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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Monday, February 20, 2017

Tilly


I'm all ears hoomin, but nothing you're saying is worth listening to. Now go get me a kale smoothie.

- Thank you, Mike!

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Espresso and Latte Update


Greetings, Everybun!

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!

- Espresso

Saturday, February 18, 2017

X-Plus Bun - Retrofire, Pt. 11

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.
Mr. Toes and Mel
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.
Mr. Toes and Mel, backup system
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.
Hopper and EBA suit
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.
Hopper still working on the EBA suit
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?
Mr. Toes
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

Princess Rubi with Olivia and Kooma




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!

Sincerely disapproving,

Rubi

--

Dear Rubi,

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

Mildred


Hoomin, how dare you make me approve like this! The saaaalad is so crispeh, I can't just disapprove!

- Thank you, Fleetie!

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Dublin


So, hoomin, are you ready to plant some clover?

- Thank you, Ken and Kaci!

PS: Ken says, "She was rescued from a park near our home by my wife and me. She was not afraid of humans yet so we think she was recently abandoned when we found her. Dublin is safe and a member of the Desert Warren."

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Rayla


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 disapprovingbun@gmail.com

Monday, February 13, 2017

Jake


Right then, I hear it's M*nd*y outside so I'm staying in.

Oh, disapproval is getting low too. Have you any to spare? 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

- Thank you, Melissa!

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

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Espresso and Latte Update





Greetings, Everybun!

Things got so hectic today, hoomin didn't get around to making the post till late afternoon. No worries, though, the cripeh saaaaalad arrived on time and we got a ton of headrubs. We had a great day together: no fights and no bites!

We'll keep you posted.

- Espresso and Latte

PS: Should we keep our paws crossed for Rabbit's Guy? We've not heard from him in a long while :-(

