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Belinda Says Hay: “Hay House”

Belinda Says Hay "Hay House"

Hello. It’s Belinda.

I have a hay report due this afternoon and it’s a very big deal. I’ve really “cracked the code” this time.

It’s all about an idea I came up with for a new product. And by the way, if you have any ideas for products, please leave them in the comment box at the bottom of this blog. With this extra pressure at work,  I really need a comment box so I hope you’ll say hi.

Last year my suggestions were called “impractical” but it’s going to be different this time. Because I stumbled onto something while watching HGTV.

I can’t get into too much detail but it’s a hay house. Can you believe it?

Let’s say you knock down a wall to build a new office. One with more privacy. But instead of wood and bricks you use hay bales. Timothy, oat, orchard. Gourmet hay. Whatever you want.

It’s cheap, “eco-friendly,” and if your rabbit chews the wall, who cares. Bingo.

It seems obvious now but nobody else suggested it so here we are. I’m going to get so many pats on the back I may end up with a bald spot.

My only hurdle is getting my idea past the team and today’s my chance. I have to send my presentation to my agent in two hours. Two hours and I have nothing done and it’s because of the English.

It all started this morning. After breakfast I made my way upstairs to the living room and stood beside the sofa. I waited quietly until my roommate noticed me.

“Belinda! Is it alfalfa o’clock already?”

This is our new routine. Ever since I found that 25-pound bag of pellets on the living room chair, l like to take a “morning stroll” through the downstairs. Just to take a look around.

Well I figured out pretty quickly that if I stand in the middle of the room, looking lost, my roommate will give me a little pinch of alfalfa.

As I was enjoying my chew, my roommate walked upstairs to the bedroom level. A minute later she returned, carrying the English in her arms.

She walked right past me without a word. The English peered over the sleeve of her robe, looking down at me as he sailed by. Like he owned the place.

Then I heard the jingling of the fence as she closed it behind her in the kitchen. Followed by her footsteps on the steps leading to the bottom floor.

This has been going on for three days now and in my opinion, it’s a dirty trick. The English spends the morning and afternoon on the bottom level with my boyfriend’s companion. I keep forgetting about it because I’m so focused on the post-breakfast alfalfa.

I come upstairs for a five-minute break and once she closes that fence I’m trapped. Stuck on the kitchen level until dinner time.

My roommate hopes they will fall in love but all I hear through the vents is the sound of paper being torn to shreds. Which had better not be my office files or my books.

She brings my laptop to me but I can’t work under these conditions. Can hardly think straight, picturing the English “foraging” through my stash.

Anyway I now have one hour and twelve minutes to finish my hay house report.

“See you in the comments.”



Spokesrabbit, Small Pet Select

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