animal lobby

I am under pressure. I spend my days as the victim of active and deliberate oppression in my home. I am the sole subject of the goal-oriented methods of persuasion of the two little lobbyists I nurture at home.

As a decision-maker in the furry animal lobby – if possible, it should be puppies – I’m the person who goes around complaining, begging, long-dreaming, “we want” slogans. You can understand how I am as I prepare for pet ownership talks, which is the main agenda item at dinners where my family gathers, like I’m attending a summit Politics.

In short, my children are in revolt. They want to keep a pet at home, and we resort to the tactic of delaying this request with gentle methods due to the difficulties of our life as migrants in different countries, both for the animal and for us. But the lobby of furry animals, which presents itself before us as internal epidemics, is very bad.

In one such discussion, when it was revealed that I had a bunny child, a little upheaval erupted at the table. My daughter and my son reacted by banging the cutlery on the table and saying, “But that’s unfair”. Since I had furry animals, they had the right to do this.

I wasn’t a bad lobbyist when I was younger either. Monitoring the times when my dad was alone, I used different approaches with fine tuning and increasing the dose each day. At that time, the intention maker’s red-eyed white rabbit, which I saw on the street, entered my dreams. I wanted a mini mini bunny that would fit in my hand like a cotton ball. I used to sleep with him at night, play during the day, put him in my basket and take him out, feed him, sing songs, watch him. My childish mind was obsessed with the white rabbit.


One day when my dad was alone in his pharmacy, I approached him gently and made a few cute gestures at first. The laughter tactic was working, but when should I talk about it? After a few customers and a few calls, my father ordered me an oral and tea for him. I got straight to the point watching the Oralet powders mix with the hot water.

“Dad, I want a rabbit”. I stepped up the pressure when his unexpected turn of events surprised him. “They are very beautiful, very quiet, they do not pollute the house, they are very small, and they behave well, the most important thing, I want it very, very strongly”.

When my dad tried to make a logical explanation like “it’s okay girl”, I listed the wishes behind it. “I’ll take care of it, it’s my household, it won’t make any noise, you won’t even know it because it’s my home…”

Of course, my father didn’t surrender the first time. After my intense sessions of begging, “Please bunny”, he gave up every day at his pharmacy. One day he said ‘OK’ to me seriously. “But you are responsible for cleaning it and feeding it.”

I didn’t wonder how you convinced my mother when she was screaming with joy. But let it be. My rabbit was coming. My little white cotton bunny with red eyes. In the days that followed, I inundated my family with questions such as “When will the bunny come?” After a while, my father came home with a huge television in his hand.


He gently put the box down in the hall and looked at me. “Here are your rabbits,” he said, smiling at me. Rabbits!? Not one, but several rabbits!

Excitedly, I opened the TV box and looked inside. At the bottom of the box lay two animals with tawny fur. How are these rabbits? I bent down to the waist and pulled one out from the bottom of the box.

It was like a giant. It had huge ears, mixed gray and brown fur, and flipper-like feet. When I picked it up under its front legs, its back legs descended to the ground like an accordion and reached my height. Instead of a hand-sized cotton bunny, I got kid-sized big-legged bunnies. When my father couldn’t stand my insistence, he asked one of his farmer friends for rabbits. Still, I didn’t darken the neck.

We organized all the children in the apartment and we took care of the rabbits that we put on the terrace for a while. But we couldn’t keep feeding them or cleaning up their excrement. It was up to me when the whole apartment started smelling of food and rabbit poop, and some kids were kicked out. One day I went to my dad in defeat and said I couldn’t take care of the giant rabbits anymore. My father looked at me with mischievous affection and brought the rabbits back to the farmer one morning.

When I told this story to the lobbyists at my house, they burst out laughing, but they didn’t say “we would have watched it”. Consequently, the ground for negotiation and discussion with lobbyists in our country is always open.

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