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!



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Friday, March 31, 2017

Rubi


Of course, I'm ready. I see the beverages are not and you're still here!

- Thank you, Isandra!


PS: Have you any to spare? Have you never been on DisapprovingBun before?
Well, make a post on the DisapprovingBun timeline, message us on FB or send it to disapprovingbun@gmail.com

Thursday, March 30, 2017

Limerick


OK, OK, I was told I need to nag you about growing nutriberries, right? Anyway, what are those nutriberries?

- Thank you, Ken and Kaci!


PS: Ken says, "From the Desert Warren, here is Limerick. One of the 6 from mom Dublin’s litter, Limerick can always be counted on to disapprove."

Have you any to spare? Have you never been on DisapprovingBun before?
Well, make a post on the DisapprovingBun time line, message us on FB or send it to disapprovingbun@gmail.com

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Cinamon


I'm holding on to my good hoomin. My hoomin is so great, I even trained her to do the "holding on" for me! Then, I can hold on to a carrotini.


- Thank you, Melissa!

PS: Follow Cinamon and Jake on their FB page at Jake & Cinamon!

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Speedy


Where are the carrot vines? You said you'd grow some carrot vines!

- Thank you, Rachel!

PS: You can follow the adventures of Speedy on his blog at http://www.speedyhousebunny.com/ and on FB!

Monday, March 27, 2017

Rayla


Come 'ere, M*nd*y, no bun will recognize you when I get done with you!

- Thank you, Oona!

PS: Oh no, disapproval is getting very low.
Have you any to spare? Have you never been on DisapprovingBun before?
Well, make a post on the DisapprovingBun time line, message us on FB or send it to disapprovingbun@gmail.com

Sunday, March 26, 2017

Espresso and Latte Update



Greetings, Everybun!

I think we are both going to get bald spots from all the headrubs we get. Right between the ears. Yep, those ears made for fluffing and snorgling. Another benefit of those ears is knowing exactly when the hoomin is thinking about touching the treat bag!

