, but life is not hoomanity's to grant or to withhold.

God sees and God hears; no cry goes up toward Heaven in vain.

And we, heer at Our Warren, are sending out Special Prayers for alla brave fire-fighters and EMTs who rush toward danger and do not run away frum helping others.

God hold them in His hand.

And we are ear-flapping and vibing for alla pilots and air-crews who fly the helicopters and airplanes (especially Our Unkul Toby!) who find their ways through blinding smoke and stinging ash and hurricane-force winds -  to drop huge bucket-koads of water on the fires burning high above the trees!

Yeah!

We pray for alla the Heroes of the Fire-Storm!

And thank God for everyWun of them!

And today we pray especially for alla those who are in Shelters, and alla those who seek Shelter...that each may find safety.

And please God, grant Your care and bless us, Alla Us Togedder, each and everyBun!

-----------------------By George 

Posted by Our Warren at 9:46 AM EDT

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Whooboy! I read inna Noos today about Russian Hoomins who say "Nobunny unnerstans Our Country!" And then I read a bunch of commints frum anudder bunch of Hoomins frum Inkland who said, "That's hokay, nobunny unnerstans Our Country, eidder!" And then I read some more commints frum some MORE Hoomins who said, "Well, ebberyBunny shut up, onna'count obba Fakt that NONE OF YOU unnerstans ennyplace!"

And Maman said to me, "You know, George, when I lived in Lancashire, I met people who claimed to have 'seen' the United States because they had visited Disneyworld, and then when I came back here, I met a whole bunch of Americans who said they had 'seen' England because they'd taken the tour around London. And not one of them, from either side, had really seen either country. The British had seen an amusement park, and the Americans had seen another big city, but no one had actually seen anything like another country."

And she shook her head.

"Well,"  I told her. "We bunnies don't have this problem. Bunnies are bunnes, no matter where you go. Some of us have better lives, some of us are not so lucky."

And Maman said that the whole of Our Warren was very lucky, and so we must keep in mind not only to be thankful for where we have found ourselves, but also to Bemember those bunnies who are not as lucky as we are - like those poor Bunnies who are in Shelters, and those lost Bunnies who seek Shelters, and even those poor, OnAlone Bunnies in Horrible Places who dare to dream of Shelters in the depths of endless night.

She also told me about alla housebunnies in Queensland, who are misunnerstood to be pests when they are Companion Animals.

Never believe what "everybun" says; "Test for Truth", Maman says. She says bunnies have a lotta "Honesty" and "Integrity" that we are "Alla Us Togedder" and form "Soshul Hierarchies" based upon "Ability" and not upon "Who Has The Mostest" of Ennyfing.

Well, that is pretty much Troo. You don't get to be Top Bun if all you can do is leave pooties. That's pretty much a Hoomin Mistake in Finking.

Yes, we do have Pootie-Wars sometimes to 'Stablish who is Top Bun, but there is more to a Pootie-War than just pooties and more to sending P-mail than drinking wadder and leaving puddles. These are just messages. They *represent* something else to bunnies than they do to Hoomins. Hoomins see pooties and puddles; bunnies see scents, boundaries and rights. It's a whole Other Level of Unnerstanning, and a Whole Dif'frunt Language carried out in Lagomorphin, not Hoomin.

I think I've said someplace else in this Blog that Lagomorphs, which is Whut We Are, speak Lagomorphin as our Furst Language and some of us speak Inkwish as a Sekond Language. Lagomorphin is not a written-down language, but then, Inkwish has no pooties or puddles involved in it, and a whole lot less body-language!

But because of Dif'frunce, there is Room For Misunnerstanning. And oncet that door for Misunnerstanning is open, even just a crack, you just know that someBun is gonna slip through!

As it seems to do amongst Hoomins who even share the same concept of communication, but dif'frunt werds, like Russian, Inkwish, and American. Just like Hoomins who do not communicate in Lagomorphin misunnerstand boundaries, rights and abilities for pooties and puddles.

So it is amazing to me just how much misunnerstanning goes on - and then, not. But whut seems even stranger to me is how liddle time is spent on learning to unnerstand.

Bunnies can unnerstan each udder acrosst the planet just by leaving one small pile of pooties, but Hoomins are still misunnerstanning each udder and stumbling over language-barriers.

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

Posted by Our Warren at 12:23 PM EDT

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This is one of those sorts of mornings on which Noo Joisey reminds you that it is a coastal state. You stick your nose out of the door and sniff fog.

And then, a little later on, there is drizzle, and you begin to wonder if Dadda put the lid down on the Hay Bin nextest to the Houz, but you aren't sure about Whut You Heard Lastest Night because you were Hungry and 'Noyed when the Salads were handed out and they were  Really Small because Maman said Dadda had to Go Toda Store this morning and Lastest Night wasn't This Morning, yet, so he hadn't been.

And Ennyways, Maman says there's a Noo Bale of Hay coming today or tomorrow, so it doesn't matter if the lid on the Hay Bin was slammed shut or not, because Dadda said that he brought in the Remains of the Old Bale and there's Nothing Left in the Bin to get ruined...

Much.

But it's reminding us Outside that Autumn is on the way. There is this tang in the air that Maman says comes off the Arctic or sumplace. She says she could smell it better, and taste it better in Lancashire, but that's because Lancashire is furdder Norf - up that way - than Noo Joisey. 

So she says. We are far enough Norf for us, Fank You. Missy says Noo Yawk is Furdder Norf and that, hexcept for Unkul Michael, Bailey and Janey, and Auntie Michelle and Pumpkin and Rudy Esquhare (who has passed her Salad Bar), and Auntie Fern and The Fosters, we don't know ennybunny else in Noo Yawk Ciddy.

Bunnies do not need to sniff any tang in the air to know that Autumn is on the way. We can smell it long before Maman. For hextample, I am all through my Summer Shed already, and preddy much, so is Missy. Dusty's done and Mouse is just wearing a slight fringe on his backside. Foxie is still blowing her coat, but this is because I suspeckt this might only be her sekond Summer Shed, ever.

Dusty axtually said this was his Sekond 'Dult Sekond Summer Shed, mainly onna'count obba Fakt that he woke up one morning and started yelling, "My fur is falling! My fur is falling!" and we had to calm him down some before we could tell him that the Summer Shed is perfecktly Nat'chural Annual Event for a HouseBunny.

That boy really needs to Calm Down.

One of the advantages to living in a Warren is that there are other bunnies around to hextplain Weird Stuff to you that's Perfektly Normal. Like why we wave our ears when we have a Fink about those we love, like Gabe, Buttons and Maggie's Mawmie, at the KrasiWarren. Bunnies know Fings that hoomins don't and so we don't werry in the same way.

I hate to tell Maman (because she gets upset when I point out whut's obvious to everybun 'cept her), but there is more to smell on this morning's air than just Autumn. Da Dawg said he smelled it, and even The Catz mentioned it. It's just that Hoomins don't have Good Noses, which is Not Really Their Fault. It's not part of their Toolkit; they have neve been Prey.

But there is also salt in the morning air. This is the Sea, which is sumfing that I have never personally seen.

And it doesn't smell so very far away, in fact, as I said in the beginning of this entry, it is pretty near to everywhere in Noo Joisey, but living near to the Delaware River (that we can also smell, trust me on this), we tend to fortyget how near to the Sea we really live. It is close and it is warm/cold with jellyfish riding the currents, and huge boats dragging barges down frum Noo Yawk, and small boats ploughing out frum the Inlet to look for fish where the horizon is hidden behind a curtain of grey.

It's only on misty, moisty mornings like this one that the hoomins are reminded how close to the Seashore we really live - and how nearby to Autumn we are coming!

------------------------- By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 9:14 AM EDT

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A month ago, before Maman's computer hadda Nervous Breakdown frum her typing on it, I typed that Dadda had planted a Gardin onna Screen Porch.

Yeah.

Right out there, onna Screen Porch, in pots Dadda added an extra Gardin to Our Warren... Big pots, mostly resembling troughs, and that's Whut He Did.

He said it was Onna'Count obba Fakt that Alla Us Togedder were eating way too much Romaine at Salad Time, and that basically, it was costing him "a mint" to feed us. However, since there is Williamsburg Heritage Mint growing in Hunny's Our Warren Memorial Rose and Herb Gardin Outside, I have no idea Whut He's Talking About. So whut if our Romaine costs "a mint"? We got mint and to spare according to Maman. She says that Williamsburg Heritage Mint is practically taking over Hunny's share of Hunny's Our Warren Memorial Herb and Rose Gardin, so it's not like there is "a mint" shortage or ennyfing going on!

Hoomins are very difficult to unnerstand.

But ennyways...

Dadda has filled these troughs with Speshul Dirt that he Bought at the Gardin Store. Again, why he bought Dirt-in-Bags is also difficult to unnerstand when he has a whole back Gardin that is simply filled with Dirt.

And we're talking Dirt that Da Dawg has even offered to help him dig.

So that can't be a problem. Yet he still had to go off and buy Dirt, carry it home inna car, in bag, drag the bag through the house and then empty the bag-o-dirt into his troughs before he could ebben plant his romaine seeds...

But ennyways...

Dadda bought this Speshul Dirt, cmptied it innu these troughs, and then he also emptied in Dusty's pooties! - before he planted his Romaine Seeds! He emptied Dusty's pootie-box right innu the troughs with the Speshul Dirt!

Like Dusty's are better than ennybunny else's.

But there you are, again - inhextplicable hoomin behvaiour!

Or like Mouse said, it was that Dusty had a full litter-pan. Dusty has a really high out-put level when it comes to turning food-into-pooties.

However...

Then Dadda took Our BunPen and put it around his dirt-filled troughs. He said that if he didn't, Cokie-the-Fat-Cat or Beep-the-Udder-Cat might come along, see alla nice, fresh, speshul dirt and figger that he was leaving them some brand, new cat-pooties trays onna Screen Porch. And he didn't want Cokie or Beep hauling their Gen'rus Butts up innu the Speshul Dirt he'd bought for the Romaine he was hoping to grow, which was why he was putting the troughs inside our BunPen.

Whutebber...

But it also meant that Maman had a'lotta Trubble putting Alla Us Togedder Outside Onna Screen Porch for our Playtime because she couldn't lift the BunPen from over the troughs with alla Speshul Dirt in them. And there didn't seem to be much point in the troughs full of Speshul Dirt because for the Longest Time, there was NOTHING GOING ON in those troughs!

We're talking NOTHING - zip, zero, bumkis! Just dirt-in-troughs.

