Dogs: I’ve had only two dogs in my life, although both have obviously had a major impact. Both were purebred show dogs: Liz the whippet (alias West Run’s Leapin’ Lizabeth) and Tai the Pekingese (alias My Tai of Eng). This does not mean that I am prejudiced against mixed breeds or shelter animals; Liz was a brindle-and-white whippet purchased at two years of age by my mother before I was even born, with the intention of showing her. However, Mom became pregnant with me and my sister shortly after she started her show career, and with all the traumas that followed (her illness, my illness, and her extremely stressful divorce) she never got the opportunity to show Liz after that. Liz was highly active in her youth (she once leapt five feet into the air and bounced off the wall directly in front of our couch), but I have very few memories of that activity, because by the time I started school she was already middle-aged and quite settled. She was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle dog you could possibly imagine (although, given her sighthound lineage, not especially bright). You could literally put hamsters and birds on her head, and she’d just sort of look at you. She rarely barked--she didn’t even like the sound of her own voice, like most sighthounds--and she loved other dogs. She was incredibly quiet when people came over...we often said that Liz was so friendly that if we ever got robbed she’d open the door for the burglar and hold the flashlight. Contrary to popular opinion, whippets are NOT good watchdogs! They are, however, ideal family pets.
Tai’s information can be found on his log at my gaming site.
Cats: I’ve had six cats, if you count the time Penelope had kittens. After we got Katie back from our grandparents, we got another cat from my 9th grade math teacher. Sasha apparently had belonged to a friend of this teacher, who had moved to (I think) Kalamazoo and couldn’t bring her with. The teacher had four rather aggressive male cats who would harass Sasha, so one day she asked the class if anyone would be interested in taking an adult Siamese cat. I knew that Mom loves Siamese (she’s had a couple over the years, before we were born), and my hand shot up. Amazingly enough, I managed to talk Mom into going to see Sasha. Mom took one look at her and fell in love, and we brought her home that night. Katie was not at all thrilled over this new arrival, and the two of them never really got along. Shortly afterwards we took Sasha to our vet, who informed us that, contrary to what my teacher told us, she was not between six and eight years old. Rather, she was more along the lines of 12-15, which made sense. She had never acted like a young cat...she slept a lot and rarely played (although she was known to hunt...she once killed a chipmunk in our kitchen. Yes, you read that correctly)...even our slightly crippled Katie was more active. Senior citicat status aside, she was fairly healthy, and would eat any kind of people food. ANY kind. She was once sick under the bed for a week after getting into a plate of chocolate-chip cookies, and her favorite food was potato chips. We nicknamed her Sausage, Sushi, and Shu-Shu Bean, all of which she answered to. You could say, “Here, Sausage!” and she’d lift her head and look at you. She was not an especially intelligent, playful, attractive, or affectionate cat, but we loved her anyway. About six months after Sashie arrived, Katie passed on under mysterious circumstances. We later learned, after a vet trip, that Sasha tested positive for FLV (feline luekemia, an extremely contagious and invariably fatal disease), although as a carrier and did not display symptoms of the disease. Two years later, Sashie became extremely ill from kidney failure and her FLV. She bloated up in the middle like a, well, sausage, while the rest of her was highly emaciated. We had her put to sleep in October 2000, shortly after we got Tai.
Birds: We’ve had quite a few of these, although no large psittacines or fowl. Mom had Bantam chickens as a kid, and a couple of budgerigars named Pixie and Benji. She was determined that we would not be deprived of these experiences. When we were nine, Mom let us get our cockatiel Chicken as a birthday present (I was going through a chicken phase at the time--I love chickens). Chickie was a hand-fed darling, specifically chosen to be a sweet-natured and loving companion. We had bought her as an egg, and even had her hatch date--July 19th. So it probably comes as no surprise that she just hated us, and immediately bonded with Mom. In addition, it turns out Mom is allergic to her, so she can’t handle her very often. Chicken shies at everything, and is prone to night thrashes and hand-nipping episodes. She hates hates HATES me in particular. She’ll tolerate my sister, and even submit to letting herself be cuddled, but she won’t let me touch her aside from the basic “up” command. Chicken is now twelve and very hale and hearty...actually, she was placed on a diet by the vet because she was about six ounces overweight! She’s now her former trim self, and just as ornery as ever.
Ever since I knew what a lovebird was, I wanted one. So when I was 12 years old, I asked Mom for the millionth time can I please please PLEASE get a lovebird, I’ll love you forever if you say yes. To my surprise, she eventually agreed that winter. I went out and bought a cheap cage, and selected a peach-faced lovebird of indeterminate gender, and happily waited for after Christmas, when Mom said I could finally buy it and we could pick it up. On Christmas Eve I noticed the cage missing from its spot, and on a hunch, asked Mom what she had done with it. She got this real “cat that ate the canary” look (if you’ll pardon the expression), and I immediately guessed that she’d already gotten the bird. She confirmed my suspicions, and we went to the pet store that day and bought Pache (pronounced Pah-shee...my 12-year old mistranslation of the French word for peach--“peche”). Pache wasn’t as tame as Chicken was purported to be, but s/he still bonded to me (pardon my gender-neutral terms...lovebirds are sexually amorphic, and it’s impossible to tell between genders without blood testing, which I’ve never gotten around to because it’s expensive and I don’t intend on breeding anyway). In fact, Pache hates Mom. S/he’s been known to fly to Mom just to bite her, and has bitten my sister. S/he’s very tame and affectionate with me, but very wary of others (although not aggressive to strangers). Pache is about nine years old (born roughly in September-October, I don’t know the exact date), and doing quite well.
