Notes on Team Work, or lack thereof.
He lays there stretched out in the corner watching my handy work. His nose twitches and he licks his bunny lips as if to say, continue, peasant. I work my way toward him clearing bedding, shredded Dixie Cups, cocobunnypuffspoo and the errant wood piece chewed from the condo itself. The closer I get to LeoBun, the less his nose twitches. I've cleaning to do and a focus only a peasant can possess. I spot a nice wad of bedding with embedded LeoBun furs, hay twigs and Dixie Cup shreds half covered by LeoBun's own belly. He lays there lightly breathing. Waiting. Involving dread and yet I want to kiss that Bun nose. I move slightly closer with an eye for that nice wad. I want it. I want it in the garbage. LeoBun stretches and yawns. I think this is an invitation to remove the nice wad.
I am sorely mistaken.
Blinded by pelting dixie cups hitting my head I realized LeoBun took his nice wad and ran up the ramp to the second floor before the cups settled. He looked out the second story door at me with a certainty I won't soon forget. You've won this time Leonidas. THIS time.
A Kirby does not need a cage. A Kirby needs a human to wear cotton TShirts that accomodate Kirby talons. You only think Velcro is impressive until you've tried removing a Kirby Lurker from your TShirt.
12 year old Yorky Terriers can tap dance. I know this because Turner puts on a floor show every night at 5:00pm. He's fed at 5:30pm. There's no disconnect there.
Our new washer has a myriad of tones and playlists. It sounds a lovely tune every time a cycle is done. It sounds another lovely tune when you are choosing cycles and settings. Felix is practicing these, Kirby is working with him. Nothing good can come from this.