The truth about bunparenthood

This won’t be long. But something occurred to me yesterday when I was cleaning the bunny area, singing to them as I always do and telling them how much I love them: I do this every single day. Same thing. Russell kicks all the litter and hay into the floor; I clean it up. Janie pees on the mat instead of the box; I spray it with Febreze and change the mat. Bear drops a stray poop here and there; I vacuum at least three times a week. It’s not something a sane person would say that they enjoy doing, but I realized yesterday that I really, truly, genuinely, absolutely do not mind it. 

I love spending time with the buns, no matter what that time includes. Cleaning, petting, feeding, whatever. I was thinking yesterday and today how really high-maintenance bunnies are. They’re not like dogs that you can feed, water, and take for a walk once a day. They’re a relatively constant responsibility. If I had to guess, I’d say I spend at least an hour every day doing various bunny-related chores. If I didn’t want the responsibility, I would be miserable and resentful, but I do. It’s a labor of love, and I would not recommend getting a bunny or bunnies unless that’s how you feel about pets. 

Does it get a little old? Sure, sometimes. When I’m really tired, or Russell makes an extra-big mess, I feel a little irritated. But then those three sweet, soft little faces rub against me and beg for treats or head rubs and I melt. They’re my little loves; I can’t really be annoyed with them. 

All that to say that bunnies are time-consuming, but so worth it, and I wouldn’t trade mine for anything in the world. Truth.


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