And every now and then, Dadda would take out a cooking pot full of water and dump it on them. Which began to look pretty pitiful, lemme tell you: a grown man dumping wadder on troughs fulla pooties and store-bought dirt.

So, since it was a Pretty Nice Day yesterday, MissyBun and I finally got to go out onna Screen Porch because Maman finally realised that she had been letting Mr Mouse and Foxie-Chick be out most of the week-end for Bonding Sessions while the rest of Us had to stay in. So Dadda moved the BunPen frum off his troughs, and Missy and I took a turn at wandering around inna fresh Autumn breezes.

And I hadda look innu those troughs.

Well, one pot now has three baby tomato vines - just like the same kind as the monster Santa Sweet Cherry tomato Vine that grew outta Missy's pooties! How do you like that? They don't come more Orgainc than that! Missy eats a tomato, pooties out the seed and that seed falls innu the whole mess of Yesterday's News litter and grows innu a huge tomato vine where you can have your own Santa Sweet Cherry Tomatoes and have enough to give baggies full of 'em to your Friends, Rellytibs and Nextest-store Neighbours. This place is practically floating in them! All thanks to Missy's taste for Tomatoes and Missy's Gen'rus Butt.

Ennyways, there are three of those plants that Dadda found growing onna Composty Heap, dug up, transferred and planted up here inna Speshul Dirt. And they're doing well. By Christmas, we shuld have Yellow blossoms and 'Mater Balls, Maman says; no need to decorate. 

And in anudder pot, there is a fine fringe of sumfing growing that is either very fine baby carrots, or else more of the whispy stuff that grows on Phil's chin. Dadda says these will grow up to be Carrot Balls onna'count obba Fakt that he planted a New Type of carrot that grows into round balls, not long sticks like we are used to.

Hokay...

And Inna Udder Troughs, there seems to be more finge-like stuff that Dadda says is "Parsley - Generic" - because he planted both Curly Parsley and Flat Parsley, but he has no idea which one is rising to the occasion. Could be either one, or else it's alfalfa hay, or Timmy Hay, which Dusty also eats.

That's Whut Happins when you use bunny pooties for fertylizer: there could be a surprise in every pan! Gardinin' with Pooties is like gardinin' with Forest Gump: you nebber know whut you're gonna get! 

So that's where the Indoors Gardinin is atta momint.

And we are still hopeful that there is Romaine in there...sumwheres...

----------By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 11:27 AM EDT

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Well, Phil has fixed Maman's computer, and even though she is trying to do five things at once, she says that I have a right to get on with my Projekts, too. So I am back at my 'Puter, and able to type my own Thoughts and 'Pinions as I should be...

Which is Hextercising the Sekond Ammendmint of the Bunny Bill of Rights ("The Bunny Can Say Ennyfing"), which is supported by the Furst Ammendmint ("The Bunny is Allus Right"), all of which is more or less typed out for Hoomins to read onna RIFRAF News web-site. Just click onna link and do your best to keep up. 

Ennyways...

What I want to talk about is the Giving of Names.

Yeah.

There is an article in today's New York Times by Michael Wines. You can read it here. It is about how people in South Africa name their children after significant events in their lives, rather than pick their chilrens' names from "whut's fashionable" the way hoomins seem to do.

It's like, How Hoomins Pick Names.

The hoomins in the New York Times have names like "Godknows" (he was a sickly child an only God knew if he would survive to become an adult) and "Enough" (the last-born of a large family) that are very logical names - once you know the story behindwhy they were given. Names tell a story. So the story in the New York Times is about Hoomins that have been given names that tell a story.

Yeah. 

Well, bunnies have very logical names, too, which is why it is best that Hoomins don't "name" them, but wait for bunnies to tell their hoomin companions their names. You listen for a name, you don't tell a bunny their name. If you are a good listener, you'll find out.

It is very presump-shush of Hoomins to tell us whut our names all-ready are, you know?

Like take Our Missy as a Hextample.

When she arrived at Unkul Michael's, he had been told that her name was "Fuzzy" or "Fluffy" or someFing like that. But he had been around bunnies long enough to know that *that* wasn't her name. And he would have discovered her name if his Housebunny, Kramer, had liked the idea of having another bunny in the house, which he didn't, which is why Unkul Michael axted Maman and Dadda if they had room for her in Our Warren.

Which they did.

So Missy came to live in Our Warren, and Maman said, "We're going to wait for her to tell us her name."

And that was back when Our Warren lived in the Old House, and Belinda was Top Bunny and meHunny was Senior Bun, and before Ms CloverBun was bonded to Beebe-Bunny!! and before I was rescued. In other werds, it was a Long Time Ago, and this is Part of The Lore, as it was told to me by meHunny, Senior Bun of Our Warren. And I am passing this on to you. So please listen.

Ennyways...

So Missy was in a Habbytat nextest-store to Belinda Bunny, who was the Top Bun of Our Warren.

And the Furst Nite that Missy was in Our Warren, just after Maman shut off the lights after Salad Time, and it was dark with only the starlight and the streetlights streaming in through the blinds, and the sounds of bunnies munching their Romaine Cups, Belinda Bunny stopped eating her salad and looked over to where Missy was and said  "Whut?"

And Missy said, "Who are you?"

And Belinda said, "I am Belinda."

And Missy axted, "Whut's that - Belinda?"

And Belinda answered, "Beautiful. It's my name. Who's you?"

And Missy answered softly, "I miss my mawmie-person, and miss where I was bifore I was heer."

And Belinda axted her, "Where's your mawmie?"

And Missy sed sadly, "I dunno. I miss so much..."

And Belinda sed, "Start frumma Beginning. When you were a Kit. I amma Top Bunny heer anna Nurse Bunny to help you innu Our Warren. Begin atta Beginning and we will find your name."

And Missy began: "I was a kit and then I was in a pet-shop. And then a man took me to a nice Hoomin lady. But she was sik, or not well or sumFing. But she was nice to me and we sat togedder on her bed and she petted me and I made her smile. Then the hoomin man put me inna Cage if I didn't 'sit still'. Then he put me back inna Cage if I got 'big', and I got 'big' and I didn't 'sit still'."

And Belinda said, "It is not your fault. You growed frumma kit to a bunny and that's just Nature. He was a Stoopit Hoomin. Go on, tell us more."

And Missy went on, "Then he took me down sum stairs innu a Dark Room and a cat came to prod me and dogs barked at me and I missed my mawmie-lady who petted me. Then afta I had been down inna Dark Room inna Cage for long while by myself anna'fraid OnAlone, Unkul Michael came to Rescue me and bring me Uppystairs to where there was light and fresh air and most impawtantly, No Catz. But his bunny, Kramer, was usted to being an Only-Bunny and didn't like me habbin his treatz, but I still miss Unkul Michael. And Now I am heer and I miss my hoomin-mawmie and I miss Unkul Michael and I ebben miss Kramer!"

And Belinda said to Missy, "You can tawk to Our Maman, now, and tell her your name."

And Missy sed, "I don't habba name."

And Belinda said, "You are missing ebberybunny so far in your life. Dat issa biggest Fing in your life - dat you are 'missing' alla dis stuff. So your name is pro'bly 'Missing'. And you kin tell dat to Maman."

And Missy looked at Belinda and said, "And your name is 'Belinda' because everyfing in your life is beautiful, wiffa handsum husbun, anna habbytat, and being TopBun and all?"

And Belinda looked severely down her nose at Missy and said shortly, "No. I wassa a Shelter Bunny. Now I gotta Watch Ober Maman anna Rest ob Our Warren. Nuffin' in my life has been particuarly beautiful - only me; I am Belinda."

Anna nextest morning, Missy whiskered softly to Maman as she was changing her wadder-crock. "I am 'Missing'."

And Maman turned to Dadda and said, "Brian, I think this bunny we brought from Michael's has finally told me her name!"

And Dadda, who was leaning over, trying to see something with meHunny sed, "Whut's that, dear?"

And Missy whiskered softly again, "My name is 'Missing'." But because she felt shy and timid, she was being very, very quiet.

And Maman said to Dadda, "I think her name is 'Missy'!"

And Missy looked over at Belinda and Belinda was sitting there in her habbytat along with Hawthorn, and Belinda shifted her weight on all four paws and shrugged.

"Hokay," she said, "Dat's aboud'as good as your gonna get frum her. Bemember, Lagomorphin is only her sekond language."

So you see, naming children for events is not something that is unique to Southern Africa. I believe that it is actually universal. Being a somewhat literary lagomorph, I have looked up our Dadda's and Maman's names, and here is what I have discovered:

Our Dadda's name, if translated from the language of his native Celts, would be "Angelface". Maman says that it fits, but Dadda says only she can see it. Dadda also says ennybunny who tries calling him "Angelface" who is not Maman is looking to try that famous Southern Inkwish Culinary Treat, The Knuckle-Butty (whutebber *that* is...)

Our Maman's name would be "Little-Girl-Named-After-Charlemagne" which would probably be more like "Little Empress" which more or less fits when you Fink about it for a little while, since she was an only child and everything.

And Our Phil means "Horse Lover" which means prob'ly nothing until you bemember that Maman's only love (until she met us bunnies) used to be horses, and she still would love to someday have a pony. And then it makes sense that she would give a name like that to her son, who she hoped would grow up to love animals. And it worked somewhat - Phil has Five Stoopit Catz, all of them Rescues.

So naming conventions amongst Hoomins do not actually vary much at all. In fact, they are very like the conventions observed by Lagomorphs and most other species. Names are Important!

Oh, and "George", well, it means "Farmer", someone who grows. And  that is Whut I Do: I am busy Growing 'Tellygint.

-------------------- By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 12:05 PM EDT

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Every now and then, you get disgusted with polly-ticians, you know?

Either they write the wrong laws that only benny-fit themselves or their friends, or else they're doing selfish things or running nasty 'lekshun campeigns to get Votes. Or sumfing.

And just when you fink they can't do ennyfing good, then along comes this Gov. Ed Rendell and his wife, Judge Marjorie Rendell to change up your mind.

They wanted anudder dog to be a Companion Animal to their five year-old dog, Ginger. So they 'dopted Maggie, a dog who was living in a shelter!

Yeah!

They rescued a dog! They gave a nice dog a Second Chance at having a Forever Home!

Now this Gov. Ed Rendell might not be the Best Polly-tician inna Werld, but he and his wife, Judge Marjorie Rendell, have their hearts in the Right Places!

