So, I’m in jail… again. Dad’s got me locked up in my area and isn’t letting me out (except for short and closely supervised time in the morning and evening).
I’m innocent, though! I was framed! It was, uh, some other bunny who peed on the carpet, not me!
What’s that? Mumm said she saw me do it? Right in front of her own eyes? Um… maybe she was hallucinating?
As you can imagine, being locked up like this is very exhausting. I hope I can get out soon!
You don’t want to see my other faces – now bring me my breakfast!!
New Year, same as before, give me some treats or I’ll poop on your floor.
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.