📅 Saturday, 23 May 2026 · No. 64

What Is He Trying to Say? Wrong Answers Only

💤 Behavior Diaries · ✎ 4 min · by Azmi in Meknes

Azmi's note My personal log from Meknes, not vet advice. Just what I did and saw tonight.

He sat there staring with that face, and I asked the diary: what is he trying to say? Wrong answers only. My best: your leg is in my way, move it. Tonight’s post is the town-hall transcript: the stare, the submitted wrong answers with votes, and the real answer nobody needed. Personal comedy, not communication advice, rabbits ask clearly when it matters, and the answer is food or pets. Real answer was probably: pet me. It is always pet me.

The stare: entered into the record

Time: 19:40, post-dinner. Position: rug center, facing me directly, front paws aligned. Expression: level gaze, ears neutral-forward, total stillness, the face that launched a meeting. Duration before I spoke: 3 minutes of mutual staring (I lost). Context: hay topped up, water fresh, play completed, no outstanding requests on file, which is precisely why the floor opened for wrong answers. Related correspondence: my cute-word experiment (same stare, different trigger) and the thump log (what happens when staring escalates).

Tonight’s wrong answers (with votes)

The treat allowance needs renegotiation, 4 votes, house favorite, talks scheduled (never held)
She had to go, it was for the greater good, 2 votes, context unclear, accepted on vibes
Hooman, we need to talk about the hay budget, 5 votes, winner; budget talks perennially requested, perpetually postponed
Your leg is in my way, move it, 3 votes, my personal best, leg moved preemptively
The leg situation is my fault and I should move, not him, late entry, 2 votes, ruling: correct and adopted

More wrong answers arrived from the floor: treat allowance talks scheduled (see above, never held). Democracy in this house means he votes and I obey, the leg moved, the pets were delivered, the stare dissolved into a flop within minutes. Real answer, confirmed by subsequent events: pet me, duration 10 minutes, then dinner. It is always pet me. Session adjourned; wrong answers archived for next stare. The transcript closes; the pets continue.

Floor debate extended: more answers

Second session convened Thursday (same stare, new answers): the hay rack is crooked (inspected, it was, fixed, stare resolved for one evening), dinner was four minutes late (timed, guilty, parsley fine paid), the blanket has a new smell (laundry day, case dismissed, smell approved). Running tally of stare causes across a month: food timing 6, pet requests 9, blanket issues 2, hay-budget discourse 4, unknown 3 (filed as mysteries, respected). The unknown stares get the same answer as the known ones: presence first (sit down), pets second (if solicited), food audit third (check the rack). Resolution rate: 100% within the hour, 90% within pets. Democracy works when the electorate is one bunny and the representative brings parsley. Minutes published; next session when the stare convenes it.

Stare decoders and the real answer desk

Stare taxonomy, final: the level gaze (general business, see answers above), the single-ear swivel (audio complaint, usually TV volume), the full-body orientation shift (urgent, historically: empty water bowl twice, stuck toy once). Decoder accuracy claimed: 70%, remainder mysteries. The real answer desk processes 9 of 10 stares into pets within the hour; the tenth gets food audit plus pets. Response-time stats: average 12 minutes from stare to resolution (my best: 3, my worst: 45 during a phone call, logged with shame). Correspondence with the cute-word protocol: same stare precedes both, distinguished only by context (post-dinner means pets; pre-dinner means food). The diary’s unified theory of staring: attention requested, form varies, parsley resolves. Democracy adjourned; pets delivered.

Minutes archive and standing orders

Archive stats: 14 stare sessions minuted this quarter, 13 resolved within the hour, 1 mystery ongoing (the Tuesday ceiling stare, spider suspected, unconfirmed). Standing orders: sit down first (presence before solutions), pets if solicited (watch for the lean-in), food audit if pre-dinner (rack, bowl, hay), parsley if stalemate (universal solvent). Order of operations posted inside the notebook, followed with 90% compliance (phone-call exception noted and regretted). The democracy runs on schedule: he votes with stares, I obey with pets, the hay budget gets debated forever. Minutes filed, pets delivered, transcript closed. Wrong answers win; right answer (pet me) wins more.

Session closed: votes tallied, leg moved, pets delivered, flop achieved. The transcript joins fourteen archived sessions in the stare file. Next convening whenever the face appears, diary ready, parsley stocked, leg preemptively relocated. Democracy naps now; obedience continues.

Stare file grows; democracy holds. Fourteen sessions minuted, all resolved, one mystery pending (ceiling spider, unconfirmed). The face will convene again; the diary will minute again. Wrong answers forever; right answer always pets.

Pet me o’clock strikes whenever the stare lands. The house answers within the hour, parsley in reserve. Votes counted, legs moved, democracy delivered. Stare decoders stand by for the next session.

Transcript sealed with pets. Democracy sleeps; the stare dreams.

Stare minuted; pets delivered.

The final vote leaned toward moving my leg, so I moved it and delivered the customary head rubs on schedule. Democracy works in this house: one stare, one ballot, one happily petted bunny before bedtime.

🐰

Written by Azmi

I track my rabbits' diet, weight and naps to see what works. Photos are mine, mess included. Say hi on the contact page.

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