(Note: this did not happen to the contributor, but to a friend.)
Overview: I had to take my son's hamster to the vet.
Here's what happened: Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell
me there was "something wrong" with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his room.
"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"
I put my best hamster-healer statement on my face and followed him into his
bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back, looking
stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
"Honey," I called, "come look at the hamster!"
"Oh, my gosh," my wife diagnosed after a minute.
"She's having babies."
"What?" my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"
I was equally outraged. "Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't
want them to reproduce," I accused my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she
inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her (in my most
loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, ya know," she informed
me. (Again with the sarcasm, ya think?)
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I
shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.
"Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're
about to witness the miracle of birth."
"Oh, Gross!", they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just Great!; what are we going to do with a litter of
tiny little hamster babies?" my wife wanted to know. (I really do think she
was being snotty here, too. Don't you?)
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny
foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.
"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted. "It's breech," my
wife whispered, horrified.
"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next
appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several more
times with the same results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they could
talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in
my house?)
"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my
son holding the cage in his lap. Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think hamsters do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women can be
so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this
boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little
animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a c-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to
you privately for a moment?"
I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.
"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This hamster is not in labour. In
fact, that isn't EVER going to happen... Ernie is a boy."
"What!?"
"You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into
maturity, like most male species, they um.... er.... masturbate.
Just the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife.
"Well, you know what I'm saying, Mr. Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this. "So Ernie's just...just...Excited?", my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence.
Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I
married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness. Tears
were now running down her face.
"It's just...that...I'm picturing you pulling on its...its...teeny,
little..." she gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned.
We thanked the veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hamsters and our son
back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done, Dad," he told me.
"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing into laughter.
Rachel McGrath-Kerr
James/James Bunny came to live with me when he was only 5 weeks old, and had
just been weaned. He was a tiny little ball of black fur, huddled up and
shivering. He was so scared.
We first named him Jane Bunny because we didn't know male rabbits' testicles
don't descend for several months after they are born. By the time we realized
he was actually male, he knew his name, so we had to change it to something
similar enough he would answer to it.
Jamie Bunny did the darnedest things. He dug an air register out of the wall;
he ate through the TV cord and blew out the circuit box; he emptied a full bag
of corn cob litter into a floor register; he dove face-first into my chocolate
birthday cake; he ate my furniture; he ate my carpet; he ate my baseboards; he
humped everything he could straddle; and at 5 pounds 5 ounces, he attacked our
maintenance man who is nicknamed "the strongest man in the world." Jamie Bunny
really kept me on my toes for more than 6 years.
Jamie Bunny got sick in February of 2004. He lost his curiosity, and his
energy, and became very docile. He was happy to just sit next me with my hand
resting on him, stroking him. I have charged more than $1400 on his medical
care since February, and have considered him worth it. He was a
child-of-another-species I adopted, and I truly loved him.
Today, Jamie Bunny said good-bye, and stepped out of his soft black furry
little body. He had been too sick for too long, and he just could not go on.
I am so grateful for the time we had together. My children are grown, and as a
middle-aged divorcee' living in the city with the second highest population of
gay men in the nation, my life gets pretty boring. Jamie added a lot of
meaning, and a lot of purpose, to my time and life. For more than 6 years, I
awakened every morning to see Jamie Bunny's little face peering at me from
inside his cage, waiting for fresh food and water, and walked in the door after
work every evening to the sound of his excitedly prancing in his cage, knowing
I was about to open the door and let him run the house for a few hours.
Our routine continued right up until the end. During the past several weeks,
when I opened his cage door in the evening he leapt out of it, bounded twice,
and lay down under the couch for half an hour before coming out to rest his
chin on my foot and wait for me to pick him up and feed him. He took most of
his syringe feedings well, and seemed grateful for each one.
Yesterday, as I was petting Jamie Bunny and telling him the pain was going to
end and he was going to feel better soon, he started contentedly grinding his
little teeth, and seemed very happy. I have a clear image of him running
happily through new-fallen snow, a thing he never did in this lifetime.
Somehow, I think that image comes from him, and his little bunny spirit is now
doing all the outdoor things he couldn't do as a house rabbit living in a
neighborhood rampant w/ cats. If there is a bunny heaven, I know Jamie Bunny
is there. If there isn't, well, I can only assume people heaven is big enough
to include those wonderful animals who loved us so unconditionally while they
shared our time and space here on this earth.
To Jamie Bunny, I want to say, "I will always love you, and will never forget
you, tiny little bunny."
Celia R. Javadi
My response:
Hello, Celia! Thank you very much for sharing your story. I am really sorry
for your loss. Your bunny really did make an impact on your life, and it will
take a long time to recover. Many years ago our family cat had to be put to
sleep at the age of 20 because of progressive kidney failure. I was living in
Toronto at the time, and my mother and brother had to take him to the vet's
just after New Year's. I can still recall on my next visit home (and others
that followed, but to a lesser extent) how I kept thinking I was seeing him out
of the corner of my eye, only when I looked, he wasn't there. Or looking at the
kitchen window at night, looking for the yellow eyes (he was black, and all you
could see were the eyes and the white patch on his chest) and not seeing them.
I still get a catch in my throat when I think about it, and it's been at least
15 years. 8-(
(A subsequent note): Thank you for sharing about your dear pet cat. We had
an older bunny, Bunnyham, die about 7 1/2 years ago (of respiratory failure
just after the vet told us there was nothing wrong w/ him), and my daughter and
I several times experienced hearing him thump or pull at the carpet with his
teeth. About a week after he died, my daughter said she saw him sitting in
front of her, she petted him one last time, and he faded from sight. We never
heard him thump or pull at the carpet again after that. In my mind, these
experiences make a really strong argument for belief in animals having some
kind of after life just as humans do.
When I was in grad school a few years ago, the stats we found were that San
Francisco has the highest population of gay men in the US, New York was second
in the past, but the #2 city is now (or was in 2000) Columbus, Ohio. According
to the Centers for Disease Control, Columbus, Ohio, also has the highest
incidence of bipolar disorder in the country. I had been saying since my
divorce that every time I meet a man my age, he's either married, gay, or
psychotic. It turned out that was statistically true.