- Espresso

Saturday, March 25, 2017

X-Plus Bun - Retrofire, Pt. 15

Pancake launched toward Freddie before he could react. As she flew by the console, she grabbed the paw rail and bounced Freddie with her backside. A split second later, she grabbed him by the collar of his flight suit, saving him from flying off and slamming into the bulkhead. He got a little whiplash, but at least he had Pancake's undivided attention.
"Well, what is it?" growled Pancake, still holding Freddie by the collar. Stunned, he frantically pointed at the console. Pancake read and slowly released her grip on Freddie. She read the transcript of the SOS message, slowly whispering to herself what she read as if afraid to miss a word.
Pancake and Freddie Pancake and Freddie
"And you really think this came from Toes and his guys? To me, it smells like a prank," said Pancake, still agitated.
"Should we tell Abby and the others?" asked Freddie.
"I wouldn't. Not until we can be sure this is Toes. Abby's been through a lot now. I would hate to raise her hopes like that, only to crush them when this turns out to be rubbish. I mean, there's been no official word hinting at all that any survivors got picked up. If they did pick up anybun, any survivors, that would be front-page news, don't you think?" Pancake wondered as her voice became calmer.
As Pancake relaxed a bit and started to second guess herself, Freddie started to look around for any trace evidence of what could corroborate his survivor hypothesis. At first, he found nothing unusual pointing to any rescue activities. There were rescue vessels in the sector where the mystery ship appeared, but that was just the standard operating procedure. He saw the maintenance ship that was first to volunteer to proceed to the emergency location, but then it canceled that route and resumed its originally planned course.
Freddie turned away from the monitor without saying anything and fixed his gaze on the sippy bag he tossed at Pancake. He folded his little paws on his chest and became still. The empty sippy bag was now stuck on an air intake filter. The air made a quiet hissing sound as the bag obstructed the airflow and it made Freddie think of a clepsydra metering the time running out. After a while, he asked, without looking at Pancake, "Where would you take the survivors of an encounter with something extraterrestrial?"
She thought about it for a long moment. "I hate to say it, but I'd try to isolate them from the general population. I don't know; I'd take them to St. Cinnamon's on high orbit—you know, that emergency station. Pancake and Freddie looked at each other. Freddie turned back to the console and tried to access the activity logs on St. Cinnamon's. As a senior maintenance engineer, he had the clearance to access such delicacies as the telemetry of automated maintenance systems on orbit and the ground talking to each other. But, this time, to his surprise, he couldn't. His access was revoked, and the place was locked down. "Ooooh, that's good," Freddie muttered under his nose. Pancake was transfixed. Next, Freddie logged into the ground facilities and discovered that they stopped receiving data from St. Cinnamon's at about the same time the SOS message stopped transmitting. Freddie thought this was good news because something was up and bad news because something was up. After a prolonged hesitation, Freddie said, "Don't judge me," and logged into the ground maintenance system as the Emergency Operations Director. But, most of the logs were empty. Finally, after looking around some more, he found one with an entry about three isolation pods getting activated. The pods usually got activated only when there was a threat of a contagion or during training exercises, and then they all got activated and tested. Freddie tapped the log entries on the screen, "That doesn't happen during drills; they wouldn't test just three of the pods!"
"I tell you what, Pancake; don't say anything to the others. I need to catch a ride to the surface. Let's declare a malfunction, and I can find a ride down at the next repair hub."
Abby Molly
Freddie got on the radio with the Flight Center and requested docking with the repair station, mumbling something about hydraulics, then something about the main seal in the secondary airlock leaking. The Center had so much on its paws, it couldn't care less right now and cleared the Buzzard to proceed as requested.
"Hmm...I wish I hadn't logged into maintenance from here!" grumbled Freddie to no-bun in particular. His forehead wrinkled, and his mouf froze in a contorted, disapproving grimace.
Pancake and Molly
The Buzzard lurched and shook a little after Freddie had programmed the ship's autopilot and the vessel had begun to change its course. Abby flew onto the flight deck, still sleepy, feeling a bit disoriented, and asked, "Why are we changing course?" Molly flew in right behind her, looking just as confused.
"I need to get off as soon as possible," said Freddie. Abby looked at him, then at Pancake. Pancake repeated the story about the leaky airlock and Freddie's needing a ride down. Abby didn't buy any of that and demanded a straight answer. Freddie relented eventually and walked her through his discoveries. Abby turned from being sleepy and groggy to upset. She swung around, pushed off from a paw rail, and left the flight deck without saying a word.
Mr. Toes
***
In the meantime, I checked into my isolation pod. First, I got a regular post-re-entry checkup. The horribly ironic thing was, I seriously doubted there would ever be a re-entry for me. I started on a battery of medical tests. I swallowed two tiny bio-monitors and got an injection of nano-diagnostic solution. This stuff would filter through my body and collect data from within me, down to the molecular level. Afterward, it would be compared with my DNA samples on file.
I hated the cognitive exercises they made me do next. I empathized with the staff, and I knew they had to make me do them, but I couldn't care anymore. Then I got to enjoy a seemingly endless debriefing. When I finally returned to my pod, I was exhausted. Gravity was slowly building up, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I could settle into my sleep burrow without having to get myself tied down. As I started to settle into slumber, a dark and sticky wave of sadness closed over me. I missed the arthropods I could have met just a day ago.

Friday, March 24, 2017

Momo


What do you mean the carrotini maker broke! You'll be making them by paw, won't you? Carrotini maker broke on Friday, right!

- Thank you, Heike!


PS: Follow The Rabbit Gang on FB at TheRabbitGang!

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Kerry


Wait, wait, like this or do I need more frown? ... and I'm supposed to demand a carrotini or something, right?

- Thank you, Ken and Kaci!

