Sunday Bunday: Football Bed Cuddles
Sunday bunday at my place in Meknes means one thing: my girl cuddling up in her football bed after watching the game with me. I am Azmi, and this is my diary of a slow autumn afternoon that began with kickoff noise and ended with a tucked-in rabbit breathing softly beside the couch. Win or lose on the screen, the bun cuddles after. That has become the best part of my season by far.
She is my little game-day partner. She does not care about the score, but she cares very much about where her bed sits, when the room goes quiet, and whether my hand stays within reach. So I built our Sunday around her comfort first and the match second, and the result was the coziest afternoon we have had since the weather turned.
Pregame: setting the stadium bed
An hour before kickoff I placed her football bed by the couch at the exact angle she prefers, half facing me and half facing the room. I fluffed the rim, smoothed the middle, and tucked a familiar blanket along one edge so it smelled like her. The room was tidy, the curtains half drawn, the volume set low enough that sudden crowd noise would not startle her. She inspected the whole arrangement with great seriousness, circled once, dug twice at the blanket, and then claimed it with a flop that said the stadium was officially open.
I have learned that her rest matters more than my viewing habits, so I keep game days calm on purpose. No shouting at the screen, no jumping up, no dramatic celebrations that shake the couch. If my team scores, I celebrate with a quiet grin and a forehead rub for the bun. She seems to approve of this arrangement. Her ears stay relaxed, her breathing stays slow, and she drifts in and out of naps while the commentators murmur in the background.
First quarter: game face on
During the first quarter she sat tall in her bed with what I can only call her game face on. Ears up, eyes bright, nose working overtime as she tracked every sound in the room. When the crowd on television roared, she glanced at the speaker, then at me, checking whether I was worried. I was not, so she decided she was not either, and settled back down with visible dignity. That little moment of checking in with me is one of my favorite things about her. She uses me as her barometer, and I try hard to be a calm one.
I kept one hand resting near her bed so she could nudge it whenever she wanted contact. She did, twice, pressing her forehead into my fingers before turning back to the screen like a tiny analyst. I whispered the play-by-play to her in a low voice, which she appeared to find deeply boring, and that is exactly the point. A bored rabbit is a relaxed rabbit. Her eyelids grew heavy by the end of the quarter, and she sank a little deeper into the cushions.
Halftime: hay top-up and stretch break
At halftime I muted the television and gave her my full attention. Fresh hay in her rack, water checked, bed refluffed, and a short stretch break where she hopped out, circled the rug, and did a magnificent full-body shake. She nibbled some hay while standing with her front paws on the edge of her bed, the way she always does, dropping strands everywhere with complete confidence. I am not a vet and this is only my own routine at home, so for any feeding questions I check with my own vet rather than guessing. At home I simply keep her usual hay available and let her set the pace.
Halftime is also our photo moment. Every Sunday I take one tucked-in picture for the diary, same bed, same corner, different mood. Some weeks she poses like a model. This week she yawned directly into the camera, which is honestly better. I kissed the top of her head, told her the second half was about to start, and she climbed back into her bed without being asked. Creature of habit, just like her owner.
Second half: the slow melt
The second half belonged to sleep. As the autumn light shifted across the room, she melted in stages: first the tall sit became a loaf, then the loaf leaned sideways against the rim, then the whole bun flattened into a cozy puddle with her chin resting on the blanket edge. Her nose twitched in her dreams. Her paws gave the occasional kick. I stopped watching the match entirely and just watched her instead, hand resting lightly on the bed frame so she could feel me there.
Evenings like this remind me of our quiet rest times together, the ones I logged in my flop diary of evening rest photos. There is a particular peace to a rabbit who feels safe enough to sleep deeply beside you while the world makes noise. I kept the blanket tucked around her shoulders, the way she likes, and let the game fade into background hum. The room smelled of hay and clean blankets, and the whole afternoon felt golden.
Full time: tucked in and glowing
When the final whistle blew, she was fully tucked in, cozy, and ready for autumn, exactly as the diary promised. I turned the television off, and the sudden quiet made her ears lift for a moment before she decided silence was even better. We stayed on the couch together while the light faded, and I ran through the house rules that keep our shared evenings gentle, the same ones I wrote in my couch time rules for our home. Soft voices, slow hands, bun decides when cuddles end. She stretched one paw toward me in her sleep, and I took that as approval.
Angel on earth, that is what she is. All tucked in and cute through all four quarters, patient with my hobby, generous with her naps. I covered her a little warmer as the evening cooled, tidied the hay strands around her bed without waking her, and let myself feel grateful for something so simple. A couch, a bed shaped like a football, a girl who trusts me enough to dream beside me. Next Sunday we will do it all again. Same bed, same corner, same halftime hay, same full-time cuddle. I cannot wait.
Next in this chapter…
Daughter May Be My Son (Surprise at Five Months)
I am Azmi, writing from Meknes, and I have a permanent folder in my heart for plot twists like this…
American Bunthic: Dinner on the Floor
I am Azmi, keeping my diary in Meknes, and there is one kind of evening I know by heart: the…
First Binky Since Moving House
I am Azmi, writing from Meknes, and tonight I watched something I have been waiting two months to see: a…