And you get the feeling that Judge Marjorie Rendell is sorta the last judge that horrible-Michael-Vick-guy would want to come before, to hear whut his sentance was gonna be! As it is, he is gonna come before a Judge who hassa liddle fluff-ball obba doggie, and hoomins seem to be tired of making hextcuses for these over-paid sports-playing' barbarians.

You can read about Maggie and Ginger, the First Dogs of Pennsylvania in today's Philadelphia Inquirer by clicking here. 

And here is Bright Spot in Sports that I want to bring to your 'Tention! Not ALL Sports players are overpaid barbarians. There are sum Good Hoomins Who Play Wif Balls and wun of them is Chase Utley of the Philadelphia Phillies!

But Furst is the Bad Part of the story:

A nice lady was walking home frum somewheres in Philadelphia when she came upon a group of boys beating up a poor young boxer-cross puppy. They had thrown gasoline on it and set it on fire! As Maman says, "Bastards."

So ennyways, the lady scared off the boys and grabbed the poor puppy and called the Pennsylvaina SPCA for help.

Now please note that the SPCA is not a National Anti-Cruelty Enforcement Agency, although it should be! It is a private charity that runs strictly on donations and assistance frumma public! (That would be YOU.) Every SPCA is on it's own!

So ennyways, when this poor liddle puppy was brought into the PA-SPCA, Jennifer Utley, the wife of Phillies Second-baseman, Chase Utley, saw her and right away offered to take care of alla her v-e-t and re-hab bills, and offered a Reward for the capture and prosecution of the horrible hoomins who hurt this poor doggie!

You can read about this poor, young doggie at NBC10 here and here at the Philadelphia Inquirer. And you can read about the Pennsylvania SPCA by clicking here!

So here are Bright Spots in the Mid-Atlantic Metro-Area - the Rendells and the Utleys; one family is in polly-tics and the other is in professional sports, but both families are making a diffrence in Aminals' lives, by Adopting and Rescuing.

Of course, reg'lar hoomins 'dopt and rescue, too. Maman and Dadda rescued Alla Us Togedder from all over, and they rescued Both Catz and they Adopted Marc-the-Border-Collie from Rawhide Rescue.

So we come frum dif'frunt places, but the end result is the same: we have Forever Homes here at Our Warren.

So Dadda said we bunnies are 'spensive, so this week, Our Neighbour, Don, (who doesn't profess to like us bunnies!) gave Dadda two big tubs to grow stuff in, and Dadda went off to buy dirt. Maman can't qite see the need to *buy* dirt, not when the whole Back Gardin is entirely Made Outta Dirt, but Dadda was intent upon getting Really Good Dirt, which is better than the Dirt that is in the Back Gardin, which he says is Really Inferior Dirt.

So he went and bought two huge bags of Really Good Dirt and left them where Maman couldn't move them for a coupla'days.

And she told him she was tired of falling over them, and would he please do "sumfing" with them, besides leave them where she would be always falling over them.

So Dadda moved Mr Mouse, and got the Big Planters that Our Neighbour Don gave him and took alla that stuff out Onna Screen Porch.

So this was looking a lot like a Projekt, and all Projekts hab to be Supervised by AT LEAST One Dawg (Sekurity) One Cat (Bother) and Two-of-Us (Commentary).

So Dadda poured in the Really Good Dirt-Frumma-Bag. And it looked like pretty good dirt, as dirt goes. And he broke up all of the clumps, and got one of those little hand-rakes frum outta the Gardin Shed (as opposed to the Tractor Shed) and raked the Really Good Dirt-Frumma-Bag all over, so it was lying all nice and even inside of the planters Our Neighbor Don gave him, and then it was time to add Pooties.

Now Bunny Pooties are the BEST Fertiliser in the Werld. Full-Stop. You can't find better. Bunny pooties can be used straight frumma bunny, no composting needed, no lime needed - just pile them on, fresh frumma pottie-box. A bag-fulla bunny-pooties is like farmers' gold, lemme tell you.

So Dadda hadda fine selection of bunny pooties frum which to choose: MissyBun and I hadda large pan fulla medium-to-large pooties, nicely compacted by Missy sitting on them alla time into nice, solid bricks. Then Mr Mouse had a loose gathering of small, uniformly-shaped pooties - not as many (onna'count obba Fakt Maman had cleaned his litter-box out), but all of a similar size and shape deposited correctly in a neat pile in his Yesterday's News. Foxie had a similar pile of small, nicely shaped pooties, but she'd mixed them up with generous helpings of hay, in addition to the Yesterday's News, so that her pootie-box was fuller-than-it-shuld-have-been.

And then there was Dusty's pootie pan, and lemme tell you, that sucker was *full* of large, round pooties, loosely piled, just waiting to be emptied into sum Really Nice Dirt!

Now you have to unnerstand that Dusty is an Eating Machine. You feed herbs and lettuce leaves in one end and pooties come out the other. Feed in pellets and hay and out come more pooties. Maman says it's a fascinating process, almost as fascinating as MissyBun, this watching Wun Fing go in Wun End Obba-bunny and discovering SumFing-Else Atta-Udder-End-obba-Bunny.

So Dadda emptied alla Dusty's pootie-pan into into his Gardin Boxes, raked them over with more of the Really Nice Dirt and then put in Seeds that he had bought frumma Burpee Seed Place.

And he put on MORE Really Nice Dirt, raked that over and added Water.

Then he said to Us, "Hokay, that ought to hold You Buggers."

So Missy and I went to have a look at the Gardin Boxes out onna Screen Porch this morning.

And there's Nothing Going On!

There's just the Really Nice Dirt inna Gardin Boxes that Our Neighbour, Don, gave to Dadda, all raked over just the way Dadda left it yesterday aftanoon!

And nothing else. There's no lettuce, no parlsley, no dill, no baby organic carrots - nothing, except Really Nice Dirt, with Dusty's pooties unner'neath.

Oh, and our Bun Pen is around the Gardin Boxes. And Cokie was looking at the boxes and saying it wasn't worth his dragging his butt over the top obba Bun Pen to go dig inna Really Nice Dirt, either.

So there you have it - We all have talked it ober, and even the Catz say that the Gardin Boxes full of Really Nice Dirt are so far, preddy useless. Maman says for us to be patient. Missy hadda look and says mebbe the boxes need more pooties and put her paws up onna side ob Wun Box to look in, but like Cokie-the-Fat-Cat says, it's just not worth the effort to pull herself up into it.

So we're going to wait.

And see.

---------------- By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 9:40 AM EDT

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...And this is not to say that bunnies have anyfing against the Grand Idea of Trial by Jury!

Although we have nothing like it in Our Lore, it is as good an idea as any other and an improvement upon the hoomin concepts of Trial by Combat or Trial by Ordeal, lemme tell you. Maman has read us Lots of Hoomin History and under the Heading of "Stoopit Hoomin Ideas" the various Fings that pre-date Trial by Jury loom pretty large.

And I'm not saying that somebun should be "presumed guilty until proven innocent", either - although that is another hoomin legal concept that has had a certain historical track-record, too.

But whut I am saying is that when sumbun is accused of sumfing, they should have a Trial, not have alla this "plea" stuff, and lawyers wrangling, and "deals".

I will hextplain: 

There is such a Fing as "bending over backwards onna premise that it looks to be more than fair".  Unner the Hoomin Constitution Obba United States, a hoomin is given the Right to a Speedy Trial by (his) Peers. Well, all-righty then, this ball-playing hoomin who is accused (by his friends and relations) ob hanging and/or drowning his very own dogs (who trusted him!) should have his "speedy trial" - like Right Now.

Fortyget "plea bargaining", fortyget his "making a deal", just get going and have his Rights Respected and get going with his Trial. Everybun present their cases and let's see if he is Guilty or Not Guilty of Taking Eight Lives.

And *then* alla newspapers can speculate about his "future", and his "career" playing with a ball - if he still retains either!

But because he has aLotta munny, and because he can play with a ball - and Most of All, because he is hoomin! - he is getting Special Treatment, by being offered treats and goodies and lesser punishments if he will admit he hanged and drowned his very own dawgs, because there is the presumption of hoomin arrogance that states a Dawg's life is not as valuable as a hoomin's.

As I said yesterday, one hundred years ago the same thing was believed about  various other hoomins; in some (mainly Arabic) nations where slaves are bought and sold, it is still believed!

Yeah!

Anywhere slavery is still practiced, hoomins are counted amongst the rest of Us. Anywhere there is gender inequality, some hoomins are counted as "more equal than others".

Bunnies, however, reguard bunnies as bunnies - lop, uppy-eared, broken, chequered, or self-coloured we are all the same. There is no distinction amongst Giants, Swarves, Minis or Standards: We are Bunnies, 

And we are Allus Right. 

Hoomins *really* need to get over themselves!

Say What You Mean, and then Mean Whut You Say - or Truth-in-Packaging - would go a long way towards improving the hoomin condition, if you care to Axt-A-Bunny.  

• If you make a law to have Trial By Jury, then have a Trial By Jury.
• If you make a law to have a Speedy Trial-By-Jury, then have one without delaying to offer deals, threats, treats or tricks!
• And you cannot say that "life is sacred" unless you are prepared to mean *all* life - because life is life.

The Divine Spark that animates us all is the same gift from the same Giver! (And there are more reasons to Believe than there are not to do, thus is there Reason that begets Science, because Ignorance and Confusion are the hallmarks of evil.)

Maman says she is "struggling" with the Christian concepts of "Justice" and "Mercy". This means she is doing aLot of Reading again. Yesterday, Missy went to jump up on the sofa inna Sitting Room and began a Cascade of Books.

Yeah!

However, my MissyBun can luge with the best of them.

She began by riding "Jesus:The Mission and The Man" then transferred in mid-slide to to the larger, heavier "Clifton's Encyclopedia of Heresies and Heretics" and rode that down until it slammed into Cokie-the-Fat-Cat who was sort of dozing onna carpet. Then Cokie took off and tried to four-wheel it over the Dawg who was (as usual) clogging up the doorway. Of course, as soon as the Dawg felt Cat-claws struggling over-the-top ob him, he jumped up and headed South, downnaHallway and met Phil who was attracted uppaHallway by Maman's scream as Missy went over-the-side of the sofa...

Ennyways, as the Dawg was trying to ex-cape frum the Cokie-Cat (who was trying to ex-cape frum the Cascade of Books with MissyBun riding on top), he tried to squeeze between Phil's legs but since the Dawg was wearing Cokie-Cat as a passenger, this didn't work too well and there was lots of yelling of whut Dadda calls "Anglo-Saxon-isms" that Phil swears to Maman he learned inna Navy.