PS: Ken says, "From the desert warren, one of the youngest disapprovers is Kerry. They don’t enjoy being picked up but do like to be held. Ah, the bun life."

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Zoe


If you want the two-ear-salute, you better double everything on the market list!

- Thank you, Heike!

PS: Follow The Rabbit Gang on FB at TheRabbitGang!

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Lulu and Mikey




But, but, Mikey says I can haz a carrotini too!


Thank you, Gabrielle!


PS: We're always amazed but not surprised at all how hoomin and bun lives intertwine. This past Sunday we got a pic and a story from Gabrielle, and we're still trying to absorb it. Gabrielle said, "Mikey got to meet my daughter Lulu, who I had put in an open adoption, and she is the only reason I got into rabbits. Mikey is my replacement baby; I got him when I signed her over to her now parents, so today my two babies met."

Monday, March 20, 2017

Toffee and Fluffle


Momma, what's a M*nd*y?
Eat your saaaalad and don't ever mention that again!

- Thank you, Fleetie!

PS: Fleetie says, "It doesn't get much more adorable, does it?! Toffee (daughter, left, with da saaaalad in da booplesnoot), and Fluffle (Mama, lionhead, foreground, nomming Da Big Saaaalad)!"

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Espresso and Latte Update



Hellos, Everybun!

All is well and quiet. Hoomin got a treat making wagon again and prepared for us some strange, yammeh treats with raspberry sauce. Go figure.

We got a new routine going in the evenings. When the hoomin hangs out working on some 'a,' 'r,' 't' stuff, we hang out with him. He just can't help himself dispensing endless head rubs.

