The Gerbil Chronicles

Okay, so you remember that we got Baylee a gerbil for Christmas, right? Since then I've just about had a heart attack three times because of caring too much for the little thing. And it's weird, because I am NOT a rodent person. I hate mice, I hate rats, I hate ferrets, I'm allergic to guinea pigs, and hamsters scare me thanks to Peanut, my pet hamster as a child, who not only bit the crap out of people but also refused to die. Peanut lived to be seven years old, which is like a thousand in human years. Despite my bent away from disease-carrying pests, I mean pets, I'm totally smitten with our little gerbil, Ginger. For one thing she doesn't have a hairless tail. Her tail is about three inches long, but it's got fur on it and a little tuft at the end. A tuft, people. How cute is that? Plus she sits up and looks around with her little paws out in front exactly like a miniature prairie dog, and what's not to love about prairie dogs? Ginger captured my heart, plain and simple.

Then came the day our resident potential murderer, Cooper, knocked Ginger's cage off Baylee's desk and onto the floor. It landed upside-down, bedding on the ceiling, water everywhere, food scattered. Of course our house is so loud and crazy that nobody even heard it happen, so who knows how long that poor animal was stuck in there like that. Luckily it survived, no harm was done, and we decided to keep the cage on the floor to avoid any future disasters of that sort.

There were no more incidents until a couple days ago when we decided to get Ginger a friend. Apparently gerbils are social animals and only do well with a cage mate. I guess they get all lethargic and unhealthy and lonely when they're left by themselves. Huh. That would've been good to know when we got her. Anyway, armed with this new knowledge I took the kids back to Petco to get another female gerbil. We found a nice, slightly darker colored one which Baylee promptly named Cinnamon, and I figured that was that. Gerbil buddy found. Tiny animal depression averted. That's when the Petco lady informed us that there was a good chance when we put Cinnamon in with Ginger they'd fight to the death. Great. She did say we could bring back the new gerbil, though, if it didn't work out, so I bought it. We got home, I cleaned out the cage because I figured less poop couldn't hurt...I know, right? I'm like a regular Dr. Doolittle...and I stuck them both in there, steeling myself to have to reach back in and untangle a fighting, hissing mass of writhing fur and claws. But they did fine. They warmed right up to each other. Of course I didn't KNOW that right away, so I spent a good part of the rest of that day taking the cage with me from room to room, babysitting. For gerbils.

Finally last night the biggest scare of all happened. I've always been concerned about the fact that we picked out a cage instead of an aquarium, because once in awhile one of their cute little tufted tails hangs outside the bars and again, we have a cat. Sure enough yesterday my worst of all gerbil fears came true. The cat bit the end off Ginger's tail! Is was awful!!! There was blood and the tuft was/is totally gone! Baylee is the one who noticed it first and it was like mass hysteria dominoes. She started crying and screaming, then I ran in there and I started freaking out. And then...okay, fine. It was only two dominoes. It was a very small domino train of sensitive people who actually care about tiny animals. The men in our family were heartless! Mike strolled in and his only comment was, "Good job, Cooper." Zach calmly and clinically said, "Well, now infection is going to set in and that thing is going to be dead in a matter of days." And Drew just wanted to see the bloody stump. Bunch of barbarians.

I don't know if my heart can handle gerbils anymore, I really don't. They've already taken years off my life.

Sue

PS: Ginger seems to be fine, despite her lack of tuft.