Feeding das sub-Horny Rabbits

In fair honesty, I never had to take care of another living being. It categorically stems from the argument that I, at times, struggle to take good care of myself. Taking care of someone else would simply be out of question. And no, you can’t place the argument that I am turning 25 this month and I am no longer an adolescent.

It’s not that I didn’t have pets. I did and I do now too but there were always people around me taking care of them. My sis, for example, is an avid any-animal-that-you-can-place-them-as-pet pet-lover and it is to no one’s surprise that she had a couple of hamsters, a mouse, a rabbit, couple of cats, parrots and uncountable dogs as her best pals. I, on the other hand, having had spent most of my time in school and not at home, only had random communal dogs that ran around our school’s vicinity as pets (Pyscho, Bhote). They didn’t need much caring anyways; a couple of chicken bones from our chicken day outing would suffice. Oh, the morning butter bread too.

So as you can see, feeding das sub-horny rabbits is something new, something different, something like trying an IPA for a very first time. My brain signals are rewiring themselves to accommodate these strange, uncharted pleasure of watching these tiny rabbits go all WWE to impart dominance on the grass I had just laid out for them.

Adorable little voracious bastards.

Here’s a small photo blog of day one of my das sub-horny rabbit feeding responsibilities:

Tiny apartment, fully furnished

Some essentials

Malcom wins the WWE match and is all set to munch on his prize

Martin has to depend on my aid to get the grass to him

 

Malcom checks me out, you sneaky adorable bastard

While Malcom checks me out, Martin gets his chance

It's all love and peace