I went bunny hopping. I mean, shopping. I knew I wanted a little breed but that was as far as my brief went and after a bit of back and forth with a very lovely lady I found The Bun. Also known as Nibbler, but mainly The Bun.
About 5 inches deep under the fluff is the silliest, sweetest little creature with a penchant for squashing broccoli into his shavings and being grumpy if I don't let him have a duvet day a couple of times a week while I'm at work.
Almost over night I went from single girl in the city to yummy mummy (or bunny mummy), google image searching every poop he made, extensively researching each single time he sneezed or lay down a bit funny or didn't like a particular vegetable. The day I brought him home the taxi swung round Kensington hitting every bump at a hundred miles an hour and when I finally lay him in his cage he didn't move for nearly two days.
We had the trauma of the V.E.T to get his claws C.U.T and the incident where I spent an evening poking this weird growth near the back of his legs.
'Darling those are his balls. Go and wash your hands."
Parsley leaves and fresh mint, the box the slow cooker came in, cauliflower, throwing loo rolls, jumping on the sofa when nobody is there to witness it, running on the duvet, sitting in the sink, chewing the boyfriend's shoes, pooping 735382 times a day.
He loathesBroccoli, anyone who takes a duvet away from him, watching other bunnies on Youtube, our noisy neighbours, the pooper scooper I use to clean his cage, the brown pellets in the muesli I feed him, that video of the girl twerking who falls into the candles and starts screaming.
We're still getting to know each other, he's a bit of a sulker and I have to fight my own hands not to pick him up and squeeze him because he is so fluffy I could die. Sometimes he takes a blanket and hides because I'm late home from work and sometimes he just happens to forget he's trying to be a tough guy and cuddles up with me in bed.
I'm smitten, but I like to think so is he, even if just a little bit.