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A granddaughter named Roman

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Great joy.

Behold, into the GOF Family a grandchild hath come.

My family does not discriminate on the grounds of ethnicity, religion or, it would seem, species.  I now have a rabbit granddaughter.

Inga  and her most recent arrival are domiciled at the other end of Australia down towards Antarctica. The adopted grown-up bunny-child is so technologically savvy that she was able to send Mrs GOF the following communication on her mobile phone the other day.

"Hi Grandma"

What did I get?  Zero.  Zilch.  I was beginning to think that little fluffy nerd-ears had probably already accessed and discovered that Grandpa GOF half a century ago was responsible for exterminating a very large number of her ancestors.

So yesterday it was a great relief when I received the following email from little Buggalugs.

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Hi Grandpa,

Mama Inga is letting me use the computer tonight while she tries to find every one of the 534 pellets that I hid around the house while she was at work today. It’s lots of fun seeing her down on her hands and knees looking underneath the tables and couches with a torch and mumbling lots of foreign words that I don’t understand yet because I’m too little.

Everything is good here except for one thing that I don’t really understand. I was christened ‘Madonna’ and that’s what everyone at the rabbit shelter used to call me, so why is Mama Inga now calling me ‘Roman’ all the time?

Is her memory shot?
Does she do weird things like this very often?

Your fluffy little granddaughter,


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My dear little Buggalugs,

Nomenclature is a very complicated adult business.  
Your Mama Inga had to find a name for you that she liked, but which was also acceptable to the Bunny Refuge people who were looking after you before.  You see, some humans give their offspring really stupid names like;

Pilot Inspektor                (Actor Jason Lee)
Sage Moonblood             (Sylvester Stallone)
Diva Thin Muffin           (Frank Zappa)  
Audio Science                  (Actress Shannyn Sassamon)
Globet and Musmus    (unattributed)

Mostly names are no big deal and they don’t unduly influence or predict the child’s subsequent behaviour.

Johnny Cash’s boy named ‘Sue’ got up and slugged his Dad right in the moosh as soon as he was able, which was extremely unladylike behaviour.

‘Chastity’ didn’t work out too well for Cher’s little one either and the kid’s still unchastely frolicking around decades later trying to discover whether she’s Arthur or Martha or something in between.   If only Cher Could Turn back Time.

So you see, Mama Inga was faced with a difficult decision.
She couldn’t name you ‘Fridge Magnet‘ or ‘Mophead’ or  “Squeegee” or ‘Bathtub Backscratcher’ or ‘Door Stopper’ because this might have rung some alarm bells with the Refuge management.

Mama Inga didn’t like your original name because people might have confused you with a couple of other famous ‘Madonnas’ in history, although you’re not really very much like the first Madonna because you are deficient in the ‘child’ department to the tune of one.

Inga was also a little bit frightened that you might be influenced by sharing a name with the second one, and the last thing Mama Inga needs right now is to come home after a long day in the office to find her very own Madonna squatting over a mirror having risque photographs taken for publication as Wanton Wabbit Centrefold of the Month in Playbunny Magazine.

So there you have it my little one.

Trust your Mama Inga. You won’t find a better one.
Or a more loving Grandma.  
Of other family members I am less certain.

Love from Grandpa.

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