- Espresso

Saturday, March 18, 2017

X-Plus Bun - Retrofire, Pt. 14

The flight center was completely unprepared for what happened. An unidentified extraterrestrial ship parked itself in Earth's low orbit. Three very terrestrial distress signals were coming from the location of the mystery craft. A small training ship with three on board vanished; an old weather satellite disappeared as well. The Center mobilized the Rescue and Recovery forces, but there was nothing to be recovered and no bun to be rescued. The Director of Emergency Operations promised to deal personally with the three pranksters sending the distress signal. No; no bun worried about the possibility of an alien invasion. Well, the buns in charge didn't worry. However, everybun steeped in the "hard sci-fi" stories did. Watching or reading such stories is all good and fun for a while, but the uncontemplated consequences of such habits are far-reaching. So it was that a lot of buns panicked, completely lost their wits, hid in their burrows, and could not stop thumping.
Mel
We have calculated how long it would take for the rescue ship to pick us up, and I was glad we had brought with us the porta-life support charger. If the rescue took any longer than our projections, we would have to recharge our suits.
Now there was nothing to do but wait. I took the opportunity to practice the deliberate doing of no thing. Hopper worried that I had snapped or gone into shock. He and Mel were trading jokes and puns, and when I didn't join in, they got worried. I told them that their jokes were, well, let's not talk about them. Shortly after, I had to backpedal all I said and tried to explain to them that I was quietly paying attention and really loved their puns if that's what they had to do to get through this.
Hopper
That's when I noticed Mel's emergency transmitter. He never reset it after one of the excursions into the Behemoth. He was still transmitting our "come, liberate us from the lab" message. I decided to let it be and said nothing. I'm not sure why, but I saw no harm in it.
To our surprise, the rescue ship arrived much, much sooner than we estimated. In fact, it wasn't the maintenance ship that we had expected. It was a proper emergency response trawler, and it launched toward us a rescue scooter.
Mel Hopper
We were transported into the trawler and decontaminated. As we had expected, the crew put us under quarantine. The Captain of the craft gave us a strange talking-to on behalf of the Director of Emergency Operations. The Captain was a first-class apparatchik and would not be swayed by such nonsense as name badges on our suits or positive biometric identifications confirming that indeed we were the crew of TR Regis 3. To him, we were the "pranksters, " and that was that. He would deal with us the way the director instructed him to. The poor medical techs just rolled their eyes. But, for now at least, we didn't have to worry about running out of air anytime soon, and we were having real conversations, no matter how ridiculous, with real buns and not arthropods. We even got some fresh food and water, so things were looking up.
We were exhausted, though, so we settled into the sleep cubbies to rest a little. I expected we would be deorbiting soon, and I looked forward to a little shuteye before the transition.
Mr. Toes
After waking up, I realized I had slept much longer than I should have. To my surprise, we were nowhere near deorbiting. When one of the techs realized I was up, she summoned the Captain. The guy was visibly shaking and mumbled apologies and whatnot for how he had treated us. I guess they were starting to believe that we were who we said we were. The bad news was, we were going to stay on orbit for an indefinite period. They would transfer us to a more advanced medical facility for observation and testing. I knew the place he was talking about. It was a hospital base in high orbit with artificial gravity. It was fully equipped to stabilize patients enough to make their re-entry and the return to an environment of one G survivable. Now, I was very glad that Mel never stopped blasting our SOS message.
* *
Pancake
Pancake and Freddie worked the late shift on board the Buzzard. Like many other vessels at the moment, the Buzzard was tasked with patrolling the high orbit just to "keep a lookout for things." For the crew, it meant monitoring nothingness and trying not to fall asleep. So, Pancake kept busy by listening to the radio traffic, but even that simmered down considerably.
Freddie had noticed the little annunciator light of the emergency channel monitor. This was the first time he saw that light illuminated outside of a training scenario. Freddie went to check the activity logs. It made no sense to him when he listened to a sample of the recorded message. He thought maybe some bun's transmitter went haywire and was spewing nonsense, but then he noticed the origin of the message. It came from the location of the mystery ship. He scratched his chin and pondered the message some more. All of a sudden, the unintelligible recording made a bit more sense. Was that the Morse Code? He tossed an empty sippy bag toward Pancake. When it creased her ears, she jumped in her seat and gave Freddie the look of doom as if she was about to become an explosion of dysdenium hydroxide.
"It better be good, Freddie!" she snapped.

Friday, March 17, 2017

Kansas


No, thank you, I'll take two carrottinis, one blue and one yellow. I'll mix my own green!

- Thank you, Kansas!

PS: Today we're reaching deep into the archives. You can follow Kansas on his FB page at https://www.facebook.com/1EasterBunnyIncorporated/

Thursday, March 16, 2017

Priscilla


What is it? It better be a saaaaalad, nutriberries, or carrotinis!

- Thank you, Kayla!

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Rubi



Dear Mr. Bun,

It's been weeks since my first complaint, and my princess castle hasn't been built yet. My roommates don't seem to mind living in cardboard homes and hay-filled bins, but I do! On a positive side, however, I've seen my hoomin slaves bringing wood and other materials into the backyard. I'm hoping those will be used for my bunny dream house, otherwise, I'll show them what it is to be without WiFi (I really don't know what that is, but I hear it's important to the people) Either way, I am not amused with the current situation. I know I am special and Isandra's favorite bun, since she carries me to the kitchen every night for a secret fruit treat! So what's taking her so long!?

Sincerely,

Princess Rubi

-  Thank you, Isandra

PS: 
Dear Rubi,
Hoomins are a strange and bewildering lot. They misplace their priorities, tarry in confusion all too often. And they're hairless, and their ears are funny and good for nothing because they seem not to listen half the time. That said, some of them are better than others, and the good ones are hard to find. From your description, it sounds like your hoomin is still trying very hard to carry out your orders. You might have to be a little more patient. When projects like yours encounter delays and what not, replacing the hoomin mid-stride is tempting but counterproductive. Have you considered sending your hoomin to a re-education camp?

Sincerely,

Disapproving Bun

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Penny


Didn't you know you can use nanners in a nutriberry pi?