So Ennyways, Missy was fine, seeing as how she was only riding on a Book and hadn't fallen off the sofa at all. But Cokie-the-Fat-Cat had torn open the 25-pound bag of Purina Cat Chow just that morning and had eaten *lots*, so he threw up All Over the rug in Maman's Study... so he decided Whut He Really Needed To Do was to go Uppystairs and Comfort Eat. And Beep-the-Udder-Cat, not to be Left Out of all the Chaos, took it into her head to protest that the Not-Mechanical Cat-Litter Box was not full of enough litter, and so she left sumFing for Maman to clean up on the rug, as well.

And the Reason Phil was here so early was onna'count obba Fakt that he had been sleeping happily in his bed when his youngest kittycat, Lillie, decided that Whut She Really Wanted to do was to pull on a Window Blind. Well, she got Lucky, and snagged two of the buggers with wun claw, and both of them *snapped* right to the ceiling - letting in alla nice, bright, brilliant morning sunshine to glare directly into Phil's eyes!

So Phil was awake.

So he got up outta his bed, and went off toda Bafroom. Anna lid to his hoomin litter-bowl was down. And this was Not Good, because while he had been to sleep, his Senior Cat, KayCee-Kitty (who is the Queen and Empress of EveryFing Belonging-to-Phil) had torn open the Noo 25-pound bag of Purina Cat Chow, eaten more than Wun Small Empress could hold and thrown up the excess on top of his hoomin litter-bowl where there was no litter!

So Phil cleaned *that mess* up and then he said to his five kitties-all-lined-up-inna-row (which would be in order of Age and Rank: Empress KayCee Kitty, Toby-Left-Behind, Munchkin/Mischief, Lillie-Waif and Oscar-Ozzie,) "You know whut? I give up on you lot." and he drove over to Our Houz to find a Quiet Cup of Coffee.

Where he ran straight innu da Dawg, both Catz and Alla Us Togedder.

Now Long Ago, according to Our Lore (as I learned it frum me,Hunny, Senior Bun), Maman promised Dadda that when he married her he would never be bored. And he never has been. ...Truth-in-packaging, lemme tell you!

----------------------------- by George!

Posted by Our Warren at 11:03 AM EDT

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Because evil is real, and it is Out There, and it wears many faces and it will not go away in Our Time.

Of course, I do not want to write about evil. Who would? It is much better to type about happy things and happy times. It is more fun to amuse than to distress.

But evil is pulling a Trick and if I didn't type to you about it, I would be not Doing My Job as Top Bun in Our Warren.

In every Warren there are jobs. When Our Warren first came to our New Houz, we didn't need a Top Bun, because me,Hunny (Senior Bun) came with us. He was very old, but that didn't mean that he wasn't In Charge of the Warren - he was, and that was Hokay by Alla Us Togedder.

But then me,Hunny went on to the Rainbow Bridge, and since we all had Our Places in Our Warren, we didn't *need* a Top Bun.

But being *liked* isn't everything. Being popular and being Cute isn't everything.

Happiness is not a bag of Baby Organic Carrots and there is more to Life than Parsley and Dill.

So I have been reading Newspapers with Maman, and what I have discovered is this: evil is still alive and well.

There is a great evil that is confusing hoomins Right Now! It is All Over the newspapers, typed in columns yards long in the "Sports Pages" - There are hoomins who are worrying about - and writing about, and typing stories like-they-care-about! - the "future *career*" of someone whose friends say, "Look at me! I helped this man, my friend, drown and hang our very own eight dogs!"

And what does that hoomin - their "friend" (they admit it!) - do as a *career*?

He plays with a ball.

Our Dawg plays with a ball!

The men who have (by their own admission) hanged and drowned their very own dawgs get paid millions of dollars in munny.

Our Dawg plays with his ball for Milk-Bone Dog Biscuits.

The men who have - by their own admission! - hanged and drowned their very own dogs (who trusted them!) are watched on tellyvision by millions of hoomins.

Our Dawg is happy to be watched by Maman and Dadda, and Phil-the-Lad, and Alla Us Togedder, and sumtimes by Our Neighbour, MaryBeth and her two Dawgs, Lilly and Penny.

The men who have - by their own admission! - hanged and drowned their very own  dogs (who no doubt trusted them, because they had no choice!) called their home their "Bad Newz Kennel" - (truth-in-packaging so far as the dawgs there were concerned!).

Our Dawg calls his home his "pack", his natural place to be - and knows he is safe here.

Yet the hoomins who make the Rools regarding Playing With Balls On Tellyvision are willing to "wait and see" and are willing to "presume innocense" while this man, whose friends admit their guilt, "bargains" for his "future" to play with a ball.

What is wrong here? Is it not enough that eight lives are gone from the world? Is it because this man can play with a ball, (and Our Dawg plays better because he is twice the hoomin's age and still going strong!), that he is being treated like he is special? Is it because he is hoomin, he is being treated like he is special?

Because - lemme tell you - if this man was a dawg, and he had taken away eight lives, it wouldn't matter if he could play ball or not, hoomins would take away his life - would they not?

Am I equating a Dawg's life to the Life of a Hoomin?

Lookit, some hoomins cannot accept that.

• One hundred years ago, some hoomins could not accept that female hoomins had souls.
• Less than one hundred years ago, some hoomins could not accept that hoomins who looked different from them had souls.

Hoomins will learn what we Bunnies have known since the Dawn Of Time: We Are All Creations; We All Come frum the Same Architect of the Universe, so a Part of Him is Inside of Us All.

Evil does not like that there is One God and it is not It. Evil is less than God (evil got to choose, after all) and misery likes company, so evil will continue to try and confuse the Issue of Good vs. itself. It is in it's interests to do so. But it is hoomins' choice to see the Path By Which They Tread.

And hoomins can choose: to make excuses for evil (and believing that they are being good by so doing - because "after all, a man is innocent until proven guilty") or believing what is before their eyes: taking life is wrong.

I do not know how it can be Right.

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

Posted by Our Warren at 12:55 PM EDT

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Some things are passed up from the grass-nest nurseries through the tunnels, and out through burrows into the green living-world beneath the blue-sky. Much of it is silly chit-chiat, I hear, the same much of a muchness of chitter and and gruff heard all over the planet when critters are all waking up Togedder Atta Very Same Momint. And we really do rise togedder, or else get stpped on, or shouldered around, or darted across, or rolled over, or have something else done to us that makes getting more sleepy-time out of the Question.

But it is just when you are at your most exasperated, when you are cross and don't want to talk to ebbybun ennymore, an just go off by your onliest to be by yourself, when Sumbunny latches on to you and says,

"Come eat wif me dis day."

Now this invitation isn't so bad, Some of these Elderbuns are quite sharp about bememebering where all best food happens to be. They are the ones addicted to long aftaNonnwalks, and who have time to sit and sniff the evening air to get a fix on a delicious smell. It's a good idea to follow them, beause they might givve you permission to ome back again sometime. They might even invited you to becoe a  curatory at their patch. A good, quiet, amicable bunny with a good head, can set himself up for a life-time of treats this way, if he can listen to storyiesm and stay away from the roughhousing and chasing in which young-bun usually engage,

So when one of these Old Bun asks me to go along with them, I go. I am quiet, ennyways and I like learning almost as much as I like listening.

So the Sernior Bun and I saw a picture of a bunch of men standing around with big trucks and equipment.

"We do not tunnel into Moustains as these hoomins do, not nearly so deep."

And that was preddy much the Truth.

"And if someone gets stuck in a burrow, we dig them out, if they havn't dug themselves out already. Most rabbits dig themselves out if they are't hurt. But this is down far down below the mountain and the mountain is alive."

Maman had left out sum nice Hay for us, along with sum Romaine, and we fell to munching, quietly.

"And the mountain is shrugging it's shoulders, and popping its seams and raining rocks and collapsing the tunnels on the hoomins, even as they dig."

And I said it was terrible. Because it is.

And the Senior Bunny continued. "And they are talking that they must close the mine before anybunny else is hurt."

"Even if there are people down there who are alive?" I asked.

"No one knows one way or the other."

"But there has to be a way to know."

"Maman bemembers a long time ago that once there was a mine being dug out near where her Grandfather lived in Western Pennsylvania, a mine collapsed. And miners were trapped. And there was no way to get to them. And no one knew if they were dead or alive down inside that hole in the mountain."

"And what happined?" I asked.

The Senior Bun shook his loppy ears, the tips of them swaying gently back and forth with the rhythmn of his head.

"Maman says she bemembers that they closed the mine up. She went to see it with her Grandfather - he was a minister and was to bless it like a shrine, and she could hardly believe it. Because there was the gree countryside, all dotted with wild daisies, and the sun shining down, and the water running through the little creeks, and then there was a hill, half of it torn away. And just near-by, was a plat place in the dirt, with more dirt heaped up on it, and a mound of field-flowers and florists' banner or two, fluttering in the breeze. And the words on the banners were picked out in blue glitter and she remembered thinking to herself how crass and cheap the glitter looked on a grave-site.

"And Maman said that she felt it was all very strange and she wondered how she was supposed to behave, so she stood right in the back of the crowd and watched what her Granddaddy did.

"Her Granddaddy had a three-piece suit and a gold watch and chain, and so did some other men who were standing off to one side, but most of the men had brown suits or weren't wearing suits and most of the women were wearing what Maman had been taught to call 'housedresses'. It felt strange, but Granddaddy said was all they had because miners are very poor."

And Maman still wonders, the Senior Bunny told me that Maman still wonders how ennybunny knows when to stop digging and when to continue digging. How do they know when to cover the land over, call in the priests, and say prayers and commend souls to God? Who descides? Who tells the others and why do they obey them?

How do hoomins decide when all Hope is gone?

 
-------------------------------- by George

 

Posted by Our Warren at 7:16 PM EDT

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Well, you know, here I am with my mouth full of Salad again.

Isn't it nice?

MissyBun says all food is nice.

Dill is nice, Argula is nice, Cilantro is very nice; Mint is espcially nice when it comes with the lavender-coloured flowers attached, and Romaine lettuce, even the pale green parts nearest the core, aren't at all bad! And pellets are nice when you can pry them out of Maman (who has been miserly with them of late, for reasons unknown, but probably has to do with us having been at the v-e-t's!) and of course, fresh, fragrant Hay is totally wunnerful, as are ALL kinds of Froot.

Yes, Food is very, very nice!

And so here am I, George, with my mouth full, little prehensile lips reaching for more, and Maman says to me,

"Hey George, read this!"

