Hamster Series 1/2: Big Mamma Love for a Little Fur Ball

Hamster Series 1/2: Big Mamma Love for a Little Fur Ball Hamster Series 2/2: Welcome to the World’s Toughest Hamster

A Texted Conversation from the Humane Society

Barbara (My 11-year-old daughter): OMG Mom! Is that a hamster? 

Me: Yep! What do you think? He just came in. 

Barbara: He is super cute! And not like Herman. 

Me: Do you mean because he’s a different color?

Barbara: Yes, and he’s so small. 

Me: No, it’s just the black fur, he’s another Siberian hamster. We’ll still have to use the rat cage. 

Barbara: LOL, OK 😀

Introductions

I walk into Barbara’s bedroom with a fried-chicken-sized box.

I open the box. A pink nose and hands tentatively climb their way out. He drops down on the soft bedding, sniffs, and runs up the ramp. Correction: he climbs up and sits in the food bowl. Cheeks all the food.

Smiles all around.

I notice a brush against my leg. I look down.

Me: Olive! Why are you standing like that with your leg up and your tail frozen? You look silly!

Stacey (laughing): I think she’s pointing.

Me: Well, I didn’t know we had an 8lb pointer! I thought you were a spoiled lap dog!

Stacey: Well, I guess Olive is saying, “Welcome to the table.”

One month later, Barbara’s Bedroom

Barbara, 11, and I sit on her comforter, in her bed tent. The hamster is resting on her chest.  Barbara gently stroking his soft fur. 

Wow. I’ve never seen her hold anything with so much care. 

Me: You’re like a hamster-whisperer. 

Barbara: LOL, Mom. 

Me: So, sweetheart, I need to tell you something. We think Batman is not, well, a guy. 

Barbara: How can you know that? 

Me: Do you remember that Herman sometimes looked like he was sitting on a stool when he was eating? 

Barbara: Um. Not really. But okay. 

Me: Well, those were his balls. 

Barbara (with a look like when I’m cooking tuna): UGH!  TMI Mom!

Me (laughing): Yep, so, you have a little lady here. 

Barbara’s eyes widened. 

Barbara: Ohhhh!

She tenderly picked up her hamster and brought it to her face. 

Barbara: Your name is Batgirl now.

18 months later, January, Living Room

Barbara walks in. Her brow, creased. 

Barbara (to Stacey and me): So, Batgirl is acting really weird. She keeps shaking. She’s been like this all day. 

We go and check. It’s nighttime – her awake time. Her eyes are closed. She’s walking around like a drunk on a boat. 

Stacey walks away and blows her nose; puts on her reading glasses. Which can only mean one thing: bad news, but she has to be sure. I look and exchange a worried glance with Stacey and take the ramp from Batgirl’s cage.

Me: Barbara, can you see what soft foods are in the fridge? 

Barbara (rummaging) : Mom, the yogurt is moldy. 

Barbara: The cottage cheese is, too. 

Me: Hummus? 

Barbara: Nope. 

Me: Doh.

Stacey: You could make her a hard-boiled egg. 

I get the egg going. Stacey jumps up from the couch and grabs sugar, salt, and a glass. And a syringe. 

Barbara: What’s that? 

Stacey: It’s like Gatorade for hamsters. It will help her recover. 

Barbara: From what? 

Stacey: She had a stroke, sweetheart. 

Stacey pulls up some hamster Gatorade into the syringe. Batgirl keeps missing the drop on the end. We all cringe. I blow my nose, and Batgirl falls over from surprise on her bedding. Thank god she has nowhere to go. 

We get half a teaspoon of hamster Gatorade in Batgirl in the next 10 minutes. 

We place a little hard-boiled egg by her. She wobbles over and cheeks the white. And, with the world’s tiniest, pinkest paws, she takes the yolk and greedily eats.

Collective sigh of relief. 

We flop on the couch. I put my arm around Barbara. 

Barbara (starting to cry): Mom, it’s not fair.. 

Me (starting to cry, also): I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. 

Stacey gives me that “who’s gonna tell her” look.

Me: Barbara, we don’t know how long she will live. So the only thing you can do is love her now. 

Barbara (sniffling): Do you think we can make her one of those ceramic paw-print things like we did for Herman?

Stacey: Absolutely.

Why?

After verifying that Batgirl is still alive the next morning, I plod over to my desk for writing time.

With a heavy heart, this story pours out with tears. I stop, blow my nose, and wonder.

Why? Why am I so sad? I get that I’m empathetic. And highly sensitive. I feel the big grief from Barbara and Stacey. But there’s more.

How am I so tightly-tied to this one little life? It’s not like Stacey and I played a lot with her.

One long week later hand-feeding soft foods

Barbara (yelling from her room): MOM! 

Me (stomach sinking): Coming! 

Barbara: LOOK! Batgirl is almost back to her old self! 

Me: That’s great, sweetheart.

Barbara: And she’s eating and drinking by herself!

Happy dances all around.

READ ON >> Hamster Series 2/2: Welcome to the World’s Toughest Hamster

POEM: Only Today

How easy it is
to regret yesterday, 
worry of tomorrow,
and miss today

the Only Day
we ever have
to live and
love

 others, 
   the world,
     or a single leaf. 

The SoulJourner QUESTion

God, pets. Why did we humans domesticate animals that come and go too quickly? And THANK GOD we did. I’m not gonna lie to you, sometimes I miss the vast, open spaces of couple-time. However, my heart is bigger and fuller than I knew possible, with my sah-weetness of a Chiweenie, Olive. And I’m more “living in the moment” than I ever have been, in partial thanks to her.

Serious Prompt: How can you love yourself now? And now? And now? What do you need to let go of to bring yourself into present tense acceptance?

Fun Prompt: EITHER POST A PICTURE OR answer…what is one ridiculous thing you do for your pet?

READ ON >> Hamster Series 2/2: Welcome to the World’s Toughest Hamster