Though much of my time lately has been spent following a furry little cotton ball running around the house, I don't want this site to turn into another blog about the mundane and groan-inducing life of an annoying person's pet. (That is, despite the petitioned and eventually-executed transition of the never-used Spudlevision to a Bunnycam.) Many a great weblog have been reduced to the charming-to-one, waste-of-time-to-everyone-else retellings of the adventures of furry creatures, full of "my cat did the cutest thing" and "my puppy is the smartest pooch". As one who despises animal-hero movies, I will certify that this site will not be reduced to such levels with the following statement:
My rabbit is not smart.
He is an adorably cute little furball and I love him to bits, but I make no myth about his intelligence. He is thoroughly and unarguably dense.
Case in point: rabbits are supposed to be perfectly capable of operant learning; Pavlov's dog experiments and such. Benji is not allowed on the couch, and any attempt to climb up there results in a hefty spray of water and/or a determined shove off the perch.
One would think that this sudden and consistent convergence of sea, air, and land would teach the bunny that the couch is not a safe place to be. Not so. On frequent occasions I will turn toward the sofa to find a big pair of ears and twitching nose peeking over the top staring back at me, at which point bunny becomes reaquainted once again with sea, air, and land in quick succession, seemingly much to his surprise.
Also consider that Benji has a habit of chewing the corners of walls, a doubly bad habit in that drywall provides zero nutritional value whatsoever, and that I then have to go patch and repaint the damage. After taking a hefty bite out of the wall, bunny realises that, yes, plaster and paint taste like ass. But, does that deter him from doing it again?
Oh, certainly no. Something like that would get him into the rabbit version of Mensa. This rabbit, however, is most definitely not smart.