📅 Saturday, 4 July 2026 · No. 102

Speed Dating Flop: Five Rejections and Counting

💤 Behavior Diaries · ✎ 5 min · by Azmi in Meknes

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

Dating is hard in Meknes when you are two years old, extremely handsome, and completely uninterested in every candidate presented to you. Welcome to the official scorecard of my little bachelor and his perfect losing streak: five introductions, five rejections, zero matches. I am recording it here because future me will want proof that we tried, and because the whole saga is honestly funnier written down than it felt in the moment, standing in someone else living room holding a carrier while two rabbits ignored each other with great dignity.

Pre-season: the contestant

Our bachelor enters the season at two years old, healthy, confident, litter habits excellent, flop game strong. Strengths: magnificent ears, calm with people, expert snuggler once trust is earned. Weaknesses: strong opinions about other rabbits, zero patience for nonsense, a tendency to turn his back on a potential partner and wash his own face instead, which the judges score as a clear statement. He travels well and behaves politely in new rooms, so the failures cannot be blamed on nerves. He simply knows what he likes, and so far that appears to be himself.

Round one: the polite no

Lady number one was gentle and curious, exactly the profile I had hoped for. Neutral room, fresh hay pile in the middle, both rabbits placed at opposite ends. She approached. He sniffed once, turned ninety degrees, and hopped to the hay to eat alone. She followed. He moved. She settled. He left. Ten minutes of calm parallel existence with no spark whatsoever. Score: zero growls, zero chases, zero interest. The human judges called it the politest rejection of the season.

Round two: the firm no

Lady number two had more energy and came in fast, which was a tactical error. One head-on approach, one thrown glance, and my boy retreated behind the cardboard hideout and refused to come out for the rest of the session. Not fear, exactly. More like a critic walking out of a film he finds beneath him. We ended the date early with treats for both parties and a long talk on the drive home about keeping an open mind. He fell asleep in the carrier, unbothered, while I replayed every second wondering what I had missed.

Round three: the chaos no

Lady number three was the dramatic episode. Circling within seconds, tail up, full tornado energy. My boy flattened, then binkied sideways straight out of the circle like a dancer escaping a bad partner, and the whole thing dissolved into zoomies in opposite directions. Nobody fought, but nobody connected either. It looked like two weather systems refusing to merge. I learned something useful that day about reading early signals, the same kind of slow observation I practiced during those first weeks of building trust, when watching quietly taught me more than interfering ever did.

Rounds four and five: the double header

By round four I changed strategy and tried a calm older lady in a bigger space with tunnels for escape routes. Result: two hours of exquisite indifference. They shared the hay rack back to back without once looking at each other, like commuters on a train. Round five, a sweet foster girl he already knew by smell, went the same way. A few sniffs, one shared pellet, then separate corners for a nap. The foster mom laughed and said some rabbits audition a dozen partners before one clicks, which steadied me. Five is a slow start, not a verdict.

Half-time talk: what the rejections taught me

Sitting with five polite failures in a row forced me to get honest about my own matchmaking. Early on I chose candidates for looks and availability instead of temperament, and I rushed the second date only a week after the first, which was unfair to a rabbit who needs time to reset between new smells and new rooms. I also learned to stop hovering. The sessions where I sat back with a book and let the rabbits circle, sniff, and separate on their own terms produced calmer behavior than the ones where I kept rearranging hay piles and narrating like a sports commentator. Bonding rewards boredom, it turns out. The humans must be calm furniture before the rabbits can be curious, and I was bad furniture for at least two of these rounds.

The other lesson is about my boy himself. He is not lonely in the way I feared. He eats well alone, plays alone, floppes dramatically alone, and greets me with the same warmth every evening regardless of the dating calendar. That steadiness tells me the pressure is mine, not his. So the next bracket will be slower by design: one candidate at a time, longer gaps, pre-bonding with swapped litter scoops and shared play spaces on alternating days. If the right companion appears, wonderful. If not, the bachelor keeps his peaceful kingdom and I stop treating contentment like a problem to solve.

Judges table: the final tally

Total introductions: five. Successful bonds: zero. Treats consumed by all parties: too many to count.
Aggression incidents: none, which matters more than any match. Every date ended with both rabbits safe and calm.
Leading theory: he may prefer a male companion, or a familiar foster face rather than a stranger, so those are our next brackets.
Current status: happily solo, gloriously unbothered, in no rush at two years old.

So the losing streak stands at five and counting, and I am at peace with it. Solo flying is valid while we search, and the search itself has taught me to read ears, tails, and posture better than any guide could. Next up is either a mellow boy his own age or the foster friend he already knows, introduced slowly with the patient watching-and-learning approach from my new bunny week notes. Until the right nose boop comes along, the bachelor keeps his crown, his carrier stays packed, and his diary keeps the score with love.

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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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