Before and After I Say the Cute Word
I told her she was cute and the face changed instantly: ears up, chin up, pure queen. Before: sleepy loaf. After: posing like she knows. This post is my two-photo experiment: method, six trials, results, and the footsie aftermath. Personal play log, not behavior science, one rabbit, one word, my camera. She knows the word now. So do I: say it less, mean it more.
My two-photo trick: the protocol
- Photo one: quiet, no talking, loaf at rest, phone ready on the chair arm
- Say the word softly, wait three seconds, exact phrase every time, same tone, no variations during trials
- Photo two: the reaction, same angle, same distance, flash never
Controls held across trials: same 19:00 calm window, same rug spot, same camera height, no treats visible (bribery invalidates royalty). The word itself stays off this page, some magic words lose power in print, and hers is doing excellent work. Confirmed: she knows the word. Ears up before I finish the sentence.
Six trials, one table
| Trial | Before | After (3 sec) | Note |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | Sleepy loaf | Ears up, chin up | First result, laughed out loud |
| 2 | Half loaf | Full pose + head turn | Stronger, camera ready this time |
| 3 | Grooming | Paused, posed mid-lick | Interrupted royally, forgiven |
| 4 | Deep flop | One ear up only | Sleepy veto, flop beats vanity |
| 5 | Alert sit | Full queen + approach | Came closer, best frame |
| 6 | Sleepy loaf | Ears up before sentence end | Anticipation, she beat the protocol |
Five of six full poses; trial 4’s single ear is the honest exception that proves attention was real (deep flop outranks everything, correctly). Afterwards came the footsie of gratitude, a gentle tooth-tap on my slipper post-trial-5, which I choose to take as a thank-you and not a warning. Usage guidance going forward, self-imposed: the word rationed to once weekly so it never dulls; overuse trial (three times one evening, for science) produced trial-3-grade indifference by round three. Say it less, mean it more, the diary’s shortest wisdom. The queen poses on schedule; the photographer stays grateful. Ears up, always.
Replication: friends try the trick
Two friends replicated with their rabbits, results filed. Household A: word spoken, both ears up day one, full pose by trial 3, faster than mine, younger bunny, show-off. Household B: word spoken six times across two evenings, zero reaction, continued grooming throughout, verdict: either the word is unlearned or the bunny is unionized. Both outcomes delight me equally: the trick measures relationship, not obedience. Controls we all held: calm window, no treats visible, same phrase and tone. Variables we couldn’t: age, history, dignity levels. My conclusion from n=3 households: some rabbits collect words like stamps; others spend their attention elsewhere. Mine collects this one word and spends it on posing. Sample size tiny, joy enormous.
Rationing log and the footsie follow-up
Rationing enforced: the word spoken once weekly, logged with date, never twice in a day except the science evening (documented, regretted mildly, data kept). Efficacy over two months: 7 of 8 weekly sayings drew the pose; the one miss was a deep-flop evening (correctly vetoed by comfort). The word holds power through scarcity, say it less, mean it more, now with numbers. Footsie follow-up study: post-trial tooth-taps recurred 4 of 6 trials, always gentle, always on the slipper, always after poses, my interpretation (thank-you, not warning) holds by majority vote with one abstention (trial 4’s single-ear evening had no footsie; the jury notes consistency). Long-term plan: annual retest each spring, same protocol, same chair. If the ears ever stay down, the word retires with honors and the photos remain. Royalty is eternal; vocabulary is lent.
Appendix: the word’s origin story, first uttered casually one March evening with no expectation, answered instantly with the full pose, repeated next day to check, confirmed day three, protocol built week two. Accidental discovery, deliberate science. The notebook’s shortest entry (cute, ears!!) became its longest study. Other candidate words tested and retired: two nicknames (no reaction), one whistle (fled, apologized with flowers), the dinner call (works but that’s appetite, not affection, different department). Only the cute word holds throne-room power. Long may it pose.
Postscript from tonight’s trial seven: spoken softly at 19:00, ears up mid-sentence, full pose by second three, footsie after. Seven of seven recent sayings answered. The throne holds; the rationing continues; the photographer remains grateful and slightly outranked.
Trials continue Sundays; the queen’s schedule permits. Ears up, camera ready, word rationed. The cutest longitudinal study in the house runs on one word and six trials and counting. Say it rarely, mean it always.
Word watch: the sentence finishes before the ears do. Trial eight scheduled; the protocol waits with camera charged and slipper ready for whatever gratitude or warning follows. Royalty decides; the diary records.
One word, six trials, seven poses and counting, the smallest vocabulary with the grandest results. Ears up.
The queen poses; the diary obeys and records.
Pose held, photo kept, word saved for next week.
Posed.
Treasured.
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