📅 Tuesday, 29 September 2026 · No. 178

American Bunthic: Dinner on the Floor

🌿 Daily Logs · ✎ 5 min · by Azmi in Meknes

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

I am Azmi, keeping my diary in Meknes, and there is one kind of evening I know by heart: the one where work finally releases you, the door closes behind you, and small citizens immediately demand an accounting of your absence. That is the world of this post. Every night after work there are binkies or attention tirades, then treats, then many pets, and then the human sits on the floor with dinner to invite more company. The rabbits relax on the other side of the room. American bunthic indeed.

I love that phrase, bunthic, because it understands something real about rabbits. They are not dogs waiting at the table. They are a small authentic court holding session across the room, and you are welcome to eat in their presence provided you do not misunderstand your rank. Dinner on the floor is not surrender. It is diplomacy.

The door opens: binkies or grievances

The evening begins theatrically. Some nights the human is greeted with binkies, those gravity-defying twists that mean the day apart has been forgiven in advance. Other nights it is an attention tirade: circling feet, nudging shins, a pointed stare that says the working day was far too long and the management will be hearing about it. Both receptions delight me, because both are fluent rabbit. Joy and complaint are the same language spoken at different volumes.

There are two characters at the centre of this particular court. A regal lop called King, named at eight weeks old, carrying the name the way some rabbits carry their ears, with total conviction. Beside him a silly lionhead, all mane and mischief, the kind of rabbit who turns any room into a minor festival. Different personalities sharing one floor, one evening, one human. I have watched pairs like this in my own rooms in Meknes, and the dynamic never gets old: one supervises, one improvises.

Close-up of the regal lop King resting with soft light on his face — Regal close-up.

Treats distributed, pets multiplied

Then comes the distribution phase, and order matters. Treats first, because justice must be seen to be done, and then pets, many pets, given with both hands and full attention. I recognise this sequence from my own evenings. The rabbits position themselves with great precision: close enough to receive, far enough to leave. A rabbit being petted is a rabbit conducting an inspection, and the human hands are the subject under review.

This is where the personalities split beautifully. The regal lop presumably accepts tribute the way kings accept tribute, as his obvious due, while the silly lionhead shifts and wriggles and asks for everything twice. The original note calls them both precious, and I agree without reservation. A rabbit mid-pet, eyes half closed, tooth purr rumbling under your palm, is one of the few arguments for the goodness of the world that I fully accept.

The fluffy lionhead rabbit mid-wriggle during evening petting time — Silly lionhead shift.

Dinner is served, on the floor, together-ish

And then the signature move: the human sits on the floor with dinner. Not at the table like a distant monarch, but down at rabbit level, offering proximity without demands. I find this genuinely moving. It is an invitation, not a summons. Come closer if you like. No one will be grabbed. The plate is human food, the floor is shared territory, and the evening settles into its final shape.

Together-ish is the highest form of togetherness a rabbit offers, and it is worth more than any cuddle extracted by force.

The rabbits relax on the other side of the room, and that distance is the whole point. A relaxed rabbit ten feet away is a rabbit who trusts the room. Ears soft, bodies loafed or flopped, perhaps one stretched long in the particular sprawl that means the evening has been judged satisfactory. The human eats. The rabbits digest the day. Everyone is in the same painting, nobody needs to touch the frame. It reminds me of those slow evenings I described around a blanket, the television, and one very serious rabbit viewer, where closeness is measured in shared quiet rather than handling.

Human dinner plate on the floor beside a relaxed rabbit at a distance — Dinner: floor service.

What the floor knows

Buns have personalities, the original note says, confirmed nightly, and I want to second that confirmation with the solemnity of a notary. Floor dinners forever, it concludes, and I understand the vow. Eating at rabbit level night after night teaches you things no book quite conveys: how a lop claims space versus how a lionhead borrows it, how treats taste better when distributed fairly, how a room feels different when two small judges have declared it safe.

There is a kinship here with the careful neutrality of bonding dinners with two plates in neutral territory, where food and floor do the diplomatic work that hands cannot. The floor is where rabbit relationships are negotiated, whether between rabbits or between a rabbit and a tired human with a dinner plate. Sit low, stay long, expect nothing, and the other side of the room slowly becomes the same side.

Both rabbits lounging like royalty while their human eats dinner on the floor — Bunthic, both thrones.

So I will close with the image the post leaves me: a human cross-legged on the carpet, plate balanced, back against the sofa, while a regal lop and a silly lionhead hold their thrones across the room. Nobody performs. Nobody apologises. The workday dissolves into chewing sounds and soft evening light. If that is American bunthic, then long may it reign, on the floor, together-ish, perfect.

Dinner portions and choices follow my vet’s guidance, the ritual is mine, the menu is professional.

🐰

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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