Jackson's class had a field trip today, everyone went to a place where a woman does clicker training with rabbits and miniature horses. Why someone would want to teach bunnies to hop through hoops and play basketball, I do not know. Although I suppose the question isn't really "why" but "why not?" Sometimes you just have a calling.
All of which reminds me, I never showed you my pictures from the BUNNY FESTIVAL!
B.U.N.S. is a local bunny rescue organization that put on the show and scored an adorable acronym.
This handsome fellow has a black nose, in case you hadn't noticed (I'm here to point out things that get overlooked) AND a matching set of black ears! If I were to name him, I would start with something like Morty and go from there. Mullgrew, possibly, though I would take a step back from Mergatroid. Monty? Hmm.
Bunnies need to roam, apparently, and in an area with heightened bunny awareness, no one worries about them getting underfoot, I guess; hence the fifteen-foot-long leash. I'd call this one National Velvet. Or possibly Liz. Actually, I'd call it Liz Lemon because then I could say, "Walk with me, Lemon," and get a little chuckle*.
*This joke for 30 Rock fans only.
I can personally vouch for the fact that this was not a stuffed animal, it was totally alive and ambulatory and nibbly and all that. Brph! I'm calling this one Pettigrew, despite the fact that Jackson vehemently disagrees and thinks it should be called Puff. He's normally quite a good namer, so maybe I'll let him have this round.
Liz here is a Rex. Rexes have thick, short hair and are hellishly soft. Hellishly. At the bunny festival we learned that bunnies are demons who entrance you with their softness and cuddleability until you are in their thrall, petting, petting, petting until your hands are shiny and crippled with neuropathy. Next thing you know, you've given your bedroom over to a breeding pair and your yard is overrun with BEASTS. And Fresh Direct has you on their watchlist.
I'm sorry, son, we can't let evil like this into our lives.