Taken captive at McDonalds

It appears that I have arrived in Århus, in the old European nation of Denmark. As I emerged from my den this morning, the salty froth of distant waves tickled my nostrils; this is a sensation I much relish. I do swim a little but when it comes to the wild littoral bashing of larger bodies of water I figure myself more of a savoring observer. So I set out, following my nose (the fact that, while in motion, it goes up and down a lot might seem a complicating matter, but all rabbits adjust to it from an early age). The distant swoosh of surf spurred me on to hop extra fast. So fast in fact, that halfway across the city I got really hungry. Lucky for me, coincidence and providence conspired to put upon my path an outlet of McDonalds, the world’s finest chain of public toilets. Today however, I was hungry enough to try out some of their none-sanitary offerings. I managed to slip in unseen but this, when it was my turn in the queue, turned out to have a rather unpleasant side effect; the boy with spiky hair behind the counter went straight over my head to the next in line. Rarely have I suffered such an affront to my dignity and I would have left post haste had I not stumbled upon a barely touched Bacon Range Salad on the floor. “Dig in,” I said and with careless abandon I delighted in the dainty that occupied a shiny transparent container before me. Too careless, it appears. “Look at the cutesy tootsie Bunny!” The hair in my neck rose at the shrill tone coming from the rear. I turned around to find myself effectively boxed in between a garbage bin, a baby stroller, and behind me the abyss of a staircase leading, no doubt, to the restrooms. I urgently needed to go there. Before me stood an 8 year-old female human with blue ribbons tied in convoluted ways about the gleam of her laquered shoes. “Who are you? How do you know my name?” I clamored but my protestations availed nothing. “Whoopsie. The Bunny did a little poopsy.” I have no idea what she meant by that, but before I knew it, I was in the stroller; strapped tight next to an infant made of plastic. I tried in vain to release myself from the intricate fastening –I pulled several muscles in the process- but every spasmodic move only worked to exacerbate my confinement. It wasn’t long before I was completely out of breath and I decided to bide my time and await a more expedient time to regain sweet freedom. It is now five hours later and I find myself in what appears to be a shockingly pink room. Nina (I believe that is her name) was called away about an hour ago and I have used the time –and her computer- to send another message to Svenbärd. I have still not received a reply to my earlier petitions. I fear that he’s been seized by the daemon helpers of Satan. Perhaps worse. It had occurred to me that the child, at the hands of which I find myself captive, might be part and parcel of the same supernatural conspiracy. After she gave me a fresh –and might I add exquisite- carrot however, I have dismissed the theory. Also, I believe that her parents know nothing of my presence. Maybe I’ll try to escape again tomorrow. It’s nice and warm in here. Note to myself; Don’t forget the mission.