It’s come to my attention that I’ve never bragged about my bunny. He’s simply the cutest rabbit ever (I might be a bit biased). Back around the beginning of April, my mom was overcome with the urge to get a rabbit. Now, I’m not sure if this was subliminal messaging at its best with all the ads of rabbits with Easter around the corner, but she was adamant about it — she just had to have a pet rabbit. Dad caved and they began rabbit shopping. None of the pet stores in the city had exactly what she wanted: a mini lop with cute markings. Dad made a comment that lops reminded him of rabbis, which after he pointed it out, I began seeing it too.
We ended up traveling miles upon miles and finally found an adorable mini Rex rabbit. I wanted a chinchilla, and though the mini Rex wasn’t a mini lop, he was at the very least chinchilla colored. We brought him home (I ended up getting urine on me on the way home, joy) and thus began the trial of naming it. At the time it was technically Mom’s pet, but now that the rabbit was home, she was beginning to wonder if this was a good idea or not. Did she have the time to take care of it? I decided upon the time of purchase of the rabbit, his name was going to be T. Rex and he was going to be the biggest, baddest rabbit in the neighborhood, regardless of whose pet he really was and I stayed strong. The next day, he was officially mine.
T. Rex is the opposite of big and bad unless you’re a carrot. If you so happen to be a carrot, you’d be crushed to smithereens with little regard of how much you plead for your life. He’s fearless, often going up to try to lick a dog’s nose if they happen to get too near his cage. If he hears the drawer open where his raisins are kept, he will perk up and yank at the cage wires, demanding to be given one. Topping at five pounds, Rex is the little bunny that demands that you spend up to thirty minutes, petting and grooming him, while he grooms you. Any less than that and he will throw a fit.
Clean cages make him happy and the only thing that will sate this great bunnyosaurus is his friend, Frederick. Now, Dad rolled his eyes when I told him I was buying a little Watson (courtesy of Maureen Johnson’s name for Sherlock’s toys) to keep Rex company while I was writing or away. I took Frederick away for a week so he could be cleaned and little Rex became mellow. Raisins perked him up for a bit, but he was too sullen to stay happy. I just put Frederick back in a couple days ago and he’s back to taking down carrots and raisins, and most recently, newspaper. Newspaper are the new enemy and if they so happen to cross his path, T. Rex manages to tear it to shreds leaving me with a massive mess to clean.
He’s a little cutie, greeting me when I wake and watching my every move when I write. I’ve never had a pet that demanded attention from me (fish aren’t exactly affectionate) and was actually sweet (I had a hamster from hell when I was younger) so this is definitely different. A very pleasant difference.