My POV Feeding Him: Gloves, Chimple, Everything
I am Azmi, writing from Meknes, and tonight I fed him from my own point of view, phone in one hand and greens in the other, looking straight down at the best sight in the house. Full chimple visibility. Peets, belly, ears, and those mismatched gloves on full display, all arranged in one perfect circle of rabbit waiting for dinner. I take a feeder-height photo almost every evening, and this one earned a full catalog entry. What follows is my point-of-view feeding log, broken into the five views I get from above, because each one deserves its own admiration pause before serving.
View one: the gloves, always first
House rule: gloves admired before serving. He sits up with his front paws tucked side by side, one looking dipped in pale cream and the other showing its own patchy pattern, and I am required to stop and look at them before a single leaf descends. I lower the greens slowly and he tracks them with his whole head, ears tipping forward, but the paws stay planted like a diner with a napkin on his lap. Friends who have seen the photos ask if the markings are real, and they are: everyday, ordinary, completely spectacular mismatched gloves. I have written before about the patience side of this ritual in my hand-feeding notes, and the glove admiration pause is the heart of it. No leaf lands until the gloves get their compliment. He seems to know the order by now and holds the pose a beat longer each week.
View two: the full chimple
From directly above, his chin and cheeks form what our household calls the full chimple: chin rounded out, cheeks puffed, whiskers fanned wide like he is bracing for the happy work of chewing. Seen from feeder height, the chimple is symmetrical in a way you never notice from the side. Both cheeks carry the same eager curve. The mouth makes tiny pre-chews in the air before the food even arrives, a habit that makes me laugh every single time. I hold the bunch a handspan above him and watch the chimple tilt up to follow it. Lower an inch, tilt follows. Lift slightly, tilt follows. It is a small steering system powered by appetite. Feeding time here is fashion week and dinner theater in one, and the chimple is the headline act.
View three: peets and belly on display
Because he rears up slightly to meet the greens, I get the full undercarriage view: hind peets planted wide for balance, belly fur on show, tail a neat puff behind. From above, the posture reads as total confidence. Back feet grip the mat, front paws reach, body stretches long, and nothing wobbles. I love this angle because it shows how athletic an ordinary dinner really is. He is balancing, reaching, adjusting, all while keeping his eyes locked on the leaves. After the first grab he settles back down with the greens pinned under one paw, and the peets tuck back into loaf position within seconds. Gorgeous from above, practical from every angle. The whole sequence, stand, grab, settle, takes maybe twenty seconds, and I have watched it hundreds of times without getting bored.
View four: ears at elite attention
The ears deserve their own catalog page. During the approach they stand tall and slightly apart, swiveling toward every rustle of the greens. The moment the leaves touch his mouth, one ear tips sideways in that relaxed half-lop that means chewing has officially begun. I wait for that ear tip the way other people wait for a kettle to click. It is the signal that the serving was accepted and the evening can proceed. On nights when he is extra eager, both ears stay up through the first three bites, radar locked, before the flop-tip arrives. On sleepy nights the tip comes early, almost before the first bite. Either way, ears elite. I keep a daily record of these small mealtime details alongside what my bunnies ate today, and the ear notes are my favorite lines to reread.
View five: the grab, in slow motion
My technique is simple: greens lowered slowly for maximum grab. I bunch the stems together, bring them down to just above nose height, and let him choose the first leaf. He always grabs the same way, a quick sideways snatch with a head twist, then pins the bunch with one gloved paw while he works the edge. Crumbs of green scatter onto the mat. His whiskers sweep forward with each bite. The chimple works at full rhythm. I stand there holding the stems like a waiter who has been dismissed but stays to watch the meal anyway. There is nowhere else I would rather be at that hour. The kitchen can wait. The phone can wait. The grab is the whole evening.
Closing scorecard from feeder height
- Gloves: admired, mismatched, magnificent, served second to nothing.
- Chimple: full, round, symmetrical from above, working at top speed.
- Peets: visible, planted, then tucked back into loaf within seconds.
- Ears: elite attention through the approach, relaxed tip at first bite.
- Dinner: served, accepted, chewed with the seriousness it deserves.
Look at the gloves. Look at them. I write it in every feeding entry because it stays true. From my point of view above the dinner circle, with the mat below and the ears tracking every move, feeding him never feels like a chore. It feels like attending a small nightly show where the star wears gloves and eats greens. Chimple rating: full. Peets: visible. Ears: elite. Dinner: served. Same time tomorrow, same view, and I will still take the photo.
Feeding amounts and choices follow my vet’s guidance, the show is mine, the menu is professional.
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