We gratefully acknowledge the original 'Disapproving Rabbits' website, that inspired this site, and its creators, Sharon, Bill, Cinnamon, and Dougal. Without you, we would not be here. We Approve Of You!
Sunday, February 19, 2017
A minute of so before our hoomin took this pix, Latte was completely zonked out, tucks out, eyes shut, and her head nestled against my side. Before that, we were lounging side by side, "loaf to loaf." We have the full run of the house, and the hoomins have stopped following us.
I think it's happening, folks. We had no fights and no bites. Hoomins are a bit on the ecstatic side. For once, something is going right!
We'll keep you posted!
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Author's Note: This week, we could barely work on a few black and white doodles for the story. We'll plan better to put some color into the next one. The good news is we were able to get some black and white doodles for the story, and we got the draft finished.
It took us much longer than we expected to nail down the numbers for inserting our training craft into Saturn's orbit. We had to find a time window far ahead to give us some space to prepare our evacuation. Then we had to double-check the results. I really missed having a team on the ground to offer assistance at such a moment. By the time we got done, we were all jittery. It's been so long since any of us had to calculate trajectories that we felt like beginners. At least Hopper and Mel were freshly graduated from training, so they handled the pressure well. I, on the other paw, felt completely humbled.
Maybe it wasn't the calculations that got us all wobbly. In a roundabout way, the math implied the finality of our stay at our present space-time coordinates.
Afterward, we feasted on all the fresh supplies that we had left. There was no sense in trying to preserve anything. If we didn't eat it then, it would just go waste. Our moods lifted a little, and I dispensed sleeping aids again. Even after that, I felt restless and anxious in my improvised burrow. I could hear Hopper and Mel tossing and turning uneasily.
The next day, Hopper suggested it would be a good idea to bring the flight data recorders with us, and maybe engineering would be able to make sense of what happened to us. We started to dismantle a part of the aft storage bay to gain access to the recorders. It took us most of the day because those parts were never meant to be accessed the way we had to get to them. Of course, if those recorders got wiped clean when our incident occurred, this was just a huge waste of time and effort.
The physical workout helped us all to steady our nerves. I realized how much I missed the workout equipment available on larger ships. We should have improvised some resistance training contraption to minimize the loss of strength, but for now, I would have to leave it in the "lessons learned" rubric. We were about to bail out of here anyway.
While Hopper got busy preparing our suits, I helped Mel with the primary computer system. We had to repurpose one of the backup units to act as a flight recorder. Without that, the proper data recorder module would not release from its seating. Or to be more precise, the main computer would not release the latches on the module. We had the recorder out of the bay and in the airlock in no time.
Next, Mel started crafting the SOS, or the "here's what happened to us" story for broadcast. It ended with something to the effect "If you are listening to this message, we've been locked up somewhere in government facilities, and we sure could use a rescue." Would that signal ever be picked up by anybun? I hope I never have to find out. Our craft had very limited possibilities for broadcasting, so I didn't put too much faith in a regular radio and microwave transmissions getting picked up. But the pods from the Behemoth, on the other paw, would transmit on frequencies in the range of 30 petahertz to 30 exahertz. That ought to be interesting. We had hoped radio telescopes on the ground and orbit would notice it.
Of course, the hope of our craft still being semi-functional so far in the future was overly optimistic, but we had to do our due diligence. Hopper giggled that if anything happened to us, the pods from the Behemoth would do some wonders to x-ray scanners and other machines of that sort. "Imagine, you go to your dentist for a filling, and your bill contains a misfortune cookie: Help me, I'm held hostage in a lab," quipped Mel.
We had one more thing to improvise before we could leave. The extended life support system. We needed the means of recharging our suits. We had to be able to replenish the breathable oxygen and to change out the carbon monoxide scrubbers. The scrubbers were easy to replace. We grabbed whatever scrubbers we had left in the emergency supply bay. The oxygen system was a bit more tricky. We removed the lining from a small cold storage compartment to make a thermo-insulated container. We put a couple of liquid oxygen bottles in it and added a heating system. We cannibalized a spare EBA suit to make a charging adapter to be able to transfer the oxygen from the support unit into oxygen system of the suits. We gathered all the spare batteries to run the pressure pumps. It worked, but barely. The support system could produce enough pressure to charge the suits fully only once, but it was better than nothing. The big question was, would we need it?
If our scheme to get back home worked, we would only need enough air to leave our craft and to give the Behemoth new destination coordinates. After that, at least in our hopeful theory, we should be able to stick out our noses from the Behemoth and get picked up by somebun. Something like the Behemoth parking itself on Earth's low orbit had to stir a ton of curiosity. As long as nobun would try to blast us out of the orbit, we might have a chance. However, imagine we missed the golden window of opportunity. Imagine that we arrived before bunkind started space exploration or after they stopped it for some unfathomable reason.
Well, I didn't want to think about that. Somehow, I still had an appetite. I called on Hopper and Mel to take a break and eat something. As we nommed the last of our fresh hay and dug into the 3-D printed meal biscuits, fatigue took the better of us. We either worked our tails off or were getting tired more quickly. I welcomed it; maybe tonight would be restful. We sure could use some good z's.
Friday, February 17, 2017
Dear Mr. Bun,
My name is Rubi, and I'm a 9-month old Blanc de Hotot living in Puerto Rico.
I'm writing to complain because I'm being forced to share my room and food bowl with two peasant house rabbits. You see, I'm a Princess, and I strongly disapprove of my current living conditions. If you could please tell my mommy to build me my own castle hutch (preferably in pink), I'd really appreciate it. Thank you!
We can see your struggle and we couldn't agree more. Keep up the pressure on your hoomin, eventually, she'll cave in. Try to enlist Olivia and Kooma to help your efforts. Swallow a little bit of pride and let them swallow some of your raspberries (try to chew first, though). Make a deal with them and demand a bigger castle, one fit for all three of you. Please, keep us posted!
- Ijon and all the buns.
- Thank you, Isandra!
Thursday, February 16, 2017
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Well, if you mean it, hoomin, you'll stay right here and administer headrubs and nose bonks; all day long. Did you say the raspberrini cask was ready?
- Thank you, Oona!
PS: Thank you so much everyone for sending in fresh disapproval and sharing our post!
We would like to keep the call going for a bit longer. You can post on the DisapprovingBun time line, message us on FB or send it to firstname.lastname@example.org