Snorlax and Domino: Handfuls of Fluff
I am Azmi, writing from my small living room in Meknes, and I want to announce the arrival that changed my winter. It is not a birth in the usual sense. It concerns two Jersey wooly babies, two months old, named Snorlax and Domino, each no bigger than a handful of fluff. I measured them against my own palm the first evening, and my palm won. My wife fell instantly. I hesitated, because my last pet had been a dog who passed years ago, and my heart had stayed careful ever since. We went back to see them again. Of course we went back.
Announcement card: Two Handfuls of Fluff
Every family has an arrival that marks a turning point. Ours happens to hop. If you ever meet two tiny wooly rabbits on a Tuesday and feel your chest tighten, this announcement is for you. Arrival time: one long evening of glances across the room. Settling time: the first week of living together. Announces one guarded heart, plus one wife who already knew the answer before I did.
| Detail | Entry | Notes from the nursery |
|---|---|---|
| Small wooly rabbit, first handful | One Snorlax | Two months old, cloud-soft, sleeps like a folded sock |
| Small wooly rabbit, second handful | One Domino | Same age, same size, completely different opinions |
| Quiet corner in Meknes flat | One pen, lined with hay | Low traffic, warm, near enough to hear night movement |
| Patience | More than you think | Added daily, never rushed |
| Camera | One phone | For proof that they are bunnies, not cushions |
Bulletin one: Welcome them slowly
Do not preheat anything. I sat on the floor the first night and let the room do the work. Snorlax sniffed my sleeve for a full minute and decided it was boring, which hurt a little. Domino climbed onto my shoe and sat there like a king on a small hill. My wife laughed from the couch, and that laugh did half the warming for me. Grief after losing a dog years earlier had left me polite but distant around animals. I would admire them and keep my hands in my pockets. That evening my hands came out of my pockets on their own. I am not a vet, so I check with my vet before changing food, housing, or care routines for young rabbits, and I kept their corner simple and calm while they settled.
Bulletin two: First handling notes
On day two I learned that Jersey wooly babies are mostly air and attitude. I lifted Snorlax with both hands and felt almost nothing, just warmth and a fast small heartbeat against my thumbs. Domino was lighter still, if that is possible, and kicked once against my wrist before melting into my forearm. We took fluffy proof photos because nobody believed us. Friends asked if we had adopted slippers. I sent a video of Domino hopping three steps and falling sideways into hay, and the group chat declared the debate over. Video proof available: these are bunnies, not cushions. Barely. I kept handling short and low to the ground, and I let them come back to me rather than chasing them around the pen.
Bulletin three: First-week observations
Every good announcement deserves follow-up notes. Mine from that first week read like this in my notebook. Tiny, confirmed daily, usually while I was trying to drink coffee. Fluffy proof photos required and supplied, mostly blurry, all precious. Heart status: reopened and operating normally, with occasional leaks around the eyes when both babies flopped at the same time. Snorlax turned out to be the eater, head down and serious. Domino turned out to be the inspector, nose up and into everything. At night they pressed together in one corner even though the pen had plenty of space, two commas forming one sentence. I sat beside them and read, and the sound of hay crunching became my new evening radio.
Bulletin four: Let them rest, then enjoy
The hardest instruction was to do nothing fancy. I did not rearrange their corner every day. I did not invite the whole street to hold them. I kept lights low in the evening, kept voices soft, and kept fresh hay and clean water within easy reach. My wife took morning duty and I took evenings, and we compared reports like two scientists studying the same cloud. One morning Snorlax binkied for the first time, a clumsy sideways kick that nearly tipped him over, and I shouted so loud I scared us all. Domino answered with a flop so sudden I checked whether he had fainted. He had not. He was simply happy in the way only a baby rabbit can be, fully sideways and fully sure of the floor.
People ask what changed for me, and the honest answer is small and plain. I had told myself that loving another animal would feel disloyal to my old dog. Holding Snorlax taught me that the heart does not work like a cupboard with one shelf. It works like hay: you add more and it still fits. Those early days reminded me of the slow trust-building I wrote about in my trust diary from our first weeks together, where every approach had to be earned. I also thought back to those first binkies at ten weeks old in another little one, that same shock of joy when legs finally say go. Two handfuls, one healed heart. Tuesday was a good day, and every quiet evening since has felt like more of the same warm welcome.
Next in this chapter…
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