I Want That One!
I’d long believed I should buy a motorcycle of my own. But I also wanted a pet. My dilemma: should I save up for a vehicle that would provide me independence or blow everything I’d saved on something that would be dependent on me?
I really didn’t know what was more important.
But living with the biker made the decision for me. I was riding a Harley every day, and I hadn’t spent a dime.
So that left all the money in my bank account for … hamsters!
My mother was deathly afraid of rodents, so I knew I would never, ever be going home again if I bought hamsters. Still, having something to cuddle was important and, as a college student, I had to put my dream of owning a dog on hold.
So Larry and I went to the pet store. Without giving it an ounce of thought, he grabbed the cheapest metal cage he could find, which was to become their home. It had a built-in wheel, which was all that mattered to me. I envisioned days of watching my little critters running and running on that wheel.
Obviously I knew nothing.
This did not stop me. I walked over to the hamsters piled in a giant cage and pointed at a little white-and-tan rodent who was running around. The rest of them were sleeping, so I thought this was a good sign.
“I want that one!” I declared. I named him Chippy on the spot.
Then I saw one in the back, in a pile of sleeping animals, reddish-brown with white spots. Eyes still closed, he lifted his head and wriggled his nose, irritated with all the ruckus.
“Can we get two?” I asked.
“Sure!” Larry said. “Why not?”
Neither of us knew anything.
“I like the fat one in the back,” I said. “See that one?”
So we got the fat one, too. I named him Dozer, after the fat mute biker in Mask.
We went home believing we were done.
But Chippy and Dozer never liked each other. They were both male so they tried to kill each other every, single day.
And they required actual care, not just names. They required food and clean water every day, which was not easy for a drunk. And someone – namely, me – had to clean out the cage regularly. I didn’t even clean myself regularly, so the cage smelled really bad all the time.
Chippy and Dozer spent a lot of time chasing each other around and spitting; they were not friends, nor were they cuddly. Trying to catch one was nearly impossible, and holding one to pet it seemed to traumatize the poor little guys every time. So mostly I just let them be.
Worst of all, hamsters are nocturnal. That hamster wheel I’d once adored started turning sometime around 11 p.m. and didn’t stop until the sun came up.
And it squeaked. All. Night. Long.
As drunk as I was every night, and as thoroughly passed out, I woke up to that squeaking every night for years. In the morning, they’d be sound asleep – and I never, ever got to actually watch them run on the wheel.
I now know that what I actually wanted was a guinea pig. Guinea pigs are awake 18-20 hours a day, and they love to be cuddled. But I didn’t learn this until the advent of the internet – and after having children.
I thought hamsters were little guinea pigs, but they aren’t.
They are really NOT little guinea pigs.
But hey, I had my own pets, something completely dependent on me. Those hamsters are how I learned that absolutely nothing and no one should ever depend on me.