Our rabbit likes books. He cases the bookshelf, watching it and us from a distance, carefully plotting the particulars of his next move. When he’s got a good read on the situation, he moves into stalker mode, coming up real close to the bookshelf. He sits, staring longingly at its glories.
And then he just can’t take it anymore. He lunges forwards, straining for even the tiniest nibble of its contents before being shooed away.
The dictionary is his favorite, he is wild about that thing. If that’s a little too far back on the shelf, though, he also really enjoys a file I have full on educational material concerning various forms of poverty.
He knows he’s not supposed to eat the books. I am not certain if he knows they aren’t food — it could be that he is confused because if his people are as wild about them as they are, how could they be anything but food? — but I am certain that he knows it is a joy and thrill which he is not permitted.
He must feel a certain unfairness in the situation because when I scold him and put him in his pen because of his poor decisions, he pouts. He’ll go right to his litter box, turn his back and refuse to acknowledge our presence.
I can’t fault him, he has impeccable taste in his books. There was a certain hardbound number I was reading a while back and when I pulled it out, he would fly across the room to get onto my lap so he could sneak a nibble. The edges of the cover were the best, but the pages weren’t bad.
My oldest brought home a pile of books the other day from school. He had won them in a class activity and most of the books were OK, except two.
One was full of knock-knock jokes which could only have been written by a child or a very annoying adult, neither of which I would invite over to dinner. (That is the measure by which I judge all authors. If I would want to invite the author over for dinner, the book was good and if the thought of sharing a meal with them sounds like torture, it’s not likely I’d recommend the book.) The book will probably disappear at some point, but right now it — unfortunately — is too valued for that heist to come off well.
The other book was a scary-creepy-tragic history events type that inspires nightmares. We gave it to the rabbit to see if he wanted any bit of it, but no. He took a sniff and it sits on the floor next to a pile of chewed up sticks.
As much as I cringe at the nibble marks, I’m secretly a little bit proud that my rabbit likes books too.