So I got myself lifted up into her lap, set my paws on Dadda's Desk (Onna'count of-the-Fakt that Maman's 'Puter is still lying in pieces on her Study floor) and here is THIS editorial in today's Telegraph Online Edition!

It is about how hoomin women who are middle-aged are now werried about being skinny. Did you know that there are women who are starving themselves in the midst of plenty?

So I axted myself, "Why?"

And Maman said, "They are afraid."

And that didn't make much sense to me, so I hopped offa Maman's lap and went over to the futon where MissyBun was eating Romaine to axt her.

"So, howcome hoomins are so concerned about not eating when they got alla this food?"

And Missy looked at me. "Whut? Sumfing's wrong wiffa food?"

"Nope. Maman said they are afraid."

Missy's ears came up and sort of together as she frowned.

Now I know there are hoomins who say that bunnies do not frown because we do not have the facial muscles to frown with, or the brains to be capable of producing frown-inducing thoughts - which just says to me that these hoomins have never lived with HouseRabbits and have no practical hextperience with us. It seems to me that, no matter whut the Truth happens to be, there is always some ivy-encrusted tower-dweller who insists (in print) to know better and has secured a government grant in order to publish it abroad. And they all seem to cherish the hope of meeting Oprah - live, on-air, in front of millions - so they can demonstrate their ignorance on a grand scale.

But bunnies *do* frown, lemme tell you!

So Missy frowned, tore off anudder chunk of Romaine, and said, "That is so stoopit, it's skerry. Next off, sumbun will say it's a "syn-rome" and they'll all allow themselves to be herded off to a "re-hab" in order to hab more obbit."

And I was, like, "Whut?"

And Missy went on, "It's wike alla dis stuff I read about dis Brit-chik, you know? She gets innu trubble, den goes innu sumplace called 're-hab' and comes out to hab the same trubble all ober again. Dat's why it is called 're-hab' - so you can hab whutebber you had furst ob all, and hab it a sekond or fird or forf time and not be blamed for it. You can just say, 'I bin to re-hab' and so it's all hokay, or else sumbun sends you to 're-hab' so you can go ahead and hab it all ober again."

And I thought about this and it sounded just about right. There are lots of news articles about hoomins going into and out of "re-hab" so it really does seem like that's the place hoomins go to get out of having to deal with the consequences of whatever they've done.

"But how," I axt Missy. "Does this have ennyFing to do with not eating when there is lots to eat?"

And Missy grabbed a stem of Dill and began sucking it in, longways. "Because it's anudder way of making something that is Bad seem to be Good. Everybun knows that Starvation is Bad, but if you are rich, successful, middle-aged, and have everything, then you do it and it becomes Good. It's wike they are sayin',  'Oh wook at ME! I am rich and hab ebberyfing, so now I'm gonna Starve myself so *ebberybun* will notice ME!' Only hoomins could fink dat up, lemme tell you."

And Missy stopped long enough to grab a sprig of Mint. "Wookit yestidday." She went on, munching a large leaf. "Unkul Peter got up at six o'clock inna morning to go reskue a bunny-inna-cage dat was axtchually starvin', right?"

And I said, "Right." because I had heard Maman talking to Uncle Peter last night on the tellyphone, and that's what they had been talking about.

"Hokay." Said Missy. "So whut do you fink dat poor bunny did when Unkul Peter got it safely toda North Georgia House Rabbit Society Bunny Shelter?"

"Um," I guessed. "Had salad?" (Because I know Unkul Peter. He is a rilly soft-touch who hands out treats and salad like he has the key to the produce department at the local supermarket! You should have been here while he was visiting! It was great, rilly great!)

"You betcha." Said Missy. "Whin Maman wnt to gedda drink ob wadder, I talked to Sheeba and she told me alla'bout it. Da poor, starving bunny who was left behind by stoopit, cruel hoomins wif no way ob getting food for herself was so hungry dat she ate ebberyfing dat was put in frunt ob her - salad, pellets, and 'specially alla fresh hay she could stuff in. Because she was thin all rite - thin and cobbered in ticks and fleas - but she wasn't all proud ob herself for being thin. She was starving! And you fink for Wun Momint dat she cared whut udder bunnies thought about how she wooked? No way! All she cared about was habbin' enuf food to stay alive. Anna folks atta North Georgia House Rabbit Society gave her food and she ate it because she knew 'zactly whut it was like to be left behind and be genuinely hungry. She knew dat it was Bad. And dat is whut da hoomins are missing!"

"Dat being left behind and starving is bad." I said.

Missy nodded. "Dat starvation obba body begins wif starvation obba spirit. OnAlone is terrible, which is why we bunnies make such a fuss aboudd'it. Nobunny shuld ebber be left OnAlone. Not ebber."

"So," I ventued, "You're saying that alla these hoomins who are starving themselves when alla this food is alla'round them have been left OnAlone?"

MissyBun nodded. "It's part of this 're-hab' fing. 'Re-hab' is just anudder way ob leavin' ebberybun OnAlone to hab alla dis stuff all ober again wif nobunny caring enuf to stay wif dem to stop da cycle ob OnAlone. Sumtimes I fink dat hoomins need to be 'dopted as much as bunnies, only they won't do it. Now if hoomins wuld allow themselves to be 'dopted innu proper warrens, well, it mite make a dif'frence."

So I grabbed a hunk of Romaine and tore off some. Chewing does help you Fink!

And I Fink dat MissyBun might be right - that this "re-habbing" of Fings might not be a good idea at all, that it might be a way of trying to make Bad Fings seem to be Good Fings, so that even OnAlone can seem like a Good Fing when we Bunnies all know that OnAlone is the worst Fing that can befall ennybunny. Maybe 'doption into a stable, kind Warren is the only way to end OnAlone - for EveryBun!

But I don't know. This is a Huge Discussion, maybe, and Huge can be scary when you are used to allus being prey. Maybe we're just getting Started with it, and we need to talk aboudd'it with very many dif'frunt voices.

But one Fing I do know: Belinda was right! NoBunny must ever be OnAlone!

----------------------------- By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 9:09 AM EDT

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Good Morning!

I had trouble accessing The Hay Diaries yesterday, so there wasn't an entry (for which I apologise).

Was it Dadda's 'Puter and Maman not getting along? Could be. She called it enough Bad Names to make it never want to type for her ever again when she couldn't get into The Hay Diaries the Furst Time. The Fing is, she has a Rilly Short Fuse when she is werking on the 'Puter, especially if it is not Her 'Puter (which she pretends to Unnerstand).

Lucky for her (and by extension, me) the parts to fix her 'Puter are sus'posed to be here by This Evening.

Yeah!

So, Ennyways, this morning, she and I were reading The Telegraph Online Edition Newspaper, just like she always did when she lived in England. And we found this article about a Tea Room in Brighton,  that began a conversation between Maman and Dadda.

The Tea Room, which is named "The Tea Cosy" is owned by two men named David Daly and James Green, and they have Established Rules of Etiquette for those who wish to patonise their establishment. The Rules state plainly: no cell-phones in the tea rooms, no dunking biscuits (hoomins' treats), keeping elbws off the table (I have heard Maman Speak to Phil and SistaBeth about this!), hold your tea-cup and saucer properly, and do not speak insultingly of Her Majesty, The Queen or other members of the Royal Family.

(MissyBun says that this "not speaking insultingly" should extend to her, as well, and she will look into how "one" has this kind of "Rool" written into a "Code of Behaviour".

I told her "Good Luck with that." and she told me I should mind my own business about learning Top Bunning and she would mind Hers. Just so you know how *that* went.)

So Maman read this article out-loud to Dadda and he said, "Good luck to them! I would go there."

And Maman said, "I agree, although some people are calling them 'Tea Nazis' because they feel insisting upon a Code of Etiquette is restrictive."

"I hope their place is heaving." Said Dadda. "Just wall-to-wall. And that those fellows make a mint."

"It says here that if you order coffee, the waiter will show you to the door and point out the three near-by 'Starbucks'." Said Maman. "As he should do. Imagine the nerve of some idiot ordering coffee in a tea room. Stupid people. It says here that one guy banged his head because he was using his cell-phone beneath the table when the owner came in."

"Serves him right." Said Dadda. "People need manners."

"I used to have manners before I married you." Maman went on, flipping through the article with the mouse-pointer thingy. "My coffee table in Waddington never had a thing on it so I could serve tea instantly. I always brewed tea in a pot, and used proper cups. It's only since I returned to the States that I've dropped that like a live grenade. My Grandmother would have said I should have trained you better."

And Dadda made snorty noises into his Big Blue Tea Vat. "I don't train." he said.

And Maman said, "Yes you do, and I have let you get away with murder. You drink tea out of an over-sized cup."

"I've been doing that for ages." Said Dadda, setting his vat down on the floor beside the futon where he was reading.

Over across the room, Cokie-the-Fat-Cat stuck his head up and looked. So did Beep-the-Udder-Cat from where she was sitting in the doorway to Maman's Study, where she was being watched by Da Dawg, who was in Herding Mode this morning. I stretched out full-length on the futon and looked down over the side into the vat. This was because we all knew the same Fing at the same Time: Dadda's tea-cup had four spoon-fulls of sugar in it and it was on the floor now, within reach of four-foots!

And of course, food-stealing is Not Legal. You can axt ennybunny and they will tell you that. However, Search and Recovery *can* be, if you can get away with that. The Rules are not Certain and sumtimes you can manage the Recovery part and sumtimes you can't. A lot of it depends on Dadda's mood at the moment he catches you and how good your Cute is going when that moment comes.

So Cokie gave a preliminary "Chirp" and started across the floor wearing his "Innerested" look. So he got to within claiming distance of the Big Blue Cup before ennybunny else. 

"What would you have done in my Grandmother's house, then?" Asked Maman. "Because she would have given you regular-sized tea-cups and had the pot served, with a chinz cosy and sugar tongs, too."

"I would have done however she wanted." Dadda replied.

"Yes, well, I've let you get away with having that horrible one-pint vat." Said Maman.

"I've been drinking out of this cup," Said Dadda. "For more years than I can count, even before being married to you, dear."

"Yes and well, I should never have let it into the house."

And there was Cokie-the-Fat-Cat, sitting with his paws in front of him, and his head extending outwards towards Dadda's cup as far as he could extend it. And I was looking down, over the side of the futon, and so was Missy. And also, by this time, Da Dawg had figgered out that sumfing was going on behind him, so he was looking over his shoulder with his 'Lert Look on, trying to figure out what was so "Inneresting" to Cokie, and keep an eye on Beep (who was also looking over Da Dawg's shoulder) at the same time.