A few years after we got Pache, my sister wanted a bird of her own (at this point it was agreed that Chicken was pretty much Mom’s bird, since she was bonded to her). She bought a male parrotlet named Puck, after the character in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Puck was special. He quickly acquired a vocabulary of perhaps thirty or so words, and would say them clear and high-pitched as a little bell. He also would bully the other birds with his impressive five-inch stature, and often “forced” Pache into grooming him. He inspired one of Pache’s only two words; once when Puck was being highly aggressive and bullying Chicken (who despite being three times his size, was easily cowed), Pache ran over and bit Puck on the feet, and proclaimed loudly “Stop that!” We had never attempted to teach him/her that before. Pache’s other word, if you’re interested, was “Pretty” one day out of the blue. Puck died the mysterious death that all birds fall prey to: One day he was fine, sitting on his perch talking his head off, the next day he was dead at the bottom of his cage. In the wild, it’s considered a sign of weakness for birds to show illness or injury, so they can often have diseases for days or weeks without showing any symptoms. Needless to say it’s frustrating in the extreme, and Sally was inconsolable. To this day she cries whenever anyone brings up Puck. *sigh* A few years later, as a present I bought her another male parrotlet named Rico, who died only a couple of years later of, again, unknown causes. She still feels horribly guilty about Rico’s death as well.
Before we had Pache, we had Kiwi. He was a little green budgerigar we bought shortly before a vacation to Florida, thus explaining the tropical inspiration for his name. About a year after getting him we decided he needed companionship, and wouldn’t it be fun to breed budgies as well? (Ahh, such naivete!) So our aunt, visiting from Canada, bought Mom, Sally and I three more budgies: Canada, Aqua, and Aqua’s sibling Sappho (who was in fact male; his name was short for Sapphoclese!). They were all completely not hand-fed, and far more attached to each other than to us. When Kiwi was placed in their cage, he forgot all about us, so our dreams of four loving budgies were quickly shattered. However, they were still very entertaining to watch as a group; we’d take them out and give them a ceramic pie dish filled with water, and a large broccoli stem, and they’d all bathe together, and Canada would do her patented “broccoli dance”, an intricate ballet in which she courted the broccoli with much ardor. Kiwi died first of the classic mysterious here-today-gone-tomorrow demise, Sappho dropped soon afterwards, and it was presumed that Aqua was killed by Katie, because she escaped from her cage and was never heard from again. Canada, the survivor (and ironically the meanest...we once had to pry her off Mom’s fingers with a table knife) became very, very fat, eventually resembling a small blue-feathered Thanksgiving turkey before she also died of unknown causes. Here’s a tip: Birds are delicate and die at the drop of a hat. Although I love Pache, I don’t recommend them as pets.
Rodents, hamsters: Here lies the windfall of our pet experiences. We have had some forty-odd hamsters since we were eleven, not including unnamed litters. The majority of this tabulation was written about two years ago, when I was reminiscing for my own entertainment. I’ve been trying to find an excuse to post it for a while. This explains why some hamsters are listed in the present tense, followed by a notation of deceased status. The only truly recent hamsters are Druscilla and Squeaker; all the rest have indeed passed on to that Great Exercise Wheel in the Sky. I have a list of the hamsters in approximate chronological order, complete with species, gender, and coat type and color. Yes, I remember every single hamster I’ve ever had. Rather frightening, no?
Houdini, cream-banded male Golden: Ahh, the first hamster... “Every saga has a beginning.” Tee hee. Houdini was the result of a week-long campaign on my sister’s part to get a hamster-- “Just one, Mom.” Ai-ya. He was christened after the title character in I, Houdini, Lynn Reid Bank’s charming little story about a remarkable hamster. Houdini certainly lived up to his namesake--approximately six months after getting him, he took off and, we have since assumed, set up permanent housekeeping in our storm cellar. I guess he was happy under the house, because we never saw him again.
Little Dude, normal grey female dwarf: My first hamster, and a legend in our household. Little Dude was purchased for the princely sum of $5 off a girl named Kara in the 5th grade. I believe my sister fronted the cash...come to think of it, I still haven’t paid her back. Ah well. :) She blossomed into the feistiest hamster that has ever passed through our threshold, and yet was so mild I frequently put her up my sleeve, fell asleep that way, and she would still be snuggled in there hours later. Little Dude was one of the few hamsters we actually took a picture of, and the oldest hamster we’ve ever had as well (although Hershey is fast approaching her record). During this series of milestones, she developed some sort of eye problem that made her frequently gum up her eye, and (bear in mind I was only eleven) I would solve the issue by blowing into her eye, much to her discomfiture. She also had her own theme song: “Jolie, jolie Dudey, c’est magnifique, n’est pa?” Okay, it sounds better sung :) (I was taking French by then, and my family humored me). She also once escaped when I put her in my sleeve, then left my coat lying in the grass and forgot about it. I found her running along the side of the house a short while later. Little Dude had a rather ignoble end; I left her on the sofa for 15 minutes, and never saw her again. As you will see, this will get to be a theme.