Saturday, February 11, 2017

X-Plus Bun - Retrofire, Pt. 10

As I was leaving for the astro-bubble, Hopper and Mel got on with the regular maintenance chores. We hadn't left yet, but I was already starting to miss our little craft—our home away from home. We would have to leave it behind. We couldn't take it in tow or dock it with the Behemoth. Settling down for another prolonged star-gazing meditation, I thought that maybe I was too quick to condemn our bunkind. Maybe it's not my job to try to save them from my hypothetical calamities. Maybe this is just another teachable moment for all of us, and one way or another, we will all be better for it on the other side.
Mr. Toes
I grabbed a paw-rail in the astro-bubble, steadied myself and looked at the stars as my thoughts bustled. I've been so worried about all the awful things that could happen to my crew that I didn't notice I might have been succumbing to paranoia. That's as lethal as a high concentration of carbon monoxide. We have sensors for that, but somebun has yet to discover an RPM gauge for the drama that can spin up in a bun's head.
On orbit, we don't have much to slow down our noggins. Back at the base, one could sneak out for a catnip stogie and a carrotini, but here, a bun has to make do with a deep breath. I make do with the view.
When I spiral out into a philosophical bender, I start to question everything and everybun around me. The stars guide me back to center.
Mr. Toes, Hopper and Mel
Sometimes my drama behaves as if it possesses physical qualities. It takes on mass and starts to bend reality around it until nothing is recognizable anymore. It becomes so real that I can almost touch it. It swirls faster and faster, feeds on itself, and spins so fast it becomes rigid. It behaves like a gyro, and everything starts to turn around it. Sound judgment boils off and evaporates, and your brain bearings cease completely. It cooks your noodle and turns it into glue.
I waited for my favorite nebula to come into view.
Finally, I let myself think about Abby. Until now, I did my best to pretend I was fine with never seeing her again. It's how the biscuit crumbles. The rules dictate that you either accept the risks when you sign up for this job or you stay home. Still, that's nothing but a bun-made construct, and it will never change how I feel about Abby. How did she and the others cope with our disappearance? Did they have a funeral for us? How much time has elapsed on their clocks? What if my worst fears come true and we do get locked up in a lab? Will she wish I had never returned? I'm not sure which is worse—being gone or being stuck somewhere with a glass pane between me and Abby, where no bun can do anything for the other.
"Hopper, Mel, any ideas on that 'dead-bun switch'?" I said, trying to come back to the moment.
"A couple, Major,” responded Hopper. “We'll come up there in a minute. Want anything to drink, Toes?" Hopper and Mel popped their heads into the bubble directly. Mel handed me a sippy bag.
"You know, Major," started Mel, "our options are a bit limited. We could hide the remaining vessels from the Behemoth in the Saturn rings and have them start broadcasting an SOS signal or a message. You know, just to tell our side of the story. To program the pods for some kind of automated rescue mission would be too risky. I would say we have almost zero chance of that succeeding. Somebun on the ground would have to get involved to make it work, and we simply shouldn't count on that."
Mr. Toes and Mel
Mel was right, of course. Where would we go after such a rescue? Back here? In a sense, we had already been rescued from bunkind. "I figured as much, Mel. Let's keep our ears up, though. Especially tomorrow, going back into the Behemoth when we get ready for the return trip," I said.
"Of course, Major," said Hopper.
We spent some time in the bubble without saying anything. I felt my mood starting to change from hesitation and confusion to the old and tried "let's work the problem" attitude. We had a lot left to do.
Hopper and Mel
Once we came back to the flight deck, we discussed what to do with our little training craft. Mel thought it would be a good idea to send it off and hide it around Saturn and make it a part of the SOS broadcast scheme. If any of the craft survive long enough, they will start broadcasting on all the available wavelengths unless they receive our "turn it off" signal. At least we will not be silenced.
Hopper suggested parking one of the pods somewhere on Earth, but that seemed too risky, and chances were we would simply lose it. Who knows if it would survive and be flight-worthy after all those millions of years waiting for us. One of those pods was already down there. Where could we hide another one so it wouldn't become buried in a coal deposit or get wedged between tectonic plates at the bottom of an ocean? Even if we could park it somewhere that will remain flat in the future; it will get buried under dirt and rocks as a result of the ice ages yet to come.
Mr. Toes
We spent the rest of your day working on the numbers for our craft's Saturn orbit injection burn. We saved the last chore for the next day. We would have to get our suits ready for an extended EBA. We had to improvise an auxiliary extended life support system. What if our "return" didn’t work? What if we found ourselves in a wrong space-time location? Where would we go from there, and how much time would we have? Could we return here? I smelled another sleepless night ahead of us.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Cinamon and Jake


"Jake, is she still there? She was supposed to clear out for the weekend."
"Yep, she's still there, I can smell her."

- Thank you, Melissa!

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Peaches


Oh! You know what removes the red stink eye, hoomin? A crispeh salaaaaad, that's what!

- Thank you, Monica!

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Fiasco


Stop looking at my roughage. I'll share the processed roughage if you want.

- Thank you, Kayla!

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Gilbert


I hereby announce my candidacy: Gilbert for President!  Besides, you hoomins will be much better off with a bun in charge. (I am keeping my comfy throne here though; get your own chair!)

- Thank you, Mike!

Monday, February 6, 2017

Rayla


What look did you expect, hoomin; on a M*nd*y?

- Thank you, Oona!

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Espresso and Latte Update


Hello, Everybun!

I figured out where the fruit and veg are! Every time the hoomin comes back from the store, I know where apples and nanners are hiding. Well, at least until he puts them away.

We're taking it easy regarding bonding. Latte and I are getting along much better, and our hoomins are not pushing us. We enjoy salads together, and we're getting to know bun another.

