We are once again in the midst of hay arguments. It's yet another beautiful day in the Pacific Northwest, best place on Earth to live. The sun in shining, there's a soft breeze off Cultus Lake, and the sound of lawn mowers fills the air. Not from my lawn, of course, I use a push mower; it's just easier. It's pretty hard to mow the cord of a manual mower.
But that does mean a certain human is going through the raked piles of grass looking for cover and dandelions. I'm sure most of the people who have moved in since last summer are getting the "Oh, that's just Lorna, she's the crazy bunny lady" speech. Our new land managers didn't even blink at me and just offered to let me know when they were mowing so I could pick it from the ground before they mow.
This morning started with me cleaning the bunny box. This is a cage with one side permanently propped up that they use for their litterbox and has their water bottle and food crock in. Their water bowl is in another part of their room because if I dare to put the bowl of water in the cage they flick things in it and then thump up a storm until I move it. So fill a green garbage bag with the used wood stove pellets, poop and rejected hay and fill the box with clean wood stove pellets and hay. Do my little darlings investigate the new hay? Of course not. They promptly investigate the garbage bag of hay they didn't want for the past several days and spread that all over the room. They don't EAT it of course, they just play with it. I cleaned that up while they muttered impolite things in lagomorphic. (That's "Rabbit Talk" to the normal humans.)
Once I'd cleaned everything, tided and gone for my shower, Sage came back into the room to sort it out to bunny satisfaction. I discovered what this meant post shower when I came to a bunny box completely empty of hay, hay all over the room and a look on Sage's face of "Get the good stuff now, k?"
Being the good bunny whipped slave I am, I just grabbed all the hay, which by the way consisted of three different types, and put it back in the box. "There's bunnies starving in Belgium who would love to have that hay!"
And yet people laugh at me when I call them my furkids..