📅 Friday, 4 September 2026 · No. 156

If Not Potato, Why Potato Shape?

🌿 Daily Logs · ✎ 4 min · by Azmi in Meknes

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

Good evening, Meknes. I am Azmi, and I have called this meeting because my rabbit has turned into a potato. Not near a potato. Not like a potato. A potato. A round, golden-brown, slightly overdone potato, cooling on the living room rug. Thank you for coming. There will be no slides.

The opening bit: why does the loaf burn so evenly?

Alternate title for tonight, which I considered and rejected for being too honest: why loaf burn so easily? Presenting one premium burnt potato, fresh from the oven of the living room rug. I walked in with laundry, and there he was, tucked into himself so tightly that his legs had clearly been recalled by the manufacturer. Ears flat. Chin down. A perfect oval of bunny with the crust browned all over.

Now, I have questions. First: how is the burn so even? I turn bread in the oven and still get one pale side. He achieves a uniform golden-brown toast on all surfaces with zero effort, asleep. Second: where did the legs go? I counted. I always count. There should be four. There are none visible. This is either magic or excellent tucking, and I am choosing to believe both.

Round buns are the best buns. I am on record with this and I will die on this hill, which is itself round. This particular bun is extra crispy and I would not have it any other way. He looks like dinner and behaves like royalty, which is the exact combination that keeps me rearranging my whole evening around a rug.

Potato inspection: the official bit

Shape: rotund, certified, no corners detected
Colour: golden-brown, extra toast, browned on every side
Category: fuzzy squash adjacent, premium grade
Legs: zero visible, four presumed present
Potato status: confirmed. Loaf burn: even, all over, perfect.

I run this inspection most evenings now. It never gets old. Some people check the weather. I check the potato. Overcast with a chance of loaf, I tell myself, and then I sit down on the floor next to him because the couch is suddenly very far away and the rug is where the good stuff is.

The callback: my morning routine cannot compete

Here is the thing. I keep my morning rabbit routine in Meknes on a strict schedule, and the mornings are all business: hay, water, quick health glance, out the door. Efficient. Respectable. But the evenings belong to the potato. The morning routine keeps him fed. The evening loaf keeps me sane. I did not expect a small animal shaped like a side dish to become the best part of my day, yet here we are, and I have stopped fighting it.

There is a whole science to the loaf that nobody warned me about. The tight loaf means contentment, the way he melts a little flatter as the evening goes on means deeper rest, and the rare half-sprawl, one back leg kicked out like a broken kickstand, means I should cancel all plans and stay exactly where I am. I have learned to read the potato the way sailors read clouds. Puffy and settled means fair weather. Lumpy and shifting means he is about to relocate to the cool tiles and abandon me, which hurts every single time.

There is also the matter of the oven itself. The rug sits in the one warm patch of afternoon sun, and he finds it daily without a thermometer, rotating slowly through the evening like something on a spit. I have watched him migrate six inches to stay inside the light, dragging the whole potato with great dignity. Location, location, location. Every great baked good knows it.

And can we talk about the physics? He is a sphere with opinions. When I stroke the warm curve of his back, the whole potato vibrates faintly with tooth purring, like a tiny engine idling. He is a baked good that hums. Every comedian wants a bit that reliable. Mine just sits on the rug and browns.

The closer: upside down is the sequel

If the loaf is the main act, the flop is the encore, and I have the photos to prove it over in my upside-down sleeper photo series. Same bunny, two shows nightly. First the potato, round and dignified. Then, without warning, the slow tilt sideways, the legs sticking out at odd angles, the full abandonment of all shape. From baked potato to spilled soup in four seconds flat. I laugh out loud every time, alone, in my living room, and I feel zero shame about it.

So that is my set, Meknes. One premium burnt potato, fresh from the oven of the living room rug, served nightly with no cover charge. Potato status: confirmed. Loaf burn: even, all over, perfect. Round buns are the best buns, this one is extra crispy, and I would not have it any other way. Goodnight. Tip your hay feeder.

🐰

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.

← prev / next →Cleaning Without Candles: My Smell-Safe HouseWishing for Bunny Insurance (Vet Care Is Rare)