- Thank you, Audrey!

Monday, March 13, 2017

Penny and Ava


Nope, go back in! It's not the treat wagon, it's a M*nd*y!

- Thank you, Renee!

PS: Follow Penny and Ava on FB and on Instagram @dollyalittledisabledrabbit

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Espresso and Latte Update




Greetings, Every Bun!


We have figured out where the hoomins are trying to hide our pellets. They have figured out when we have had it with waiting for them and are about to serve ourselves. So at the first sign of scratching and nibbling, they spring into action, and we're getting something. Head rubs, scratches, pellets or a salad. The hoomins were so easy to train, it's ridiculous.


Oh, Latte feels safe enough these days to use one the hoomins for a lounging pillow. Who would have thought?


We'll keep you posted.

- Espresso.

Saturday, March 11, 2017

X-Plus Bun - Retrofire, Pt. 13

No bun slept much that night, even poor Hopper. We stuck out our heads from the burrow-bags and looked at bun another. No bun wanted to be the first bun out. I broke the stalemate. "Mel, breakfast! Hopper, you and me, suit prep!" The hopping orders were out. I caught four stink eyes for it. I crawled out first and stretched. Mel grumbled off to prep food. Hopper and I grabbed a couple of sippy bags and floated toward the flight deck for a quick check of the ship. All readings came back nominal. I missed this place so much already, and I felt like I could come undone at any moment. I thought that if our plan worked and I got to go home in one piece, I'll be going off into the woods for a very long time.
Hopper
We started inspecting the suits when Mel called that the food was ready. I did feel hungry, and I took it as a good sign. We began with a little bit of recovery food mix, then had reconstituted fresh grass and a load of hay. We finished with a little more recovery food mix. No bun said much. The sleepless nights had piled up, and our nerves were strained. The morbid bubble of silence was growing around us. We've reached a point where we simply wanted to get on with whatever lay ahead. I did my best not to make any cracks about the "last breakfast" or other jokes of such ilk.
"OK, everybun, the last call for the litter bin!" called out Hopper. We took our turns and then turned our attention to the departure checklist. Just as we called out the last item on the list, another orbital sunrise flooded our cabin to greet us.
This time, the suit-up went without a hitch. Hopper was steadfast, professional, and went about the routine like an old paw. He didn't rush; he didn't hesitate. Neither did Mel. Stoic professionalism was our only defense against the numbing uncertainty.
After the helmets had been put on and final pressure checks were done, we headed for the airlock. We had commenced our final Extra Bunnicular Activity from our training craft. Once we entered the Behemoth, Mel remotely initiated the orbit adjustment of our craft. We wanted it raised above the Behemoth and definitely above and away from its deadly rear. Just in case, we didn't want the Behemoth blasting away our little vessel when we leave here. Our little trainer needed to be on its way to Saturn in a few hours. If our plan didn't work and we had to come back, we wanted to see that little craft waiting for us where we left it. Then, we would have to make the best of our terrible "Plan B." Ferns and arthropods would have to do. I wouldn't mind it so much if I could write a book about it, "Mr. Toes and the Arthropods," but who would read it?
Mel
I had my paw on the wall of the corridor and briefly felt it vibrate as the orbital maneuvering thrusters of our trainer outside fired. For a moment, we went back outside to visually confirm our craft moved away. Indeed, as we had hoped, it floated safely far away above us.
We were all tethered for this part of our excursion, and we had our auxiliary life-support module and the flight recorders in tow. It was a slow and awkward journey to the command center of the Behemoth. At last, once we got there, all seemed undisturbed since yesterday. We left our cargo in the corridor and proceeded to the three formations.
I grabbed Hopper and Mel by the sleeves of their suits and asked them if they were still good to go through with this experiment. Both said, "Yes."
