“Where’s the Best Bunny Bean?!” I ask enthusiastically as I open the hay-filled crate.

Bean: “Here!” as he springs out onto the table and eagerly presses his face into my assistant Angie’s hands.

Bean: “I get all the pets first!”

“Of course. You are the best bunny,” I assure him.

Bean: “I know,” as he sploots, which is the pose a rabbit takes on when they are the happiest, and looks like a rabbit starfish.

I comb through him while Angie massages his head and ears, and he kisses her.

“Any hay bits up there?” I ask Angie, knowing a tiny bit of hay is always stuck in his chin from the ride to the salon.

She nods, then gently plucks it from his face and throws it in the trash.

Bean: “I was saving that! You didn’t even eat it—you just threw it away!” as he hops out of his sploot position and looks at me to see if I also took offense.

“I know, Bean, but you’re going to get your picture taken, and you want to look your best,” I say as I gently massage behind his ears.

Bean sighs, but in moments, all is forgiven, and he returns to his rabbit-starfish position.

Angie plucks his maxillary area while I give him his scissor trim.

“Gotta clip your nails now, buddy,” I tell him.

Bean: “OK, but I’m going to need lots more pets.”

“I know,” I say in agreement as Angie massages his head and ears, and with only a sideways glance, his nails are clipped and hand-filed.

Bean: “Chin pets! I need chin pets!” as he bounces his head against Angie’s chin.

As always, she complies by petting him with her chin while she holds him against her chest.

“So, Best Bunny Bean, have you decided to keep your scent glands clean?” I ask.

Bean: “I did!”

I look at Angie suspiciously because we both know male rabbits rarely clean both scent glands, if they bother to clean them at all.

“You did! OK, you really are the Best Bunny Bean!” I say with surprise.

Next I trim up his face while Angie holds his whiskers out of the way from behind him.

“OK, sir, you’re all set; now it’s time for your favorite part: pictures!” I say.

Bean hops up my chest and I scoop him up, snuggling him while he tooth-purrs against me as we walk to the picture room.

I gently place him on the platform and he runs around checking out the camping scene and all the props.

Bean: “Oh a tent! I need a tent!”

Bean hops around inside the tent for a bit and then spreads out in a sploot.

“OK, you need your hat, buddy,” I tell him.

Bean hops out of the tent so I can put his hat on, and then investigates the hammock.

“You want your picture in the tent or on the hammock?” I ask.

Bean: “Both!”

I put him back in the tent, and with a bit of awkward positioning on my part, I’m able to get a picture of his face over the lip of the tent.

“OK, time to get in your hammock, Bean,” I say.

I gently put him in the hammock, trying not to let it swing and startle him. But the moment I let go, he swings it on his own and I stifle a laugh.

“OK, Bean, you’re all done. It’s time to go home,” I tell him as I take his hat off.

Bean: “This is mine now. You said!” as he hooks his feet in the hammock and tries to bring it with him.

“Bean, you can’t have the hammock,” I say matter-of-factly. I peel his little feet off the hammock and Angie holds it as he tries to scoop it back into his grasp.

“Mom will get you your own hammock,” I tell him as I make a mental note to tell his owner where I purchased mine.

Bean: “Promise?”

I give him a kiss on the top of his head and reply,