Mad as a Wet Hen

I own an adorable dwarf bunny named Riley Rabbit. He has long, soft, white fur and deep chocolate-brown eyes with black eye-liner style eyelashes around them. I have loved bunnies ever since my mom read my first pat the bunny book to me and I wore out the fur. I had never been allowed to own a bunny and therefore Riley was a college graduation gift from my brother and his girlfriend who saw the little white fluff-ball that was baby Riley rabbit and instantly thought of me. I named the tiny fur ball Riley because it went well with Rabbit and also because it was the name of the pub where my college friends and I celebrated our graduation party and I found out about him. Graduation from college is usually seen as the fulfillment of some childhood dream, but not usually the forbidden pet kind.

During first few weeks of ownership, I solicited advice from many current and former rabbit owners and enthusiasts as I attempted to raise my new pet the best way possible. Most advice was corroborated by books, magazines, and websites. However, one person told me I needed to bathe my bunny on a regular basis and recommended some special shampoos. I thought this advice was somewhat odd, but since Riley has long hair and he was starting to smell a little I did not worry too much about the soundness of the suggestion. Baby Riley also had issues with getting his chest fur tangled with his food so when he had a green streak down his chest from eating dandelion greens, I decided to give him a bath. As per instructions, I made sure the water in the tub was warm, not hot, and that there was just enough I could get him wet and wash him, but not drown him.

Riley did not appreciate my attempts on his behalf. He squirmed and wiggled and tried to hop out of the tub. I was just finishing rinsing him when he eluded my grasp and made a dash for freedom. Unfortunately, he happened to aim straight up the neck of my t-shirt where he quickly scooted around to my back and took up residence by hooking his claws into my bra straps. (As I have gotten to know his quirky little habits better I am more and more convinced he knew what he was doing.) I now looked like Quasimodo with a very wet, very angry hump. As Riley was strategically and firmly attached where I could not reach him, I called for help. My dad came to offer me aid, but took one look at my predicament and left laughing fit to kill. I finally had to retreat to the bathroom and strip in order to solve my problem and Riley obviously found a solution to his because he has never had to take another bath.


Mad wet hens are nothing compared to peeved soggy bunnies.