Bunny In the Oven

Went to Petco with MJ yesterday. Came out with a new frisbee for Mina, a bag of Nyger seed for the finches, and these:

I’m inspired. I have found our next domestic companion.

According to the rabbit rescue lady — who spoke to me with contagious zeal — the long-eared critters are excellent pets. As smart as dogs, and as cuddly as cats. Or vice versa. I can’t remember. Either way, it seems like a pretty good deal. And — provided they are spayed — they can be easily toilet trained. Which is more than I can say for my almost-three-year-old.

I showed the pamphlets to Mike. “Look, honey!” I cried. “I’ve found our next pet!”

His reaction was predictably taciturn. “No problem. If you’re willing to care for them. Every day. For their whole lives.”

What am I, six? “Of course I’ll care for them,” I snapped. “They’re smarter than dogs. Or cats. I can’t remember which.”

“That’s awesome,” he said.

“Great. Fine. We’re agreed.” I paused. “Can we sleep with them?”

You can,” he shot back.

Sometimes Mike is really difficult. Bunnies, on the other hand, will be easy, easy, easy. I will have a herd. As soon as MJ is potty trained. And well after Easter. I will not be one of those people.

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