Ginger, normal golden female Golden: We originally purchased her as an intended mate for Houdini, but shortly afterwards he escaped, and she died quite unexpectedly at a tender age. She received her name from the bizarre smell that seemed to waft from her fur, a curious mix of sweet spices (yes, hamsters have their own unique smell, especially the females).
Pickles, normal golden female Golden: Another hamster that lived to a ripe old age, and oddly without a single escape incident (not that there weren’t ATTEMPTS, mind you). I begged Mom to let me have her after seeing her at the pet store, where she woke up from a sound sleep to put one paw on the glass, and solemnly looked at me (awww). Pickles lived through a harrowing illness, and recovered stronger than ever. She is the hamster that gave me a permanent reminder of her, when I went to feed her and received a severe bite upon waking her up. The one time we attempted to breed her (to Cricket) didn’t work out; she had nine pups, all of which fell victim to cannibalism. She passed away peacefully in her cage, of massive tumors and general old age, at a little over two years of age.
Chester, cream teddy-bear female: Nothing much can be said of Chester. She died at a fairly young age, under suspicious circumstances; I found her dead unexpectedly, with blood coming from her nose, of an apparent seizure. The past few days prior to that, she had been consuming inordinate quantities of water, which leads me to believe she had actually been diabetic, which I couldn’t have really done much about anyway. I mean, insulin shots for a hamster?
Mr. Fuzzy, normal grey male dwarf: I purchased him shortly after Chester’s unexpected demise, then left for vacation a few days later. During that vacation, Mom called to tell me Mr. Fuzzy had somehow escaped when she had him out, but he’d probably show up eventually. I went home, and still no sign of Mr. Fuzzy. This continued for a few days, then one evening my sister was talking on the phone with her friend Jill (Jill has a prominent role in many of our hamster stories), and mentioned how Mr. Fuzzy had escaped. She said something to the effect of “Yeah, maybe we’ll step on him one of these days,” sort of sarcastic, all the while rocking her chair back. One hard thump down and--squish--there went Mr. Fuzzy, flat as a pancake. I only had him for 10 days (less if you don’t count vacation time), and Sally of course felt terrible, especially about her prophetic conversation. It’s been about seven years now, and I’ve pretty much forgiven her, at least within the last couple of years.
Squirt: normal grey female dwarf: Squirt is best known as the hamster that bit Sally so hard, she held on with an iron grip for a few minutes, dangling to Sally’s finger. She eventually let go, without being thrown (after Mr. Fuzzy, Sally would not have lived long if she had thrown Squirt), and shortly afterwards escaped. I had bought her shortly after Little Dude left her 15 minutes on the couch, and after her escape, I found one hamster running around, alive, and one under the bed, obviously deceased. I’m not too sure, even to this day, but I assume the living one was Squirt, and the other was Little Dude, because Dudey was SO ancient and decrepit, I doubt she could have survived the little escapade, especially for over a month (which is when I found the hamsters, several days apart).
James Napolean Edward Cricket (Jim N. E. Cricket for short, and Cricket for shorter), cream-banded male Golden: Crickee had also obtained legendary status in the house, and is officially Most Beloved Hamster Ever. He was special. He knew his name, and would come when called. He was so incredibly friendly and sweet-natured, after the first month it was difficult to believe the source of his name (he was very very jumpy as a pup). He was also incredibly horny, which is why we got him a girlfriend (see Crystal). He never sired any litters, but his devoted, trusting nature lives on in our memories. He is another hamster with a picture taken of him, a sweet garden tableau of him with Crystal. He was also one of the soundest sleepers I have ever seen; frequently Sally would pick him up only to find him cold and limp, then when she rushed downstairs with tears in her eyes, panicking everyone, he would spring to vivid life in her palm, waking from a deep, almost coma-like hibernation. We purchased the first of our Small Animal Modules especially for him. One day he got his head trapped in the fusbank (German for footstool; sorry, to me, that’s its proper name), and we had to take an emergency trip to our grandparents, his little face turning blue, to have Grampa pry the wood from off his wee little neck. Cricket died from a severe bout of wettail (see Bingo’s history), and Sally, Mom and I were all gathered in the living room, crying, as he passed on to that Great Exercise Wheel in the Sky. He is still fondly remembered.
Crystal, albino teddy-bear female Golden: Cricket’s official mate (an earlier attempt to breed him with Pickles had turned out disastrous, as she turned cannibalistic), and a rather meek, docile little girl. Crystal had a fairly sickly constitution, as she was quite thin, and tended to develope sores on her legs. She also was one of the most...pungent hamsters we’ve ever owned. Whenever she was in heat, she would give off the most foul odor I’ve ever smelled, like a combonation of ammonia and vomit. Apparently Cricket liked it, for they mated several times, but nothing came of it. Crystal died from the same wettail virus that killed Cricket.
