📅 Saturday, 2 May 2026 · No. 46

The Evening Huff: Yes, Daily

🌿 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.

People ask how often I bury my face in bunny fur. Answer: daily. Every time I pass, basically. There is a warm, hay-sweet smell that no candle has ever matched. This post anatomizes the ritual: the approach, the bury, the breath, the side-eye, plus my three huff rules and confessions gathered from other houses. Personal joy log, not advice; the only rule that matters medically is the flat-ears stop. She always looks at me like I have a problem. She is not wrong.

Anatomy of a huff: four phases

Phase one, the approach: I kneel to floor level, never loom standing, looming gets a retreat, and present the side of my face near (not on) the flank. Morning huffs happen post-tidy around 8:00; evening huffs around 19:30 pre-flop. Phase two, permission: one sniff from her decides it. Sniff-and-stay means proceed; turn-away means session cancelled, no appeal. Cancellation rate runs about 1 in 8, logged without resentment. Phase three, the bury: face into the side fur, three slow breaths. The smell profile, catalogued over months: warm hay base, faint chamomile from the rack mix, clean dust, and underneath something sweet I can only call bunny. Winter coat season deepens it; post-brush huffs smell faintly of nothing (clean slate, still lovely). Phase four, the withdrawal: lift straight back, never sideways (sideways drags fur and earns the look early), hands visible, then the accepted side-eye.

Huff rules (the complete code)

Gentle, never chase them for it, the huff comes to the bunny; pursuit voids the ritual and the log marks it C for cancelled-by-me
Stop if ears go flat, flat ears end everything instantly, no third breath, no photo; two flat-ear stops logged this year, both respected
Accept the side-eye afterwards with grace, the look is part of the ritual: chin slightly turned, one eye on me, duration 5 to 30 seconds. I meet it, nod, withdraw. Grace is mandatory.
Bonus rule added in spring: no huffing sleeping bunnies, waking huffs startle and the startle-thump ruins everyone’s morning. Awake or nothing.

Confessions from other houses

Confessions from other houses: daily huffing, some with six bunnies and zero regrets, one friend runs a six-bun rotation nightly, order fixed by hierarchy (hers, not his). Another reports huffing only the freshly-brushed ones (scent of the brush? volume?). Sensitive nostrils are the only side effect, one winter of daily huffs left me able to identify my rabbit blindfolded by fur alone (tested twice, correct twice, deeply unserious skill). Frequency data from my sheet: average 2 huffs daily, 14 weekly, roughly 700 yearly. Cancellation rate 12%, flat-ear stops rare, side-eye acceptance 100%. The side-eye afterwards is part of the ritual and I accept it every time, grace, as codified. Daily huff, daily grace, daily hay-sweet miracle. No candle has ever matched it, and none ever will.

Scent journal: a year of hay-sweet

Monthly scent notes, because the smell changes and nobody talks about it. January: deep hay with dusty warmth (winter coat at full volume). March: lighter, green edge as fresh batches arrive. May: chamomile forward when the rack mix changes. July: thinner, sun-warmed, afternoon huffs only (morning coat damp from cool nights). September: the great shed, loose fur smell, like warm laundry, huffs accompanied by sneezes (mine). November: full winter bloom returns, deepest of the year. The journal’s finding: scent tracks the coat cycle exactly, peaking with density. Blind test, conducted twice on family visits: identify-your-rabbit-by-huff, correct both times, witnesses unimpressed, practitioner proud. Storage of the memory: unwritable, so the words must carry it, warm, hay-sweet, clean dust, bunny underneath. No candle has ever matched it because candles never breathe back.

Huff etiquette for guests

Guests may request a huff (supervised, one breath, same rules). Briefing given: kneel, wait for sniff, bury gently, accept the look. Success rate among visitors: 4 of 6 (two turn-aways, respected instantly). Children: held to the same code, with an adult hand guiding distance, closest supervised huff on record: age six, perfect form, side-eye accepted with giggles. The ritual scales to anyone patient. Refusals honored publicly (see? she decides, the best lesson in consent an animal can teach). Annual huff census: roughly 700, cancellations 12%, flat-ears under 1%. The numbers describe a practice, not an obsession. Mostly.

Huff masterclass, advanced topics. Multi-bunny households: order fixed by rabbit hierarchy, observe one evening to learn the queue, never reorder it (reordering caused a thump and a week of suspicion in a friend’s house). Post-illness huffs: gentler, shorter, vet-cleared first, the ritual resumes only when the sheet says normal three days running. Travel huffs: boarding staff briefed with the code (kneel, sniff-decides, three breaths); report back was two successful huffs, one refusal, all logged remotely by text. The ritual travels because the rules travel. Milestone watch: the 1000th logged huff approaches this winter, planned celebration is one extra breath (four instead of three, permit requested in advance from management). She will decide, as always. Daily till then.

🐰

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 →Permitted to Touch All Three of Them TodayCalled In for My Annual Review (She Is Judging Me)