Rodents I Have Loved (Or Tolerated Anyway)

Recently, Delaney's friend bought two hamsters at the pet store. By the time she got them home, she had seven. (Okay, so that's an exaggeration, but only a slight one.)

Fearing the exponentially multiplying capabilities of her new pets, she wanted to give the babies away as soon as they were weaned. So, a week or two ago, Delaney adopted Kiwi. I took a bunch of pictures, but the wee spastic creature is nothing but a blur in all of them, so here's a fairly accurate representation of her, courtesy of google images:

Thus continues our long history of rodentesque companions.

Several years ago, both Tobias and Delaney declared their desires for domesticated rodentia.

Tobias wanted a rat. This made sense because rats are supposed to be the craftiest of rodents. He wanted to walk around with it parked on his shoulder, scaring the pellets out of people. (People like you, Jo Anna H. :))

Delaney, of course, wanted a cute, cuddly hamster to hold in the palm of her hand so she could rub its little silky ears.

As Jeff and I pondered the reasonableness of their requests, I well recalled the overwhelming desire I had as a child for a furry little pet. I also recalled the nasty job of cleaning out a cage and the unpleasant accompanying odor of urine. (Ugh. That stuff packs a punch.)

After much deliberation, we informed the kids that they could purchase their coveted pets, but they were required to clean the cages once a week (or more often if the smell proved to be too much) and they would have to pay for all the food, bedding and other needs of their newly purchased friends.

Off to PetsJunk we went: two elated children and two parents wondering how long before the reality of pee-soaked bedding stuck to the bottom of a cage would set in.

Tobias purchased a Russian Blue rat and appropriately named him Boris.


Delaney selected a black and white Syrian hamster and named him Panda.


(Pictures posed by models.)

The kids both wanted females, but unfortunately the only available rodents were male. Quite blatantly male. (I won't go into embarrassing details.)

It didn't take us long to realize that just as every village has an idiot, so does every pet shop, and unfortunately we'd brought him home in a box with air holes. I don't know if Boris had too much vodka on the boat ride over from Russia or if he fell out of the rat nest on to his head or what, but he was certainly not an intellectual credit to his species. He just sort of sat in the corner, not looking nervous or even aware of the world around him. Even his little nose seemed to twitch at a retarded rate.

Boris lasted two years and not once did he utilize the exercise wheel in his cage. I don't know if that was due to his lack of intelligence or if laziness could be added to his list of unfortunate traits. Tobias bravely hid his disappointment and determined to be a good rat owner regardless of his pet's complete and utter lameness.

His final months were quite...well, hmmm...the most apt word that comes to mind is 'disgusting'. He had a tendency to scratch himself until he bled and his hair began to fall out. Also, one of his legs swelled up to frightening proportions due to some unidentified disorder. Ewww.

So there he was, huddled in the corner, a scabby, bald, bloated imbecile. However, Tobias remained faithful and tended him well to the very revolting end.

Panda's presence was a bit more heart-warming and rewarding. He astounded us with his incredible cheek capacity as he stuffed them nearly to the bursting point with various objects. Delaney delighted in offering him tastes of unfamiliar goodies. He rolled along happily in both his hamster ball across the floor and on his cage's exercise wheel. He was soft and sweet and elicited many an 'awww' from Delaney and her friends.

He also lived about two years. His end was far less repulsive than was Boris's and far more dramatic. You see, Delaney found her little friend dead in his cage and we promptly gathered as a family in the front yard (not wanting the dog to dig him up in the backyard) to bury him. Delaney told her tiny pal goodbye and gently placed his furry body into the shallow grave. Jeff nearly threw a shovelful of dirt over him when it happened...

...he moved! The poor little thing was nearly buried alive! Apparently he was in some kind of a hamster-coma, a state of being with which we were unfamiliar. (Hey, it's hard to check a hamster's pulse, okay?)

So Delaney retrieved him from his not-so-final-resting-place and put him back into his cage where he could expire peacefully. By the next day, we were convinced that he was truly, completely and totally dead, so the rain-checked funeral was carried out.


Now some of you will want to suspend your reading of this post because I'm going to go back further in history and tell a rodent tale from my own childhood and trust me...it's revoltingly foul. If you are easily made quesy, stop here and go check Woot.com or some other pleasant webpage.

You have been warned.

When I was about Delaney's age, I had a hamster of my own named Sammy the Hammy.

One day before school, I found Sammy still and silent in her cage. I dolefully assumed she was dead but I knew she'd have to remain untended to until I got home from school.

While at school, I told all my friends about poor Sammy's demise. One girl suggested that Sammy was not dead, but instead was hibernating.

'Ahh,' I thought. 'Yes, hibernating, of course!'

Upon arriving home, I examined her more closely and decided to try to rouse her from her hibernation. For some reason, my childish mind thought that the best way to do this was to...
(Okay, this is going to get really gross.)

... place her on a heating pad.

So I did.

I clicked the pad's setting from 'off' to 'low' and waited several minutes, anxious for my little friend to be restored to me.

There was no fluttering of Sammy's eyelids.

I elevated the setting to 'medium' and waited, hopefully.

She did not stretch nor yawn, refreshed from a deep slumber.

I set the pad to 'high', longing to again see the delicate twitchings of her nose and whiskers.

After several moments, I was finally convinced that the furry little object on the heating pad was nothing but a corpse.

Sorrowfully, I removed it from where it lay, repulsed by the sensation of its belly, hot and squishy from my witless attempts to restore it to an active state of life. Trust me, that's not a tactile sensation to be envied.

Yech *full body shiver*