We'll keep you posted :-)

- Espresso

Saturday, February 4, 2017

X-Plus Bun - Retrofire, Pt. 9

I didn't get much sleep that night and woke up very restless and tired after only a few hours. Even before I crawled out of my burrow, I was ready to go back into it, but to my surprise, the little "Aha!" moments kept on coming. When we first approached the Behemoth, and it beaconed at us on what looked like every frequency known to bun, from gamma rays to visible light, it was trying to transmit on all the frequencies it knew. It learned about us quickly, though, and once we were inside, it knew that X-ray frequencies would not do us any good, literally.
Mel
The Behemoth taught us what we needed to know about it and then figured out we don't belong here. Did it compare us to some quantum entanglement registry and realized we're in the wrong time-space location?
I felt sorry for the passengers of the Behemoth. They were very deliberate in picking their destination and died on their way to it. Only a few survived the unfortunate encounter with the point where multiple dark matter waves crossed. There were only enough survivors to deploy and land just one pod around what's known today as St. John's, Nova Scotia. However, the ship logs said nothing about their origin. Have they, by chance, grown out of the Behemoth, or had it grown around them? Our lab-coats will have to chew on this one.
Groggy, I went to the pantry bay, thinking maybe a snack will help. I got hungry at last. On my way, I passed the first-aid station, and there was Mel, messing around with the "stasis-snake," an ingenious little device that relieves gastrointestinal stasis. The rush of adrenaline hit me hard and slammed the sidewall when I grabbed a paw-rail to stop. I woke up for good.
Worried, I asked, "Mel, what do you want with that? What happened?"
"I'm fine. Don't panic, Major. I am making a ton of snacks and stuff. I thought I would get this thing ready, just in case," said Mel.
Hopper
We got some reconstituted carrots, nanner chips, a wad of parsley, some berries, and a few nutriberry cakes, and we headed to the astronavigation bubble. Mel couldn't sleep either; he was just too excited. I, on the other paw, was filled with dread. So, I thought, "Maybe a little stargazing would calm us down?" Passing by Hopper, we watched him snooze. His eyes were busy under his eyelids and moved about rapidly. His mof was working, too, twitching and smirking as he was gritting his teeth a lot. We moved on.
The view out of the bubble afforded us nothing but deep space. I placed myself so that no parts of the Behemoth were in sight. For a while, we enjoyed our makeshift "all-you-can-nom" space buffet. I nomed and nomed until I stuffed myself properly. I never felt so famished during a flight. I had hoped secretly that the next bite would clear my head about the impending decisions we had to make. Of course, no such thing happened. I just felt like I ate too much.
"Mel, how come you couldn't sleep? You can't wait to go back, can you?" I broke the silence. After a long pause, Mel looked at me, surprised, and nodded in agreement. I felt a squeeze in my gut and looked away. I stared into the open space, trying to locate the barely visible Rohan Nebula. A nutriberry crumb floated past my nose.
"We are going back, aren't we?" asked Mel with trepidation.
"Should we? Just because we can now?" I asked in return without taking my eyes off the stars.
Mr. Toes
I realized we would be better off finishing the discussing with Hopper.
What scared me the most was trying to explain to our kind back home what happened here. Can we waltz back in and tell everybun, "Oh, you see, the ship is so advanced it TEACHES you how to fly it, and it LEARNS about you. Nothing to see here, now. Let us through, please!"?
Of course, back home, they will want to know what happened to us, on a molecular level. I don't think a post-flight physical will satisfy them. They will want to know the long-term effects of our exposure to the Behemoth. I am afraid they will want to keep an eye on us very carefully for a very long time.
Mel
Back home, the ship doing a lesson onto others before they have a chance to refuse it won't help us much. Whatever first paw knowledge our compatriots would gain from their encounters with the Behemoth would not absolve us of our unique status. We would still be the first ones; we would be the prime specimens, the "patients zero." Is it going to be all "berries and nanners – we are so glad to see you!" or something like "... Are you back? How fascinating; let us have a look at you and don't you dare come any closer!"
