Hmm? What? Did you say treats? Treats! I want treats!
Gimme gimme gimme. Ignore Gus, just give me some treats!
Dad says he is our slave and has to do all this work in preparing our food for us. (Well, duh, obviously.)
Honestly I don’t see what the problem is – it doesn’t look like much work to me.
Though next time I’d prefer if he put that food in my bowl instead of storing it. In fact, just give it all to me!
Uh, yeah, hi dad, nice video work there, but could you put that down and give us breakfast now, please? Like… NOW, now?
I hate it when dad interrupts my morning bunny yoga routine.
He’s such a pain.
I categorically deny that this is me or that I was trying to sneak into the bedroom where I’m not allowed.
But under the bed is so much fun! Why can’t I go in there??
Next time… next time…
I don’t care how cute I look – NO TOUCHING.
On the other hand, if you were to, say, put out a few treats for me, I might relax that rule… for just a little while, though.
What do you mean, “no more treats?”
You’d better be joking, dad… for your sake.
There is absolutely nothing to see here, and the bunny in this picture is not at all up to anything bad, nor is she thinking about chewing the carpet, the legs of your chairs, or anything else.
Also we have obscured the identity of this bunny so you have no idea who it is.
Any resemblance to any other bunny in this household is purely coincidental.
After eating a big meal (and scattering bits of it around the floor of course) it’s important to rest and relax, to allow time for digestion. This lets your host know that you found the meal… acceptable.
Needless to say, Gus and I are experts at this.
Sometimes I like to enjoy my dinner bunny-style.
And by “bunny-style” I mean “pulling it out of the food bowl and onto the floor.”
Dad doesn’t always appreciate this; but who cares what he thinks? (Not me!)