It is very inneresting to watch a collie-dawg try to get their eyes to go in two different directions at the same time.

"If I had started training you in the beginning," Maman said, "I would never have let that tea-vat into the house. And I would have kept the coffee table clear so that I could serve tea in an instant, and not followed the American convention of using it as some kind of display table for useless ornaments. A coffee table should have nothing more on it than a pane of clear glass that can be easily wiped up in case of spills. It is a serving piece *only* and not a display piece. If I had started you out that way, you would be trained by now; I have only myself to blame that we don't have proper tea all the time."

"But I have always had these big cups." Protested Dadda.

"And you shouldn't. In Waddington, I didn't have a beaker in the house. Not one. Now I seem to have thousands. The bloody things reporduce on their own in the cupboards. And look at me - I drink coffee - brewed coffee! I never used to do that. If I wanted coffee, I drank instant, like a proper English woman."

And by that time, Cokie-the-Fat-Cat was well into "Recovery", with his head stuck into Dadda's tea-cup - which is big enough to swallow Cokie's whole head. And Missy and I (who were looking overboard from the futon) could hear the lap-lap-lap of his little, pink tongue.

And right about that very same moment, Beep-the-Udder-Cat (who is admittedly slow on the uptake) finally figured out that Cokie was "recovering" Hoomin Food (a subject that always innerested her, even though she rarely joined in), shot past Da Dawg (who was trying his level best to look in two directions at one and the same time - and failing) and bounded to a halt at the bottom of the futon.

Which made Da Dawg turn-and-bolt in the same way for which Border Collies are justly famous the werld over, but since he did it in such a narrow space, he banged his butt into the door between Maman's Study and Dadda's Office, and riccocheted offa the book-case, came careening into the Office and somehow managed to fetch up next to Dadda's tea-cup.

So, of course, Dadda looked down and noticed Cokie with his head in Dadda's tea cup and his little, pink tongue going like mad in Full Recovery Mode.

And Cokie was so absorbed in his Recovery that he did not have his Cute on at all!

And Dadda reached down over the side of the futon and smacked the Cokie-the-Fat-Cat-head with the flat of his hand and said, "Whack-a-mole! Get out of there, cat!"

And Cokie came up spluttering with a whole face full of tea. And he swore at Da Dawg as he went by and took a swipe at Beep and went to sulk unner'neaf of the table in the corner.

But he spent the next hour or so cleaning tea-with-four-tea-spoons-of-sugar off his face while niether Da Dawg or Beep had enny. Which goes to show you...sumfing.

And Maman said to Dadda, "See? That cat has no manners. No etiquette. And that would never have happened if you had trained him right."

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

Posted by Our Warren at 7:53 AM EDT

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It is hard to type with your mouth full - and having two large salads a day is keeping my mouth full! MissyBun's mouth is also full, which as certain advantages for the Beginning Top Bun. Usually, she is Full of Advice that she is very Gen'rus about sharing with me, but lately she has been Full of Salad, instead, which has done a lot toward Keeping the Peace, not to mention Keeping Her Cleaner In The Long Run.

At enny rate, Fings, in Gen'ral would be going Great, except for-the-Fakt that I am not using Maman's 'Puter, but am having to type on a Strange 'Puter, amely Dadda's, onna'count of-the-Fakt that Maman's Ceased-To-Exist right after Phil left the other night.

I refuse to speculate. Uh-huh. No way. Not gonna do it. Nope.

And now Phil says it Needs Parts - a New Video Card, a New Something-Else-Board, and of course, Phil's all-time, favourite passion, RAM. He seems to be of the pursuasion that if Maman has a RAM port, it *must be filled!* and that's that. Sort of like, if you have room for an extra habitat, you have to adopt a bunny to put in it, that's how Phil thinks of empty RAM sockets: they *must* be filled! So he's ordered some RAM for Maman who already has more RAM than most mortals ever use.

But this means that her 'Puter is perched dark and silent on her desk and the only one alive is Dadda's in his office, with his chair in which I Don't Fit. 

So as soon as Dadda left in-the-car to go to Certified, Maman got busy and dragged her chair outta her office and into Dadda's, and got her fan outta her office and installed it into Dadda's and opened some windows to let in some breezes, and got Fings to where we, Missy, Maman and Me, could get some Useful Work Done, even if we were Making Do With What We Had.

Maman also got herself some coffee and brought some salad for Missy and me.

Fings aren't *too* bad. I mean, we have a futon, even if it smells of Catz because this is where Beep-the-Udder-Cat likes to sleep when there are Sunbeams. However, it's cloudy out today, with a promise of Thunderstorms, so there are no sunbeams for Beep - just us taking up her normal space. And da Dawg is still stuck on the floor, but Maman gave him some Cat Kibble to eat, so he's happy.

It doesn't take much to make a dawg happy.

And Maman has had to rebuild a "Favourites" of alla her and my Newspaper Websites, mostly frum memory, mainly *her* memory, which being pretty old, isn't so good. So we have only read three or four newspapers this morning, instead of the seven or ten we usually read. And the few that we have read, we haven't read too closely.

But what we Have Read, is mostly Bad News, I am sorry to report. And since I don't report Bad News in The Hay Diaries, I'm not about to report any of what we read about so far today.

And my mouth is full, besides. I got Romaine here, and some fresh Dill from Hunny's Our Warren Memorial Rose and Herb Gardin that's right outside of the Bun Room Memorial Stained Glass Window. And I have some Curly Parsly, and a heap of Williamsburg Heritage Peppermint to aid in digestion, and some Baby Organic Carrots and One Grape Tomato from Missy's Expelled Tomato Vine.

You got to admit, that most hoomins do not have Expelled Tomato Vines! But we do, and Dadda figures that it is at least twelve feet long, and all from ONE seed that Missy must have swallowed whole and then expelled into a pootied, that got spread on the Gardin in the Spring. Where it germinated and took root. And Growed. And became a full-grown tomato-plant because Maman and Dadda couldn't believe it was axtchually growing in the Gardin in the First Place!

And now it has blossoms and blooms and chains of little, tiny grape tomatoes on it that are getting ripe, one-atta-time in the hot August sunshine!

So I ate half of the one that I was given and left the rest for Missy, onna'count-of-the-Fakt that I don't really like tomatoes ennyways. As soon as I get to any seeds, I stop eating them and leave them for Missy who inhales the rest of them.

Which is how Dadda is pretty sure that the tomato vine plant in the Gardin was Expelled by MissyBun, as she is the only HouseBunny who eats tomatoes with the seeds included.

So there is Another Case of Making Do: you take what you are given and make Something out of It, Somehow. Other hoomins call this "Recycling" and make a Big Deal out of it, and treat it like it is a New Idea they just had, but every time that you use something in a New Way, Making Do instead of buying something new, you are "Recycling" or whatever they want to call it.

It's like when you take the net bag your onions came in, cut off the metal clip and thread some string through the openings and then put your stockings and delicate stuff inside so you can throw it into your washing machine.

And sometimes people are like, "Ooooo! That's so clever!"

And as Maman says, "No it's not 'Clever'. It's simple logic: Net-plus-Bag-Equals-Netbag, or, expressed mathymatikally," (And she stresses that word for udder hoomins!) "N-plus-B-equals-NB. Okay?" and she rolls her eyes (she says) because she is not an Engineer.

Phil, on-the-udder-paw, who is an Engineer, says you can mend a liddle hole in rubber gloves with the fire on the end of a match and your finger. Make the rubber soft with the heat from the match, and close up the little hole. The glove is fixed for quite awhile.

This isn't rocket science.

Don't buy New, Make Do.

Our Dadda, who is Another Type of Engineer, says that Farmers have the right Ideas: they grow things, like Salad and don't always DriveTheir Cars to the market to Buy Stuff. He says that it takes less effort to Grow Stuff than it takes Energy to Drive the Car, and that we can Learn to Grow Almost Ennywheres. So he is buying Seeds and a Coupla Bags for the Screen Porch.

So while we wait for Maman's 'Puter to be fixed, she isn't going to get a new one. She is going to be using Dadda's. It isn't set up for her, so there won't be Pictures and Graphics and stuff, but there will still be the Words Frum Me, and that's Whut This Blog Is About: Werds Frum Me, George-the-Bun.

And we're Making Do!

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

Posted by Our Warren at 7:43 AM EDT

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Yesterday, I posted a link to the Humane Society of the United States from the Philadelphia Daily News and I think they got it wrong, which made me get it wrong. The HSUS main web-page is here.  So that's my CORRECTION. And I'm not afraid to admit it!

And, so far as New Good News goes, I found this article, this morning, in The Telegraph Online. It is about Kangaroos getting moved insted of killed *binky!* This is very Good News! Please click on This to read the story!

Anytime hoomins take the time and trouble to hear the Voice of the Voiceless, I, George, will try to type about it in The Hay Diaries!

Maman has gotten out all of her books frumm when she was a Little Girl for Our Granddaughter, Anya. So we have a whole new shelf of book from Fifty Years ago! Maman's Grandmothers bought many of these books for her, mostly as a way of Improving Her Mind. There are books in French and Spanish, and a whole lot of Books Frum England with huge pictures in soft colours. A lot of these books have pictures of bunnies in them. Yeah!

And some of the books are even older than Maman. These are the books that belonged to her Father, who was Our Bim. These are mostly odd books with names like "The Rimskittle Books" and "Literature for Little Lads" and "Prayers for Children" and "The Brimful Book". One of these books feature baby farm animals wearing ribbons and bows. Then there is one really BIG book called, "A Boy's King Arthur" with heroic pictures of knights and beautiful horses all painted by a guy named Howard Pyle. There is another book called "The Just So Stories" and one called "A Child's Garden of Verses".

And there is a whole set of books with only line drawings by somebun named "A.A. Milne" that are about a plush bear named "Winnie-the-Pooh". The four books are "Winnie-the-Pooh", "The House At Pooh Corner", "Now We Are Six" and a very skinny book in Maman's handwriting called, "Winnie-Ille-Pooh" that's written in some foreign language. She says it was a "project".

Maman says she is going to read alla these books to Anya as soon as she is big enough to sit on Maman's lap and Pay Attention. According to Maman reading to a small hoomin helps to Improve The Mind. Right now, she is getting into Practice by reading to MissyBun and me. This morning, we heard a story about Kanga and Roo from the "Winnie-the-Pooh" book. I'm not exactly sure what we were s'sposed to do with this new information about a Mother kangaroo and her baby, Roo, but we listened (more or less) and so that was pretty much that. 