Jack Frost, albino male dwarf: Jackie was my first fancy dwarf hamster, and fiercely devoted to his beloved Holly. He was one of the gentlest hamsters I’ve owned, and never fought with her (a rarity in the hamster world), or abused his children. Jackie died of natural causes shortly after Holly.
Holly Jingle, normal grey female dwarf: Holly was the dam of four litters, and was an excellent mother to, well, three of them (she turned cannibalistic on Litter #3, with seven pups). The first litter I kept, and gave names to, while Litters #2 and #4 (with six pups each) were given to the local pet shop. Holly died shortly after the fourth litter was weaned, prior to which she had, oddly enough, lost her tail from lack of calcium (though I gave her lots of powdered milk). She is the reason I advocate separating breeding pairs, because even though she and Jackie were a docile couple, she was overbred and suffered greatly for it.
Olivia, normal grey female dwarf: Olivia acheived rather infamous status after a case of mistaken identity. When Holly’s first litter was weaned, the males were put in a separate cage, to prevent interbreeding (hamsters are incestuous little whores). One day Sally noticed all the males beating up on this one little hamster in the cage, so the hamster was removed, and, lo and behold, it’s a female. Olivia, as she was christened, received her own cage and became Sally’s special pet. She was kind of skinny to begin with, so Sally was relieved when she began putting on weight (I think we can all see where this is going). A week or so later, Sally was on the phone with Jill (for some reason all the eventful stuff happened with Jill around), and heard terrible screams coming from the cage. Now, normally Olivia made little nightmare-sounds at night, but Sally could usually thump on the cage, say, “Shut up, Livy,” and Olivia would return to sleep. That night she wouldn’t shut up, so Sally went over to her cage to check on her, when she saw Olivia holding something small and red. She looked closer, and it was a head. Olivia had given birth, and was in the process of devouring her offspring. Sally panicked, hung up on Jill (who forgave her later when she heard), and immediately examined the rest of the cage, which was spattered with blood. Turned out Olivia had about five remaining pups, one of which was--surprise!--albino (since she had bred with a sibling, and the father was albino, the double albino carrying gene made 1/4 of the litter albino). Unfortunately, none of the pups survived past a week old, and Olivia regained her formerly trim figure. She eventually passed on from old age.
Jimmy Cheeks, normal grey male dwarf: Another from the first litter, Jimmy has the dubious honor of being the fattest hamster we’ve ever owned. In stark contrast to Olivia’s gaunt appearance, Jimmy more than thrived, and, at his peak, weighed as much as a fully-grown Golden hamster. In accordance with stereotype, he was also the laziest, most mild-mannered dwarf to date, with one excepting incident. One year while on vacation, we had Grampa come feed and water the animals every day (at the time we had five birds, a cat, some fish, and gods know how many hamsters). After we returned from vacation Grampa reported that upon feeding them, an enormous hamster had woken from a sound sleep, ran out of his house, bit him hard, then just as quickly disappeared back in the house. We were full of disbelief-- “Not Jimmy!”--but Grampa confirmed it when seeing Jimmy later. He never attempted anything like that again in his life, but the memory remains. He eventually wasted away to nothing, and died of old age.
Penny, normal grey female dwarf: Penny was with us for only a short time...but she had a long, prosperous life. Specifically, we gave her to Jill. She lived in a small cage under Jill’s bed (her parents weren’t supposed to know), and enjoyed the company of an oversized rat named Vanessa and a bunch of cats before departing this mortal coil.
Tiny Tim, normal grey male dwarf: The runt of the litter, Timmy lived in a 10-gallon with his brothers before dying at a young age. The circumstances surrounding his death were truly bizarre: his teeth grew at an enormous rate, and quickly developed to the point where he couldn’t eat, so he starved to death. I attempted to file down his teeth, but it was too late, and he died the next day.
Napolean, normal grey male dwarf: The final entry in Litter #1, Napolean was a smallish hamster that lived with Jimmy all his long life. I still don’t know why I named him Napolean. Hmm. Nothing especially extraordinary happened to him, and he died peacefully of old age.
Scrabble, golden banded long-haired male Golden: Scrabble was originally part of an experiment that Sally had set up as a joint school project with Jill in 8th grade. For this project Sally purchased a pair of Golden siblings; feisty, active Scrabble and shy, retiring Bingo. They were to keep them in seperate environments, with Bingo receiving lots of toys and houses and a wheel in his large cage, and Scrabble in a bare cage with nothing but food and a water bottle. Personally, I believe this affected Scrabble’s intelligence quite a bit, because he was the dumbest hamster I’ve ever seen. His cage faced a wall on one side, and he used to spend upwards of a half-hour standing stock-still, one paw on the glass, facing the wall. Dumb as a box of rocks. Anyway, following the experiment, Sally and Jill were going to have the boys run a maze and see which one got through the fastest. Unfortunately they were never able to complete this little project, because shortly afterwards Bingo spread wettail to the rest of the colony, then died himself. Scrabble, on the other hand, had a long, maddeningly healthy life.
