📅 Saturday, 25 July 2026 · No. 120

Dribbling Skills: Gordo Goes Slow-Mo

💤 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.

Gordo showcasing his dribbling skills tonight, and your correspondent was there with front-row floor seats. I am Azmi, reporting from Meknes on the cutest match of the season: nose on the ball, slow motion, crowd of one human going wild on the rug. Full time ended the way all great matches end here, with the ball abandoned and hay requested. This is my match almanac, minute by minute, for the diary.

Minute one: the walkout

The evening began with the star player emerging from his tunnel at a stately waddle. Gordo is built like a tank and moves like a gentleman, unhurried, dignified, ears at a confident angle. He circled the ball twice without touching it, letting the tension build, while I sat cross-legged on the floor trying not to laugh. The arena, also known as my living room rug, was in perfect condition: cushions pushed back, cords hidden, water bowl in its usual corner. He sniffed the ball from every side, as professionals do, and the crowd held its breath.

Minute three: first touch, perfect control

First touch: nose, perfect control. He pressed his nose to the top of the ball and rolled it forward exactly one inch, then stood back to admire his work. I narrated in a hushed commentator voice, which he ignored with total professionalism. Then came the slow-motion sequence the title promises. He lowered his head, pushed the ball with tiny deliberate nudges, each step measured, each pause dramatic. I swear the room went quiet. Somewhere a tiny stadium played imaginary music. The ball rolled. Gordo followed. History was being made on the rug.

Minute six: the showboating phase

Second touch: also nose, showboating confirmed. Emboldened by his early success, Gordo began to improvise. A nudge with the left side of the nose. A thoughtful stare. A full circle around the ball before pushing it backward, which I can only interpret as a deliberate trick play. At one point he rested his chin on top of the ball like a captain posing with the trophy, and I lost all commentator composure. He looked at me with calm dark eyes that said mind your business and enjoy the match, so I did. Slow motion and imaginary music included, at no extra charge.

Minute ten: the midfield pause

Every great player needs a breather, and Gordo took his with style. He flopped beside the ball, legs stretched, side heaving gently, and accepted a long forehead rub as his halftime treatment. I kept my voice low and my hands slow, the way I always do when the game pauses. These pauses are my favorite part of our play sessions. The wild athlete melts into a soft loaf, the ball sits forgotten, and for a minute we are just a human and his rabbit breathing together on the rug. No scoreboard, no tactics, only trust.

Play manners like his took time to build. When petting stops unexpectedly he sometimes thumps his opinion at me, a habit I logged with love in my thump log for when petting stops. Tonight there were no thumps, only patience. I read that as a five-star review of my commentary and my head rubs alike. When he was ready, he stood, shook himself from nose to tail, and walked back to the ball with renewed purpose.

Minute fourteen: the final push

The final push was brief and glorious. Three determined nose-nudges in a row sent the ball rolling toward the couch, where it wedged against the leg in what the officials ruled out of play. Gordo stared at the wedged ball for a long moment, considered his options, and then made the veteran decision: match over, snacks now. He turned away from the ball with magnificent indifference and hopped to his hay rack. Full time: ball abandoned, hay requested, crowd delighted. I retrieved the ball to polite applause from nobody and placed it back in the toy corner for the next fixture.

One note for fellow humans who play with their rabbits: I keep sessions short, floors clear, and toys simple, and for any feeding questions I check with my own vet instead of guessing. At home that means his usual hay always available, water fresh, and play entirely on his terms. When he walks away, the match is over, and that is exactly how it should be. I wrote about the gentle side of these exchanges in my hand-feeding notes, where patience matters more than any trick. Gordo teaches me that lesson every single game.

Post-match press conference

Goals scored: zero, style points: infinite, crowd enjoyment: maximum
Best moment: the chin rest on the ball like a trophy pose
Player condition: calm, fluffy, hungry, immediately rewarded with hay
Next fixture: whenever the captain feels like it, same rug, same ball

Star player, tank build, gentle feet. Transfer value: priceless, unlisted, never for sale. Why is he called Gordo. Mind your business, enjoy the match, love the player. Tonight he gave me slow motion, soft comedy, and a halftime cuddle, and then he ate hay with the focus of a champion refueling. I tidied the rug, washed the water bowl, and wrote this almanac while the memory was warm. Cutest match of the season, decided unanimously by a crowd of one. See you at the next game, captain.

🐰

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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