I was not worried about the public's view of us. We would be heroes for half a day, and that would be all. The suits, the lab-coats, and the uniforms would see to that. It's one thing to debate how far we have come as bunkind, and something else to test it on our hides. They don't teach "society survival" in bunstronaut training.
Should I be concerned about how they will use the Behemoth? Maybe they should wait their turn and develop similar technology in their own due time? Still, a part of me wanted to believe that no harm would come from bringing back home a space-time jellyfish like the Behemoth.
Hopper
Had any of the passengers of the Behemoth come back to life, would our lab coats and uniforms accept them as friends or at least as non-foes? I don't think I can count on that, not a hundred percent, and that's what had me worried.
We have entered another sunset on orbit, and once it got dark, the starlight felt even closer and more luminous. I turned around and watched how the Behemoth reoriented its energy panels. Deep space is where it lived; this was its medium. Mel was looking at the same show, still musing on something. I have lost my appetite again.
"Let's check on our friend, shall we?" asked Mel. I nodded, and we turned around in the bubble. Hopper was out of his burrow. He had his feet in a couple of improvised restraints on one of the walls and was doing bun yoga. "Downward Bun" in zero gravity is not easy and takes a lot of practice, but he nailed it. He had his eyes closed and breathed slowly. A sippy bag of something slowly turned around by his mouf. We stopped quietly so not to disturb him and watched him until he finished. Hopper then rose and stretched out with a huge yawn and smacked his lips. He opened his eyes, smiled at us, not at all surprised, rubbed his belly, and said, "I'm hungry. Did you guys eat already?"
We followed Hopper to the pantry bay. He was most appreciative of all the food that Mel prepared. I envied them their appetites. Afterward, we headed for the flight deck.
We faced one another in a circle and busted out laughing. We could suit up and go into the Behemoth, reset our coordinates in its navigation module, and we could be home for dinner. However, I had to state my case for not going back and staying right where we were, with Arthropods and all. I tried to entice them with the honors of seeing the first dandelions on this planet! We could explore first-paw all the ancient flora, or we could explore some exoplanets. We could do that and then come back to the same spot if we don't find anything we liked.
Mr. Toes
Well, Hopper said he knew what he wanted exactly. His family was waiting for him, and he wasn't giving up on them for a second. For a moment, Mel seemed to be on the fence about this whole return thing, but in the end, he sided with Hopper.
Hopper was convinced we had nothing to worry about. If we can't trust our own kind after all this time, then we have not advanced anywhere worth a pellet. This was but another test flight, just the stakes were higher. He insisted it's better to find out where we stand sooner rather than later. Testing the boundaries and pushing them no matter where we go is what we do to put hay in the feeder.
Hopper thought that once the lab-coats make it into the "control room" on the Behemoth, the ship will reveal itself just as it did to us. They will know what we know, no more and no less, and that will be the end of it. They won't weaponize the Behemoth or turn it against the bunkind. If meat-farm days are to return, it will not be because of the whole Behemoth affair. On its own merits, this incident will be but a footnote in the history of bunkind. If we are that fragile, then we do have deeper issues than bringing home the Behemoth.
I admired his optimism.
"Hopper, we'll have to set up a 'dead-bun-switch.' One that can still work a few million years from now," I said as I turned away and headed back to the astro-bubble.

Friday, February 3, 2017

Rayla


Hoomin, it's not me, it's you; it's you! Look at what you make my mouf do!


- Thank you, Oona!

PS: Rayla visits all the way from Finland!

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Lula


Really, now? You can make a salaaaaaad, can you? I don't believe it; let's see one!

- Thank you, Ken and Kaci!

PS: Ken says, "She was rescued by Brambley Hedge Rabbit Rescue and I helped take care of her at the rescue barn. About a month ago I decided it was time this precious bunny had a forever home. Welcome to the Desert Warren, Lula."

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Penny and Ava


Nope, no hoomins are allowed to dock with the International Bun Station. Unless you're resupplying treats. You got treats, right?

- Thank you, Renee!


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