Bingo, grey banded long-haired male Golden: A rather lethargic young hamster purchased for the aforementioned project. It turned out the inactivity was due to a serious, deadly illness called wettail (a form of fatal diarrhea, that kills through dehydration), which he passed onto the rest of the Golden colony (including our beloved Cricket *sigh*), after which he died as well. The one comfort was that, as the “privileged” hamster, he knew a few short days of luxury before his unexpected demise.
Blossom Culp, cinnamon banded female Golden: Named for the fictional character, Blossom was an adventurous little soul, and quite good-natured, as females go (females tend to be a bit more tempestuous and edgy than the males). She took off after what must have been a long and dedicated bout of chewing off the plastic covers on her Small Animal Module, and was never heard from again.
Clover, tortishell banded female Golden: A sweet-natured little girl, and a dutiful mother to her offspring. After a short tryst with the dashing and charming (if not overly bright) Max (see below), she had the record litter of 12 pups, of which only four survived, and only three of those to maturity. I would often take her and the remaining pups out-of-doors, as they were born sometime in the spring, and it was always beautiful weather outside.
Max, grey long-haired male Golden: The sire of Clover’s litter, Max enjoyed spending many evenings sitting and licking the glass sides of his cage. He gave Scrabble a run for his money in the “dumb” department; however, he made up for it by being the most physically striking hamster we’ve ever owned. He had a lovely long grey train that would occasionally become snarled, or just tangled with pine shavings, so Sally would be constantly at him with a little Barbie brush (hey, it was the smallest brush we had, okay?).
Sylvia, black banded female Golden: After she was missing for several weeks, Sylvia earned her name’s meaning of “She of the woods” when she escaped outside of the house. I relocated her by pure lucky coincidence. I was outside doing what any normal teenage girl does, tumbling flips, when I landed directly in front of a rather startled-looking Sylvia. I grabbed her, yelled to Mom and Sally, “OH MY GOD I JUST FOUND SYLVIA!!!” and immediately ran back inside and plunked her back in her cage. After that incident, she was always rather small for an adult Golden (she got to maybe a tad bigger than a dwarf). She had a litter afterwards by (I believe) Scrabble, but none survived. She died of old age.
Dotty, grey female Golden: She had a couple of strangely-placed white markings on her, which is how she got her name. She died at a young age.
Nicholaus, brown tortishell male Golden: He died shortly before reaching adulthood.
Beau, cream-banded male Golden: He was, of all things, Mom’s hamster. Yep, after about five years of convincing Mom into the hamster thing, she finally got one of her own. He was pretty small, and sweet-natured (as most cream-banded males are), but died at a fairly young age (perhaps a bit less than six months old).
Jordan, normal golden female Golden: Jordan was named in honor of the seventh-grade science teacher who was giving her away (although at the time I was close to graduating from 8th grade; I just asked to have the hamster, and I got her, whaddya know?). At the time Mom didn’t know about her, and I attempted to sneak her home in a cardboard box, but Mom caught me when she picked me up and asked about the giant box under my arm (okay, I make a lousy cat burglar). Jordan stayed on a trial period of, well, basically her whole life, simply because Mom didn’t want to embarrass me by making a big scene in the school. JoJo quickly developed a sparkling personality. Having grown up in a science classroom, she was smart; she even knew her name, and responded to it! At one point she escaped and was missing for nearly a month; I pretty much gave up hope. Then one day I saw her ambling at a leisurely pace across the living room. She was pretty badly beat up, with huge chunks of fur missing, and I suspected she’d gotten in a fight with a mouse or the like. She recovered okay, but when she was a little over a year old I had her on my bed, and accidentally leaned on her with my elbow. She died from, I believe, a paralyzed spine and crushed organs.
Mulder, normal grey male dwarf: After a couple years of nothing but Goldens (and several months of cold-turkey, with no hamsters at all), I got Mulder. He was named for obvious reasons; he was cute, and liked sunflower seeds. :) He was an only hamster for a very long time, until I got Julia. He REALLY liked Julia, heh. He was also, as you will learn in the next paragraph, extremely horny, and would mate with anything.
Julia, golden banded female Golden: A mild-mannered young female I bought at Fish n’ Friends shortly before it closed down. She and Mulder got on famously; in fact, their first meeting is the source of one of my favorite antecdotes. When I introduced them, not sure how they would respond (I figured they’d try to kill each other, but you never know; Crissie and Crickee just loved each other, but then again they were the same species), I put them on opposite sides of the bed. Mulder started sniffing around her really interestedly, and she actually assumed the position for mating (you know; stiff arched back, glazed look in the eyes)! What’s more, he climbed on her and started, well, going at it! It was abso-freakin-lutely hilarious, watching this tiny little midget gettin’ it on with a female twice his size. After that incident, they greeted each other like the best of friends...not to the point where I’d cage them together, because you never know with these unpredictable little rats, but I could trust them to be in my room, on the floor at the same time, and not kill each other. Julia died unexpectedly Halloween of ‘99.