There are days around here when it's not real plain what's expected of you as a houserabbit. Sometimes *being* is enough and sometimes, there's more to it.

Like when Maman finishes a story, and she says, "The End." and closes the book and looks expectantly at you.

And it's like, Um, well. Uh, okay! The End!

And we all sort of sit together on the futon, looking at each other and waiting.

And then Maman says, "Well! Wasn't that a nice story?"

And MissyBun is like, "Um, yeah. Great."

And I'm like, "Yeah! And so..."

And Missy is like, "I gotta ged down now..." and she kind of balances on the edge of the futon, sort of teetering back and forth on her big back feets, because the futon is sort of high off the floor section while Missy is sort of heavier in the rear-sections than she is in the front.

And so Maman reaches over to help Missy down off the futon and on to the floor.

And Missy says as she gets down and hops off toward the Catz' pootie-box, "Great story. We'll have to do this again sometime. Like not now."

And Maman is like, "Yes. I know. You and George - got places to go..."

And I'm off, whuffling amongst the pillows on the other side of the futon, about as far away from Maman as I can get without being rude, and I say, "People - bunnies - to meet. Stuff to do..."

"Salads to eat." Missy says meaningfully from her place on top of the Catz' litterbox.

And I look up at the plush bunnies Maman has stacked on the back of the futon. She's got a whole 'nuther warren that has no scent seated up there, as well as a whole warren-full of Stone Rabbits That Have No Smell out in the Garden.

"I have never, " I add, "Met a salad I didn't like."

And Maman starts looking thoughtful. She is beginning to get a *Thing* about bringing home inannimate bunnies, and sort of forgetting that while the inannimate bunnies don't eat salad, WE do, and on a Regular Basis...

"I guess I'd better go get your salads." Says Maman, suddenly, pulling herself up off the futon.

And off she goes, Downnastairs, leaving Missy and me for Dadda to carry down.

So, you see, someBunny has got to start supervising her. Before she gets too many of these plush and stone rabbits-without-scents, as she's already done with the books, and starts crowding out the Our Regular Warren, which would be Us...

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

Posted by Our Warren at 10:54 AM EDT

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So Maman and I were reading the Newspapers this morning and here is some Good News that we found in the Philadelphia Daily News! (It's from Dan Gross' gossip column and you can view the entire column here).

Here is the Good News:

Local actor loves animals
Upper Dublin High graduate John Tartaglia, who starred in "Avenue Q" on Broadway and formerly did puppeteering for "Sesame Street," has become a spokesman for the Humane Society of the United States' Proud 2 Adopt campaign. The actor now lives in New York. For more on the program, visit humanesociety.org/adopt.

And here, from the online magazine of the Washington Post, Slate.com, comes this inneresting bit of Good News, this time aboudda Professional Baseball Player, Ichiro Suzuki of the Seattle Mariners:

...he divulged that a key advisory role in deciding to remain in Seattle was played by his dog Ikky. "He said, 'Woof, woof, woof,' which meant, 'Stay, stay, stay,' " Suzuki told reporters in Japanese. "Of course, I listened." (Read the whole newsstory.)

So here we have Good News about an actor who starred on Broadway and did puppeteering on television, and a member of a Professional Sports Team who are speaking up for companion animals! What a great change from alla Bad News we keep hearing about famous people like that cruel football player (who shall remain nameless in my blog!) who is under federal indictment.

In my opinion, any guys who listen to their Dawgs or who support pet adoptions are guys I want to be role models for young people!

Just the other day, I was watching the News on Tellyvishion with Maman and I saw one of our Local Earthwatch Weather Team, Dave Warren, get down on the ground to play with a Dawg! Yeah! He was doing a feature called "Backyard Weather" and the Dawg just happened to be there, but, still, getting down onna ground to play with the Dawg was a Good News kind of thing that I am happy to report in The Hay Diaries. You can see Dave on NBC10 in the Philadelphia area and read about him on the station's website.

Of course, there should be more HouseRabbits on NBC10! Yeah!

Maman and Dadda have noticed that there are Grape Tomatoes growing in Hunny's Our Warren Memorial Herb and Rose Gardin.

Dadda went outside last night to rip out all of the weeds that were around them, and to count how many blossoms there were and how many blossoms were turning into tomatoes. Maman went outside with her basket to cut some Williamsburg Heritage Peppermint for Our Salad.

The thing that gets me is that Dadda is very proud of these tomatoes. You'd think that he had sumfing to do with planting them, but he didn't. He only noticed that they were there a couple of weeks ago when he called Maman over and asked her Whut Kind Of Weed Was Growing In The Garden.

Maman said, "Those aren't weeds. Those are tomato plants."

And then she looked at Dadda and said, "So when did you plant those?"

And Dadda looked at her and said, "I thought you did."

And she shook her head, and so they pondered over that for a little while.

And then MissyBun nudged me with her shoulder and said, "Hey. Bemember lastest year whin Maman gabe me dose stoopit widdle maters to eat?"

And I said, "Uh huh."

And Missy went on, "Well, I swallowed summa dose seeds, whole."

And we looked at each other.

And MissyBun looked at me and her eyes got really wide, and then she blinked and said, "Ya fink?" 

And just then, Maman and Dadda came in from the Garden and Dadda was saying to Maman, "So what I think happened was that the seeds must have passed right through Missy, and when we spread the pooties out over the Garden, they germinated and now..."

And Maman laughed and began to sing in her "Barry Manilow" voice, "Looks like to-may-toes!"

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

Posted by Our Warren at 10:18 AM EDT

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I told you that today marks a New Beginning in The Hay Diaries blog! I, George, am now a Grown Up Bunny, with 'Pinions and Observations all my own!

And now I am going to use my space to tell you about alla Good News and stuff that I find inna Newspapers, and alla the other things that I Fink about all day long!

So One of the Things About Which I have Finked, is about this guy named Boris.

Now Boris is Boris Johnson and he wants to be Mayor of London in England, which is where my Dadda used to live (so now you know why I care about *this* subject!). Boris doesn't want to be Lord Mayor - which means he would be like Dick Whittington, and wear a chain around his neck and a funny hat and walk in ceramonial processions, but a Real Mayor, as in a politician who does work and such-like for the people who live in the City.

There has only been a Mayor of London since Tony Blair decided to modernise the place when he built it a Ferris Wheel.

And around about that time, this guy named Ken Livingstone got elected to be Mayor and keeps "getting returned" as my Dadda says, which means that the people of London can't get rid of him.

Enter Boris, whose real name is Alexander, but he likes the name Boris which is his second name. He is an author, politician and all-around 'Tellygint person.

One of the big problems facing London today is that there are too many cars on streets not meant to have cars. Let's face it, most cities were built long before people had cars, and most streets were made for people to walk through and live in, not drive down.

Now too many people have cars that they think are mobile extensions of their personal space and they refuse to share that space with anybun else.

But do you realize that having a car increases your personal space at least six times, and makes it able to move more than sixty times it's normal forward speed?

Just who do you fink you are that you deserve to have six times your normal personal space?

So ennyways, Boris has had an answer for this for a long time - he rides a bicycle! I think this, alone, qualifies him to be the Mayor of London for the following reasons:

1. It shows he's not too proud to get in there with the normal traffic and fight for his regular space in it.
2. It shows he's brave enough to go toe-to-toe with a bendy-bus and come out ahead!
3. It shows he knows how to save money on petrol ("gas" for the 'Murricans).
4. It shows he's humble enough to splash through the puddles of life with the rest of us.
5. It shows he's smart onna'count obba Fakt that he isn't paying high prices to park an inannimate object.

So what we got here is a guy who wants to be Mayor, who has been putting his actions into words long before he even signed up to be an elected official! You gotta take a guy like this seriously! But even better, you gotta elect him while you got the chance. Real, honest characters who are 'Tellygint and Innerestin' don't come along everyday!

So you can check out Boris at http://www.boris-johnson.com/!

And another thing that I been finking about are the Floods that are happening in England, that everybun is going around saying are happening onna'count ob "Global Warming".

Well, the last time that the area around the Avon, Severn and Upper Thames flooded this bad was back in 1937, and it was "this bad" as in As Bad As It Is Now.

So whut I want to know is this: did the flooding back in 1937 happen onna'count obba Fakt ob "Global Warming", too, or was that just a result obba "normal" flooding that seems to happen in that area every Hunnert Years or so?

Because I have a feeling that alla this Media 'Tention that is being focused on Global Warming might not have anything to do with Global Warming at all, and if it does, it might just be that some of the Warming of the Globe is part of the natural cycle of the planet. That doesn't mean that Hoomins haven't polluted or otherwise harmed the Earth - they have! But it is a little concieted, to my mind, to assign ALL the Bad Things that are going on to the effects of one puny species.

The Globe may indeed be warming, but it might be doing it without consulting enny of the hoomins currently living on its skin!

This weekend was inneresting here at Our Warren. Maman discovered that we eat a head of Romaine-per-day. Dadda said that this is quite A Lot and that we are going to have to find a way to grow it for ourselves On Peat. Maman said that she has deep Reservations about this.

Dadda said that you can grow most anything On Peat. So Maman asked him if he knew how. He said he knew how In Theory. Maman said she knows how to play the bagpipes "In Theory" but you don't hear her bothering the neighbours by doing it.

Dadda said "It's Not The Same".

And Maman agrees with MissyBun that we probably haven't heard the last of this, but we'd be better off if we had.

-----------------------------------By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 6:57 AM EDT

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So here's the deal. You haven't seen me, George, because I, George, have been on Vaykayshun with My Beautiful Bunny-Gurl ob Gen'rous P'porshuns, MissyBun. And everything was going more or less fine until Missy got sick.

She got these *molar spurs* on the back of ONE tooth, and it hurt to chew (because she is a sensitive bunny), but being HouseRabbits, we had No Way of telling anybunny this.

So we played the old "Twenty Questions" Game Show with Maman and Dr Sharin and her associate, Dr David. It was not fun, lemme tell you.

We wound up in the Hospiddle, Missy and me in seperate acommodations but next to each other while we played "Twenty More Questions" about Whut's Wrong With Missy?

And I wanted to shout out, "Hey! Stoopit! It's her teeth!"

But, being a HouseRabbit, I couldn't do that, so we sat there for a couple of days while everyone took blood, ran tests and Maman kept sending Dadda out to buy ever more exotic kinds of salad for us. I ate Missy's share for her since she couldn't chew.

And Missy lost weight and looked distressed.

So I sat there, waving my ears and wondering and all, and telling Missy that they'd figure it out eventually, and lo and behold! Yeah, they finally did. Dr David gave her some drugs, she went to sleep and they looked into the little bunny-mouth and there were the little spurs, right on her last molar.

