I'm fortunate to live in a city where fresh hay is only a thirty minute drive away. Unfortunately, my lone house rabbit could never consume an entire bale of hay in any reasonable time frame. This is where our local House Rabbit Society (HRS) steps in. Twice a month, they sponsor a "hay day" where volunteers gather together to mix up to five types of fresh hay and repackage the mixture into 20"x14"x14" boxes. The boxes are then sold through the HRS store. After a year of simply buying the mixed boxes of hay for my rabbit, I decided to see what Hay Day was really like. I volunteered to be a "Hay Elf" and mix the hay one early Saturday morning.

I took a leisurely drive to the east county and parked in a non-descript strip mall, behind the exotic animal vet's office. Out in the parking lot, the only sign of the impending Hay Day was a 12'x12' blue tarp spread out on the asphalt parking lot. I checked-in with the Elf Coordinator and started in with box set-up. This was the easy job: you open up medium-sized moving boxes, tape the bottom closed with a tape dispenser and affix a HRS sticker to the (open) top. Then you throw the box to the staging area where other volunteers line them up: 3 boxes across, 10 boxes down, 3 boxes high.

Promptly at 9am, two trucks backed up to the tarp. Volunteers crowded at the tailgate. The drivers popped out of their cabs wearing heavy leather gloves. The tailgate was lowered and the hay bales dragged out and lugged to the edges of the tarp.

Our House Rabbit Society buys three to five types of hay: Oat, Timothy, Bermuda grass, Orchard grass, and Alfalfa. Oat hay is green and gold, with a flattened appearance and laden with heavy heads of oats. "It's a great source of fiber," the Elf Coordinator told me. "It's good if your bun has stasis issues." Timothy hay is dark green, with broad flat leaves and long plush cat-tails. Bales of Timothy are the easiest to find and buy in our county, and very popular with bun owners. Bermuda grass is thin and stalky, green or brown in color. Much of the bale looked like regular lawn clippings. "We don't always get Bermuda," said the Elf Coordinator. "It depends on the season." Orchard grass is thin and delicate in appearance, with small brown cat-tails. It is not too common in our county, but the HRS tries to buy it when it is available. On this day, there were three bales of each type, plus one lone bale of alfalfa. The Elf Coordinator explained: "Alfalfa is our spice. The bunnies love it, but it isn't good for them in large quantities. Too much calcium, you know." The alfalfa had a distinctive aroma, and an almost chopped appearance.

The Hay Elves all put on their masks - simple face masks to keep out dust and pollen. We donned gloves and claimed a bale. Baling wires were cut, and the bales easily separated into "flakes" which we then teased apart. "Start mixing!" yelled the cheerful Elf Coordinator.

Cradling my hay flake in one arm, I followed the example of the other Hay Elves. We grabbed handfuls of hay from our flakes and tossed it into the center of the tarp. When our flake was successfully separated and mixed in to the hay mound, we got a new flake and repeated the process. Flitting around us with the Elf Coordinator with a small flake of alfalfa. "Sprinkles!" she sang cheerfully, as she lightly sprinkled the growing mound of hay with alfalfa.

As the hay mound grew, so did the hay dust. I was grateful for my mask, but it did nothing to protect my eyes. I put on my sunglasses, which soon became covered with hay dust. I made a mental note to bring goggles next time.

When the mound of hay was nearly as tall as me, the Elf Coordinator signaled a stop. She smiled at me through her own dusty glasses. "Ready to box?" she said. Everyone grabbed a box from the staging area and then attacked the hay mound. The Elf Coordinator showed me how to fill a box with the mixed hay from the mound. The trick was to pack the unruly hay into the box corners. Simply pushing the hay into the middle of the box didn't work - the hay jumped right back out! Tucking the hay into the corners seemed to anchor it so that it couldn't move. After fighting with the seemingly feisty hay for the first two boxes, I got a certain technique down, and was able to fill and squish and shove hay into the boxes with ease. I took my filled boxes to the closing area, where volunteers checked the boxes for weight, made sure the corners were sufficiently packed with hay, and taped the boxes closed.

When the hay mound got down to crumbs, it was time to mix again. While some of us mixed the hay, others assembled more boxes. The Elf Coordinator kept us going with light bunny banter and deep, meaningful conversations about bunny poop - size, quantity, shape, aroma and texture - all informative and oddly riveting.

Two hours later, I had hay everywhere - in my hair, nose, ears, eyes, mouth, in all five pockets of my jeans, in my socks, and even in my underwear. The HRS ended up with 120 boxes of mixed hay for their store. For our troubles, each volunteer was allowed to take home a box of hay for free. I said goodbye to the ever-cheerful Elf Coordinator and dragged my hay-covered self into the car. Immediately, the pungent aroma of alfalfa and oats hit me. It was almost a chocolate smell, intoxicating and nearly irresistible. I drove home with the windows rolled up, not wanting the aroma to escape.

If your local HRS sponsors a hay day, consider volunteering to pack hay for the bunnies. It's hard, dusty work, but definitely fun. I recently drove north to help with another hay packing with a different group. This organization simply flaked the hay and packed the flakes into boxes. It was less mess, and much faster, but to tell the truth, I missed having an Elf Coordinator dancing around with her armload of alfalfa, singing "Sprinkles! Sprinkles!" like a half-mad hostess at a very unusual tea party.