Hershey, normal grey male dwarf: The oldest hamster in the house (running close on Little Dude’s record, in fact) at the moment, and also the one with Most Favored Hamster status. I obtained Hershey from a co-worker, who mentioned her male hamster had impregnated one of the sisters with whom he shared a cage (Cookie and Cream). Since Diane obviously didn’t want this experience repeated, she offered me Hershey, and I accepted. He has the mildest, most easy-going nature of any dwarf I’ve ever known. He has never bitten anyone in his two-plus years with us, let alone drawn blood, and he is one of the horniest little buggers I’ve ever seen. I have attempted to mate him several times to Nestle (who does NOT share a cage with him...I’ve learned my lesson), but it didn’t take, which is a shame, because they’re both split to white, and would have the loveliest pups, with Nestle’s big round eyes, and Hershey’s sweet temperament...sigh. Hershey passed away quietly, at nearly three years of age, making him the longest-lived hamster I have ever owned.
Nestle, normal grey female dwarf: Nestle was bought in the double-purchase of herself and her sister, Twizzler (now deceased). She has since grown quite fat, and rather surly, which is a shame, because she’s so lovely. She has the big, beautiful eyes that Olivia used to possess, and a sleek round body, with soft grey fur and even markings. She is currently Sally’s favorite hamster, and lives in a large 10-gallon, which is frankly too big for her, but Sally insists upon it. Sigh. Nestle passed on shortly before Hershey, remaining comparitively fat and sleek to the end.
Cadbury, argente male dwarf: Originally purchased as the intended mate for Hershey, Cadbury was marked as a female at PetsMart (which is one reason I’m never buying hamsters from PetsMart again. They have nice bargains, but I’ll never buy a live animal there). I brought “her” home, and introduced “her” to Hershey, who attempted mating, and thereupon broke out the finest hamster fight I have seen in my life. Hersh lost a large patch of fur on his throat, and Caddie’s ear was bleeding. Upon closer examination, I learned that Cadbury was, in fact, a male (albeit a young one, and it’s hard to tell at that age), and promptly separated the two. They hated each other with a passion from then on. Poor Hershey probably felt betrayed. Caddie eventually died from unknown causes; I found him dead in his cage one afternoon. Huh. However, at the time the ground was too cold and hard to bury him, so I kept him in a little cardboard box til I could give him a proper funeral. By the time it thawed, however, the neighbor’s cat had taken all but the skull. It’s still outside, sitting on the tin milkbox with the Dairy logo on it. Rather gruesome, I know, but that’s the way it is.
Twizzler, argente female dwarf: Nestle’s sister, and Cadbury’s eventual mate. I bred the two pairs on the same night, and fully expected to find Nestle paw-deep in pups by the end of three weeks, since she and Hershey REALLY went at it, while Caddie and Twizzy just sort of “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” and it was over. Imagine my suprise, when week three rolled around, upon seeing Twizzler snuggled in her nest with seven little pink jelly beans. Despite her rather truculent nature, she proved to be a very caring mother, and all the pups thrived. Twizzler died during a rather gruesome set of circumstances; shortly after separating the males from the females (whom I kept with her), Benjy, the large female, attacked and killed Twizzler, then apparently she and Little Girl ate part of her, because all that remained was the pelt and a bit of the spine. A few days after that, Little Girl fell victim to Benjy’s appetite, and left evidence in the form of her body from the hind feet to the middle of her back. About a week later, the apparently hale and hearty Benjy dropped dead. I still have no idea what brought on this chain of events.
Benjy, opal female dwarf: The first hamster in the litter to noticeably change color, she was also the biggest and strongest. I named her Benjy, because at four days old, she was so big I thought she would be a male. Of course, we know how that turned out.
Hans, cinnamon male dwarf: The hamster that I gave to DC as a birthday present, she planned on eventually breeding him to her young blue female Anita. DC picked him out at about two weeks of age, and was shipped off her her house shortly afterwards. Unfortunately, Hans died at approximately 4 months of age, from unknown causes.
Little Girl, argente female dwarf: She got her name because for weeks I couldn’t figure out what to name her, and I was calling her Little Girl anyway, so it stuck. She came to an ignoble end as Benjy’s midday snack.
Screwy, argente male dwarf: One of a handful of hamsters that all looked a great deal alike, I couldn’t really tell him apart from the others for the longest time. Eventually, when DC took Hans (and if you’re wondering who got the seventh hamster, as I only listed six here...one of the guys who put in our carpeting took one for his kid. I hear this hamster, christened Hamsterdam, now lives in the lap of luxury as the Number 1 hamster and single adored pet), I could sort out the other two look-alikes. Screwy is more mild-mannered than his bigger brother Gus, and less likely to bite. Screwy died aged a year and a half, the last hamster I have owned.
Dippy, argente male dwarf: Screwy’s twin, albeit a bit smaller. You could tell them apart because Dippy’s stripe was weaker. He lived a quiet life of being bullied around by his larger, more aggressive brothers, and died quietly in October 2000.
Augustus Oliver, opal male dwarf: The top dog in the hamster cage, ever since his birth. I don’t know what it is about opals that makes them larger and more aggressive, but this little guy ain’t all bark. He has repeatedly drawn blood on me, my sister, and anyone else within chewing distance. He revels in beating up his younger, weaker siblings, and although he’s gotten much mellower in the past few months, he still is the only hamster I’ve ever known to bite and draw blood, unprovoked, outside of his cage. He is the epitome of the “vicious sewer rat” characterization for dwarf hamsters. Gus died shortly in the early spring, again of unknown causes (this is becoming a theme in my life).
