We had guests this past weekend, and one young lady brought not only flowers, but also her traveling companion, her pet bunny, Benny. We renamed him Benedict Cumberfluff. See the featured image above? That’s exactly what he looked like.
Cuteness overload.
So while the young people ran around at the tiki bars and beaches, and lolled around on the family boat, Benny and I spent some time together indoors avoiding the heat and the crowds. Hours passed by like minutes as I observed him acclimating and then enjoying himself in my home.
In “Why Look at Animals?,” John Berger observes that the animal scrutinizes the human, and the human sees the animal, even if the animal is domesticated, across a similar, but not identical, abyss of non-comprehension. So when he is being seen by the animal, he is being seen as his surroundings are seen by him. His recognition of this is what makes the look of the animal familiar.
Now, there are scientists who have argued that the human gaze across that divide disrupts the world of the animal, harms it, even. But here’s another possibility: when two creatures, one of them human, meet each other halfway across the abyss, both enter a world of potential.
Observing an animal, really concentrating on him, is like experiencing an altered state, without drugs. Because when we spend time with animals, we are released from ego.
(Research above from Our Wild Calling by Richard Louv.)
And as I observed Benny’s antics, and watched him grow more and more comfortable in my house throughout the weekend, it occurred to me that not only did Benny release me from ego, but had straight-up Benny sense.
Benedict, it seemed, had all the answers. He taught me some things that I already knew, and some I didn’t.
When in doubt, explore. Benny ran up and down the stairs, stood on his hind legs to see what was going on on the couch, and found fun things to hide under, in, and on top of. He was very curious, very energetic, and very cute.
Eat healthy, in small amounts, all day. Benny was forever chewing greens, carrots and hay. Being the “cool aunt,” of course I gave him one too many carrots, rendering his bunny pellets orange. Oopsies.
Enjoy the zoomies and the flops. Binkies. For bunnies, zoomies are called “binkies.” Benny cavorted, jumped in the air, and made sudden and unexpected turns and twists. He was so little and light that it was like watching dandelion fluff dance around the house. Benny was very dramatic, obviously trying to attract attention. Binkies and flops are what bunnies do when they’re happy, and it made me happy that he was happy in my house.
When you’re tired, rest. After Benny ate a piece of carrot or some lettuce, and then had some zoomies, he would hide under my lounger for a bit of a breather. We would respect his space, and he would return full-force, like an Energizer Benny.
Flaunt your cutest feature. It would be hard to pick Benny’s cutest feature, and while we loved his long ears, his pert little nose and his stubby tail, his tiny spotted caramel-colored paws were simply bunnylicious. He flaunted them, of course, and they just sat under him like little Irish potatoes.
Benny’s antics ran the gamut. He would circle our feet, which in rabbit language means “I love you.” He would rub his chin on objects, so as to leave his scent and define his territory. A few times he even put his front legs on my lap (I was usually on the ground so it was easier to play with him), leaned in close to me, and made this great bunny eye contact as his whiskers twitched. I may never recover from the sweetness of it.
Animals kill me.
And here’s wishing you a week filled with plenty of binkies and flops.