The central celestial formation, glowing faintly, was analogous to our current location in time-space. Hopper got close to it and took hold of it with both paws. It felt surprisingly solid, as if encased in a transparent, hard substance. He compressed it with both paws and continued to compress and shrink the object until it was tiny and finally disappeared.
In the corridor
Mel took to the object on our right, the model of our destination, and reduced it to the size of a strawberry that fit in his paw. We all moved over to the model representing our time-space of origin. We hovered, watching it. Mel was supposed to place the destination model right in the middle of our origin to execute the new coordinates command.
"Mel, we're ready when you are. Do you want me to do it?" I asked, nudging him.
He placed his strawberry-sized pebble in the middle of the large model, pressed on it, and floated back a little.
At first, nothing happened. I felt a quick squeeze in my gut, but otherwise, I was fine. I looked at Hopper, but he was still looking at the model. Then, our lights flickered briefly. The chamber gave off a pulse of faint light and returned to its murky self. My suit went dead again, just like the other day when the Behemoth flash-synced with us. I calmly cycled the suit, and it came back on after a while. I saw the lights of Mel's and Hopper's suits come back on too.
Life support in tow Mel's paw if he was a cartoon
"Well, here we go again, Major," said Hopper, looking at me.
"Now what?" wondered Mel. I think we all knew the answer to that. My feet and ears got flushed.
"Look at this!" I said, tapping Mel's visor. His location coordinates were turning green. At first, I thought that maybe this was just his suit still trying to run self-tests, but mine started doing the same thing. Just how good a sign was this?
"Gentlebuns, turn on your location transmitters, please," I said trying to keep my voice low. The little red indicator lights began to blink lazily.
"The Behemoth might still be shielding our signal. Let's move toward the exit," I commanded.
As we moved back through the corridor toward the airlock, my radio started to crackle, and the time display flickered and turned green, showing a proper date. I saw Mel up ahead. He turned toward me and gave two thumbs up.
"Hurry up, Hopper, will you!" I yelled, laughing. Hopper was leading the way, and he couldn't move fast enough for my taste! We were picking up a lot of frantic radio traffic as if something had happened out there. Oh, wait. Indeed, we had happened. The external signal was getting clearer and clearer. Once we'd got to the airlock and Hopper had pulled it open, we went outside. Our training craft was gone. We were looking out at open space, and we were illuminated by the sun in its harsh, unfiltered glory. The Center frequency was abuzz with activity. Somebun was announcing the loss of contact with a small training craft, then somebun was yelling that the craft was gone altogether. I looked at my emergency transmitter. It was transmitting OK, but was any bunny listening?
Mr. Toes
"Center, this TR Regis 3, requesting assistance; three survivors," I announced on the emergency frequency. No bun responded. I kept repeating the message, but all was quiet. Then the Center announced they were picking up emergency locator signals and asked who could proceed to the given location. Some maintenance craft responded and said they were proceeding to investigate. They had just launched and were in the best position to rendezvous with us. But no bun had acknowledged my calls yet.
"Major, I'm ready to start cursing, do you think they'll notice?" asked Hopper, sounding aggravated.

Friday, March 10, 2017

Peaches


Aren't you supposed to be working on nutriberry pies and crispeh Friday saaaaalads? Everybun is coming over shortly!

- Thank you, Monica!

Thursday, March 9, 2017

Mikey and Muncher


Yep, I can smell the Friday too. We'll talk it over the saaaalad and carrotinis.


Thank you, Gabrielle!

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Rubi


Yes, a jumbo nutriberry cocktail would be fine. You can leave it here and back away. Oh, don't you let me see your backside!

- Thank you, Isandra!

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Gilbert



I'm King of the Castle! Hoomins entering without the requisite treats will be thrown into the moat.

- Thank you, Mike!

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Cinamon


It's M*nd*y out there, is it?


- Thank you, Melissa!

PS: Follow Cinamon and Jake on their FB page at Jake & Cinamon!