Joxer, normal golden male Golden: My latest acquisition, he was an impulse purchase one snowy Tuesday, driving around with DC. I decided on a whim to buy another golden (of which Mom was entirely unaware), so we went to Fish n’ Friends (reopened in a new location for Your Convenience) and I purchased the hamster, water bottle and wheel. I already had the cage, but when I went to clean it, I dropped and broke it (an omen of things to come). This necessitated another visit to Fish n’ Friends (DC, did you ever know that you’re my hero?), and by the time Mom came home (she and Sally are active in community theater, and frequently have late nights doing rehersals and such) I completely forgot about the hamster. Yes, you heard me. Sally needed something from my room, so I said go get it (I was half-asleep by then), and when she showed Mom the hamster I thought I was dead where I stood. I somehow managed for her to not kill me, and through sincere heartfelt promises to return the little rat the next day, evaded a grounding as well. He’s still here. He’s currently running on his wheel; he’s such a nice, calm, quiet hamster. He shows no inclination to escape from his cage, and in fact is so quiet outside of his cage, he frequently falls asleep in my hand. I bought him because he was in a cage with his three pregnant sisters (!!! don’t they know about separating hamsters???), and I wanted to prevent such a thing from happening again, and he was so nice and friendly at the store (or that is, as friendly as pet store animals can be...they’re all kind of jumpy and nervous). He rivals Cricket in his sheer ability to sleep through anything; normally when you wake up a hamster, they’re sleepy for a couple minutes, then jumpy as hell, and they refuse to sleep again. He perks up for awhile in your hand, then falls right back to sleep. But he’s real lively at night...just tears on his wheel. I named him Joxer because, well, it just FITS him. He’s like Joxer; he’s not very pretty or smart, but nice and friendly and loyal, and is utterly unafraid to risk his life jumping into the unknown (such as off my hand). He’s the most “down” hamster I’ve ever seen...by that, I mean that whenever you put him on your hand, he immediately tries to slide off it, and fall to the floor. Some hamsters are climbers (I’ve trained several to climb the stairs), and some are divers. He’s a diver. He’s currently on probation, and Mom claims she wants him out by Christmas, but he’ll be around for a good long time. Joxer died of unknown causes several months after I bought him. *sigh*
Druscilla and Squeaker: Really our most recent hamsters. We bought them at Petsmart (I know what I said above, but I have a short-term memory, okiday?) on my sister’s behest. We hadn’t had a hamster in over a year, and Sally decided to go out and get one. We couldn't pick just one (hamsters are like potato chips; once you have one, you can't stop), so we ended up taking home a pair of unrelated females in the same cage. Dru--yes, named after the character on Buffy--is a normal grey and rather small for a dwarf, while Squeaker (previously christened Jerry Lee Lewis for some unknown reason) is an albino and quite fat. She reaches near-Jimmy Cheeks proportions! Dru is extremely hyper...for some reason I have this tendency to pick out the most hyperactive, psychotic animal in the shop. She tends to bite frequently, and is a classic beady-eyed hostile dwarf. She’s just adorable. :) Squeaker, on the other hand, has a very mild disposition, although she does tend to beat up on Dru. Mom didn’t know about these latest purchases until we took them home, but she was fairly equable when she found out (she actually likes hamsters, although not in massive quantities, and certainly prefers them to mice).
Rodents, mice: I currently have two lesbian mice named Perfect and Paragon. You can read a description of their physical stats and personality traits in Mouse: The Other White Meat.
The only other mouse I have owned was part of a science experiement with my sister and her omnipresent friend Jill. As part of a school project, they decided to do an experiment with running various rodents through a maze and seeing which one got through the fastest. This was mostly an excuse to have all their animals together and play (hey, we were twelve!), but somehow they convinced the teachers to let them be seriously graded on it. Jill had a gigantic rat named Vanessa to represent the rat camp, Sally had Cricket for the Golden hamsters, I had Little Dude for the dwarf hamsters, but we were just lacking one thing: A mouse. So they bought a little black male mouse named Sam, who Jill was going to permanently secure when the experiment was finished. In the meantime, Sam lived at our house for a few weeks, which let me tell you Mom was NOT happy about. At one point we were playing with him, and he hid in Sally’s room when Mom called for us to visit our grandparents. Panicked, we searched to no avail, with Mom getting increasingly irritated with our lack of response. Thank god we found him and had him safely back in his cage by the time Mom was upstairs. I don’t want to think of her reaction should she have discovered there was a mouse loose running about her house.