So Dr David filed them down and sent MissyBun and me home with some meddysin for Missy and Maman had Dadda spend about a lotta munny on more salad.

So now we're getting TWO BIG salads a day insted of one, and of course all the hay we can eat, and I still have a few pellets in the bottom of my pellet crock if I want a snack. And there are carrots, raisins and apples, too, except we're usually too full to eat them. Mr Mouse says all this extra food is great, because his salads have gotten piled higher until there's no way he can finish his evening salad until morning, and Dusty and Foxie are impressed by the quality of the eats around here. Missy seems to be gaining weight and that's good, and now Maman is trying to send Our Lad Phil out into the Gardin to collect more clover and mint for her. She said there is no end to what a guy will do for 'lektronicks. There probably is, but she's pretty sure there isn't.

So anyways, we're still on vacation.

But I'm thinking of becoming a Reporter. You know, like in a newspaper.

Maman and I read the Newspapers together every morning, and I have decided that just like Belinda used to use her Blog to comment on the news, I would use the Blog, The Hay Diaries, to report good news that I find in the places I read.

Like this bit I found in the Philadelphia Inquirer "Sideshow" column today: "A photog for celeb Web site TMZ.com took a few minutes' break from snapping the rich and famous over the weekend to save Paris Hilton's new Yorkie puppy from wandering into the street in front of her Malibu beach house."

Now that's Good News! Papparazzi don't often do good things for anyone. They're usually so obsessed with what they see in their lens that they don't see anything else, and if they do see anything else, they'll let the "something else" happen, even if it's bad, just to get the picture of it. Saving Paris Hilton's dog isn't usually news, whereas Paris Hilton's dog getting hit by a car would be news. But this photographer saved the dog's life, even without getting a picture!

That's the kind of Good News that won't make a big deal in the papers or on E! or Access Hollywood, but it's the kind of news that I think people need to know.

Because every act of kindness could generate another act of kindness.

Good can spread. If we spread it.

Look at Philadelphia this week-end: 36 shootings, 6 deaths and 0 witnesses. What does that tell you? That there are a whole lot of people out there who are letting badness spread around like a disease.

Now I think there are more good people in Philadelphia than there are bad people. And if the good people ever got together, they would just force the bad people to be good or leave. The are just not enough bad people to go around once the good people start to roll!

So let's begin.

I will report Good News searched out from Newspapers Everywhere and report it here in The Hay Diaries. Beginning August First, the First Day of my Eigth Strand. Our Warren's Bim used to say "Evil triumphs when good men do nothing." That probably applies to HouseRabbits, too. So I will begin something good, on my onliest.

Look for it!

-------------------------By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 9:16 AM EDT

Updated: Tuesday, 24 July 2007 9:16 AM EDT

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So here's the deal. You haven't seen me, George, because I, George, have been on Vaykayshun with My Beautiful Bunny-Gurl ob Gen'rous P'porshuns, MissyBun. And everything was going more or less fine until Missy got sick.

She got these *molar spurs* on the back of ONE tooth, and it hurt to chew (because she is a sensitive bunny), but being HouseRabbits, we had No Way of telling anybunny this.

So we played the old "Twenty Questions" Game Show with Maman and Dr Sharin and her associate, Dr David. It was not fun, lemme tell you.

We wound up in the Hospiddle, Missy and me in seperate acommodations but next to each other while we played "Twenty More Questions" about Whut's Wrong With Missy?

And I wanted to shout out, "Hey! Stoopit! It's her teeth!"

But, being a HouseRabbit, I couldn't do that, so we sat there for a couple of days while everyone took blood, ran tests and Maman kept sending Dadda out to buy ever more exotic kinds of salad for us. I ate Missy's share for her since she couldn't chew.

And Missy lost weight and looked distressed.

So I sat there, waving my ears and wondering and all, and telling Missy that they'd figure it out eventually, and lo and behold! Yeah, they finally did. Dr David gave her some drugs, she went to sleep and they looked into the little bunny-mouth and there were the little spurs, right on her last molar.

So Dr David filed them down and sent MissyBun and me home with some meddysin for Missy and Maman had Dadda spend about a lotta munny on more salad.

So now we're getting TWO BIG salads a day insted of one, and of course all the hay we can eat, and I still have a few pellets in the bottom of my pellet crock if I want a snack. And there are carrots, raisins and apples, too, except we're usually too full to eat them. Mr Mouse says all this extra food is great, because his salads have gotten piled higher until there's no way he can finish his evening salad until morning, and Dusty and Foxie are impressed by the quality of the eats around here. Missy seems to be gaining weight and that's good, and now Maman is trying to send Our Lad Phil out into the Gardin to collect more clover and mint for her. She said there is no end to what a guy will do for 'lektronicks. There probably is, but she's pretty sure there isn't.

So anyways, we're still on vacation.

But I'm thinking of becoming a Reporter. You know, like in a newspaper.

Maman and I read the Newspapers together every morning, and I have decided that just like Belinda used to use her Blog to comment on the news, I would use the Blog, The Hay Diaries, to report good news that I find in the places I read.

Like this bit I found in the Philadelphia Inquirer "Sideshow" column today: "A photog for celeb Web site TMZ.com took a few minutes' break from snapping the rich and famous over the weekend to save Paris Hilton's new Yorkie puppy from wandering into the street in front of her Malibu beach house."

Now that's Good News! Papparazzi don't often do good things for anyone. They're usually so obsessed with what they see in their lens that they don't see anything else, and if they do see anything else, they'll let the "something else" happen, even if it's bad, just to get the picture of it. Saving Paris Hilton's dog isn't usually news, whereas Paris Hilton's dog getting hit by a car would be news. But this photographer saved the dog's life, even without getting a picture!

That's the kind of Good News that won't make a big deal in the papers or on E! or Access Hollywood, but it's the kind of news that I think people need to know.

Because every act of kindness could generate another act of kindness.

Good can spread. If we spread it.

Look at Philadelphia this week-end: 36 shootings, 6 deaths and 0 witnesses. What does that tell you? That there are a whole lot of people out there who are letting badness spread around like a disease.

Now I think there are more good people in Philadelphia than there are bad people. And if the good people ever got together, they would just force the bad people to be good or leave. The are just not enough bad people to go around once the good people start to roll!

So let's begin.

I will report Good News searched out from Newspapers Everywhere and report it here in The Hay Diaries. Beginning August First, the First Day of my Eigth Strand. Our Warren's Bim used to say "Evil triumphs when good men do nothing." That probably applies to HouseRabbits, too. So I will begin something good, on my onliest.

Look for it!

-------------------------By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 9:15 AM EDT

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So here's the deal. You haven't seen me, George, because I, George, have been on Vaykayshun with My Beautiful Bunny-Gurl ob Gen'rous P'porshuns, MissyBun. And everything was going more or less fine until Missy got sick.

She got these *molar spurs* on the back of ONE tooth, and it hurt to chew (because she is a sensitive bunny), but being HouseRabbits, we had No Way of telling anybunny this.

So we played the old "Twenty Questions" Game Show with Maman and Dr Sharin and her associate, Dr David. It was not fun, lemme tell you.

We wound up in the Hospiddle, Missy and me in seperate acommodations but next to each other while we played "Twenty More Questions" about Whut's Wrong With Missy?

And I wanted to shout out, "Hey! Stoopit! It's her teeth!"

But, being a HouseRabbit, I couldn't do that, so we sat there for a couple of days while everyone took blood, ran tests and Maman kept sending Dadda out to buy ever more exotic kinds of salad for us. I ate Missy's share for her since she couldn't chew.

And Missy lost weight and looked distressed.

So I sat there, waving my ears and wondering and all, and telling Missy that they'd figure it out eventually, and lo and behold! Yeah, they finally did. Dr David gave her some drugs, she went to sleep and they looked into the little bunny-mouth and there were the little spurs, right on her last molar.

So Dr David filed them down and sent MissyBun and me home with some meddysin for Missy and Maman had Dadda spend about a lotta munny on more salad.

So now we're getting TWO BIG salads a day insted of one, and of course all the hay we can eat, and I still have a few pellets in the bottom of my pellet crock if I want a snack. And there are carrots, raisins and apples, too, except we're usually too full to eat them. Mr Mouse says all this extra food is great, because his salads have gotten piled higher until there's no way he can finish his evening salad until morning, and Dusty and Foxie are impressed by the quality of the eats around here. Missy seems to be gaining weight and that's good, and now Maman is trying to send Our Lad Phil out into the Gardin to collect more clover and mint for her. She said there is no end to what a guy will do for 'lektronicks. There probably is, but she's pretty sure there isn't.

So anyways, we're still on vacation.

But I'm thinking of becoming a Reporter. You know, like in a newspaper.

Maman and I read the Newspapers together every morning, and I have decided that just like Belinda used to use her Blog to comment on the news, I would use the Blog, The Hay Diaries, to report good news that I find in the places I read.

Like this bit I found in the Philadelphia Inquirer "Sideshow" column today: "A photog for celeb Web site TMZ.com took a few minutes' break from snapping the rich and famous over the weekend to save Paris Hilton's new Yorkie puppy from wandering into the street in front of her Malibu beach house."

Now that's Good News! Papparazzi don't often do good things for anyone. They're usually so obsessed with what they see in their lens that they don't see anything else, and if they do see anything else, they'll let the "something else" happen, even if it's bad, just to get the picture of it. Saving Paris Hilton's dog isn't usually news, whereas Paris Hilton's dog getting hit by a car would be news. But this photographer saved the dog's life, even without getting a picture!

That's the kind of Good News that won't make a big deal in the papers or on E! or Access Hollywood, but it's the kind of news that I think people need to know.

Because every act of kindness could generate another act of kindness.

Good can spread. If we spread it.

Look at Philadelphia this week-end: 36 shootings, 6 deaths and 0 witnesses. What does that tell you? That there are a whole lot of people out there who are letting badness spread around like a disease.

Now I think there are more good people in Philadelphia than there are bad people. And if the good people ever got together, they would just force the bad people to be good or leave. The are just not enough bad people to go around once the good people start to roll!

So let's begin.

I will report Good News searched out from Newspapers Everywhere and report it here in The Hay Diaries. Beginning August First, the First Day of my Eigth Strand. Our Warren's Bim used to say "Evil triumphs when good men do nothing." That probably applies to HouseRabbits, too. So I will begin something good, on my onliest.

Look for it!

-------------------------By George!

Posted by Our Warren at 9:13 AM EDT

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