Survival

Gil - a rare wakeful moment

If you're little and you're cute, there are some important things you need to learn if you want to survive in this household. Be kind, but not too nice. Don't make yourself too interesting. Don't show any interest in the other members of the household.

Gilli is a master at this. She came into this world with certain survival skills, and they have only been reinforced these last 5 weeks. Her main line of defense is sleep - 20 out of the 24 hours in each and every day. And those 4 hours of wakeful activity? She spends them with her face in my breasts, or on the changing table, or tied to me in a wrap, or strapped to Chris in the sling. Or crying.

Gil asleep in gray sweater #2

Gil asleep

Although the girls think she is cute, they have for the most part lost interest in her.  Bela's constant requests to "hold her standing up" have dwindled. Every time she got Gil in her arms she would take off across the house, with me scampering after. Mae no longer tries to bathe her, dress her,  or shove her finger in Gil's mouth.

Mae has learned to keep a certain distance

Little John (may he rest in peace, outside under that rock) was also very adept at survival. But he died, you say. Yes, yes this is true. But he lived 2 1/2 years under the same roof as Bela and Mae before he met his tragic (but totally anticipated and foreseen) end.How? He was a biter, and a fast runner, and skilled at the art of escape.

Enter Ethan and Mason. I haven't said much about our two new hamsters, but only because I didn't really get a chance to before tragedy struck again. During Little John's final months on this planet, Chris and I happened to make a lot of trips to Ikea in Bolingbrook, Il. Adjacent to the parking lot is an aquarium store with a full line of pets for sale. We could always get our girls to agree on a trip to Ikea if we promised a visit with the "friendly hamsters", this crazy nice kind that was being bred and sold in said aquarium store. They let you hold them, they don't bite, they don't run away, they don't squeak, and when they do happen to slip out of your fingers (or fall from your pocket, where they are happy to ride) they don't so much run away as saunter.

Mae and Mason, just moments before his demise

There was no way they were going to last in our house.

At any given moment during their short tenure on Thomas St. you would turn around and find Mae with Mason on her shoulder, Bela with Ethan in her pocket. The girls built cardboard mansions for them, hamster daycares were constructed out of hollow stepstools. There seemed to be no end to the rodent fun until two weeks ago: Bela had snatched up the coveted Mason (Mae's hamster was somehow even nicer than Bela's) and was headed down our hallway to her bedroom. Mason, as usual, was riding on her shoulder, when he took a sudden and unexpected tumble to the hallway floor. Bela, unaware of his fall, was horrified to discover him under her foot on her next step toward the bedroom.

I was nursing Gil in the bedroom when I heard Bela scream. She ran into the room with a squirming Mason in her hands, tears in her eyes.

Something is wrong with him!

At that moment he started convulsing, a grotesque drop of blood oozed from his nose and his little rodent body went limp. She knew instantly. No one needed to tell Bela that her (sister's) beloved hamster had just died in her palm.

After a lot of tears and some serious talks about death and protecting the wee ones in our lives, after prepping his body for a funeral (throwing him in the lid of a cardboard box) the girls promptly lost interest in him once again, before the services could even take place. In fact, I think Chris may have just tossed little Mason in the backyard garden, without a word, without the girls.

no love loss here

These days, Ethan spends a lot of time alone in his cage. Though I have no hope that he will change his nice ways, I'm pretty sure the girls will forever be more gentle with his kind. Needless to say, however, Bela is no longer allowed to "hold Gilli standing up."

PS - After reading the initial publication of this post, Chris insisted that I let the record state that he sent Mason off with a proper burial. After many attempts to get the girls to write poems and draw pictures, he alone dug a hole in the yard, put Mason in his little box, covered him with dirt. At night. In the rain. With help from no one.