Rodents, rats: We have owned only one rat, a cream hooded female named Emma that belonged to my sister. This miracle only transpired shortly after Puck’s death, after my sister became depressed over losing him (that little bird really meant a lot to her. She was devastated). Mom basically let her get a pity rat, and only because it was a small, light-colored female that resembled Jill’s rat Vanessa (who Mom didn’t mind that much). Emma is immortalized in film, when my sister as part of a film class project filmed a series of still photographs for a kinestasis movie (basically, a series of photos on a slide projector that tell a story). She wrote this adorable little story about a cat going on a blind date, and meeting a rat by mistake. The cat was played by our extremely overweight darling Katie, and the erstwhile suitor was played by Emma (gender changed for the convenience of art). We dressed Katie up in all sorts of humiliating costumes (if she were human, they could be considered blackmail photos), and I served as animal wrangler, since the starlet seemed VERY interested in her co-star and appeared interested in inviting her for dinner, hint hint. We set up backdrops and changed scenery and kept Katie from killing Emma all at the same time. If this is a fraction of what movie crews do, I don’t ever want to work on a set. Emma developed massive tumors, like so many rats do, and succumbed to cancer in 1998.
Reptiles: We’ve never owned a snake or a lizard; however, when we were about eight years old my sister bought a tiny painted turtle on the playground at recess, off of a boy named Ryan for fifty cents. It was basically a pity purchase; she didn’t know what fate was in store if she didn’t take the turtle under her wing, and she would at least make an effort to care for it. Picasso, as he was christened, was very very small, and being eight-year olds we had no clue how to properly care for him. We kept him in a little turtle bowl, containing a rock surrounded by water, and fed him lettuce and cottage cheese. Of course he became very very sick in no time flat, and we were highly concerned. He kept getting sicker, and sicker, and finally we took him to a local nature center that we knew kept baby turtles, and we dropped him off, asking if they could “make him better”. The staff looked very pained and doubtful, and said they’d see what they could do. Feeling rather guilty, we scuttled out the door. I still don’t know what happened to Picky; likely he was promptly turned loose by the staff. We’ve since learned that, in Michigan, it’s illegal to buy turtles under five inches in length, and Picasso definately fell behind that marker!
Amphibians: We’ve raised the occasional tadpole in the pond outside, and we’ve kept salamanders and baby toads in jars for a day or two before releasing them, but we haven’t had prolonged experience personally keeping amphibians. After Picasso we learned our lesson on keeping wild vertebrates as pets; it’s just too hard, and they tend to up and die on you.
Fish, tropical: Mom used to have a bunch of tropical fish in a great big tank until we were maybe in junior high or so, then she switched to goldfish in an outdoor pond (with heaters, that’s possible in Michigan). However, I do have a few memories of particularly special fish. We used to have a rather large, aggressive female swordfish that would beat up all the other fish in the tank; we named her She-Ra: Fish of Power. Also, Mom usually kept a betta in her tank, along with other fish of the same size or larger (angelfish, swordfish, gouramis etc). One day she bought a ton of neon tetras, which are pretty small. As you may or may not know, bettas tend to attack fish that are brightly coloured. Well, Mom put the neons in the tank, and then we all went to bed. We woke up the next morning, and the neons were GONE. Not a one remained. We did, however, have an unusually fat betta. Three guesses to where the neons went. Yup. Every last one, bones and all. We still don’t know how he did it.
Fish, goldfish: I went through a rather enthusiastic fish period in junior high, and was quite successful at it. I had a little 10-gallon tank set up in my room, and typically had a half-dozen or fewer comets in it. I’ve always loved comets...they’re so much sleeker and prettier than common goldfish, and very friendly to boot. Mine were trained to eat out of my hands and swim through my fingers. They were quite tame. I had named them (if I remember) Cupid, Bill Clinton, Al Gore, Hilary Clinton (it was the election year; guess which way I leaned :)), Scarlett, Rhett, Ashley, and Melanie (I went through a Gone With The Wind phase for a while too...Ashley died first, if I remember, and Melanie nearly suffered the same fate after she jumped out of the tank). I had the same fish in my tank for over three years and they thrived; not one of them was under three inches in length. Then Mom switched them to the downstairs tank, and they promptly died one after the other. I kept fish after that, but it was never the same. *sigh*
Tarantulas: I have never, could never, and will NEVER own or even get within striking distance of an uncaged tarantula. I have a horrible fear of spiders, and tarantulas as a pet make NO SENSE. Here’s the thing: You go to all this trouble to keep your home clean and free of small, domestic spiders, even going so far as to spray deadly poison chemicals where you suspect they’ve been, vacuuming webs and aiming large heavy objects at anything with unnecessary eyeballs and legs. Then you purposely introduce a large, FOREIGN spider into your house; moreover, you are willing to pay scads of money for the privilege of keeping this spider. You buy it special housing, and special food, and clean its cage, and presumably take it to a vet and give it medicine when it’s sick, and WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS??? It’s a SPIDER! It barely even has a brain! What do you think that you’re getting in return? Companionship? This thing is perfectly content to lay eggs in your nose while you sleep, and instead of doing the sensible thing and flinging it into the horizon should it ever go near you, you choose to carefully tend to it and ensure its fitness and safety, since after all you paid $100+ for the privilege of giant spider ownership, and you want to make certain it has a long, healthy life!
Other invertebrates: Like many children, I have partaken in the long and noble tradition of raising caterpillars into butterflies, keeping pet praying mantises, catching ladybugs in jars, and other cherished childhood activities. I was always very “hands-on” when it came to wildlife, and never hesitated to pick up the latest fascinating critter, be it worm, snail, or tent caterpillar.