Living in the hamster years

Published July 2004

We were expecting company. I instructed our children to clean their hamster cages. Dutifully, they set to work. ‘Bosco’, the big hairy teddy bear hamster was overjoyed to be free of his cage. I could hear my son, Conor, squealing as he let him crawl around on his shoulders near his ear. ‘Pinky’, the little dwarf hamster was about to get his cage cleaned too. Pinky isn’t kid-friendly and hates to be handled. I don’t particularly like Pinky.

Meanwhile at another part of the house, I was working on an endless amount of laundry, thinking about matching socks someday and how dirty the house fans looked, when I heard the first scream around noon. “Mom!” hollered my 7-year old daughter, “Hurry up…come quick, Pinky…He’s having a baby”! Yeah right, I whined. I slowly made my way to the kids’ room. Pinky, the biting hamster probably had a poop stuck to his tail, and it would be my job to deliver him.

Peering in to the cage, it was clear the ‘little guy’ was dragging his lower body around the newly cleaned cage and it appeared he was trying to give birth. My thoughts raced and I thoughtfully encouraged “him” to push. The struggle went on for two hours as we all monitored her progress like nervous fathers. This led to conversations with my kids about how hard it was for moms to have babies. We watched her breathing and how she would get excited for a while and then rest for a minute to get her strength back. I was mid-wiving a hamster!

We decided to look at books, call people who knew about hamsters and we Google’d our way on the internet in search of information. Everything seems to point in the direction of leaving her alone and letting nature take its course. I couldn’t improvise myself out of this one with my kids. What do you do if a dwarf hamster needs a C-section? Flashbacks of old ER episodes came to life. “Shannon, get me 3 cc’s of Demerol STAT plus 500 ml glucose IV and page Dr. Hamstersavior in OB now..Go! Go! Go!

Ultimately, the situation became gravely worse as it appeared the hamster had prolapsed but I will spare you the details. I never felt so helpless. She looked terrible but she was still alive. Remember those old movies when “Pa” would pull the rifle off the mantle, pat the young boy on the head and walk silently out the door to the barn where you didn’t see what he was doing but you just heard the sound of the single shot? All this happened while the camera panned down to the sobbing child who always ran away from home “I hate you Pa”…as he fled into the woods overnight just to punish his parents. I didn’t have a hamster rifle over my mantle. Mission level now elevated, I weighed my options in front of my troops. This scene needed a M*A*S*H response and I was Radar O’Reilly.

We headed for the emergency vet where I imagined we’d rack up hundreds of dollars in bills for hamster IV’s, cardio pulmonary hamster-sized resuscitation pads and hamster surgical retractors. Luckily, as I exited highway 50 at Shingle Springs I saw the Lee’s Feed sign like a beacon of salvation to save me from the wrath of J.D. who wouldn’t understand paying such bills for a pregnant dwarf hamster who was supposed to be a boy. I found a sympathetic lady who basically affirmed what I found to be a hopeless situation for Pinky. “If it were me, I would take her home and wrap her in something and put her in the freezer. She’ll go to sleep quickly and it will end her agony. I’m sorry I wish we could do something”.

When we got home I took tissue and wrapped Pinky up and gently laid her in a size 4 coffee filter. My two youngest followed me out the back door in a funeral procession worthy of all the Italian ancestors in our family, saying their woeful goodbyes to Pinky. She was buried under the rock in the front yard the next day. My husband does all the critter funerals because he has such eloquence at times like these. “Pinky Maher was a spunky ol’ gal and we’re gonna miss him”. It brought back fond memories of another hamster funeral 33 years previous presided over by my father, whose own eloquence cannot be overlooked with “God bless the rat”. My hamster’s name was “Snuffy”, a critter who died at the hands of my sister, Trish, who had fed him a box of Vicks cough drops. These were stored by the hamster in both his cheeks until rigor mortis set in.

My job was done. Living in the hamster years means cleaning, nursing and undertaking my kids’ critters. The revelation that stayed with me after this experience was that Pinky had endeared herself to me in her greatest hour of suffering. Even people have a tendency to have that same effect on us, whether we like them or not.

Tammy Maher is a resident of El Dorado Hills and bi-weekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her at familyfare@sbcglobal.net

Nature study on a whim

Published July 2004

Messy mud swallows. You either love ‘em or you hate them. For me, it’s a battle that always ends up a draw every year. The birds usually win though. I thought the nests were finally empty since Spring sprung a little early this year. Assuming the little ones graduated and headed wherever mud swallows go after they have pooped their infancy away on my driveway, cars and porch, I got out the hose yesterday and put the stream setting on Jet Mode and starting firing away. Sheepishly I admit, this was a poor assumption on my part. Never assume anything since apparently mud swallows sublet to sparrows for the summer. I had just spent the months of April and May monitoring a robin nest near my front door so I thought I was the aviary expert. I obviously jumped the gun.

The little guy fell on top of his mud nest and was probably only about a week old based on Anna Comstock (our nature study author). Other than being a little wet, he was intact but a little surprised to see the sun. So, what do you do when you become a home wrecker? Well, after running around in a panic and apologizing to my children who were pretty upset with me, I was so nutty at one point, I picked up the baby bird and held him up to the sky while exclaiming, “yoo-hoo, I’ll just put him over here in this robin nest by my front door…it’s a very nice nest. You come take care of him here”.

Unfortunately, the message didn’t get through. Birds do not understand English nor do they wish to relocate on a whim (or the Tsunami created by my power hose). My children had a better idea. “Mom, call the wildlife people”. Sierra wildlife rescue in El Dorado takes critters big or small, injured or not and treats them and feeds them until they can be released back into the wild. At this time of the year, they are full of birds that have fallen and can’t get up, so to speak.

I made the call and was given explicit instructions. The bird should be in a box. I was to get in my car and be as quiet as possible. Radio was to remain off, but the air conditioner was Ok. I was to drop off the bird, fill out some paperwork (uh-oh, was I going to be busted for some illegal hose versus nest infraction)? They assured me this would not be the case but that the paperwork was required by the Department of Fish and Game. After this, they would take over, assign him a case number and hopefully take care of him until he could fly the coup, or the shelter as the case seemed to be. This involves taking him to his natural habitat (which would be somewhere near my house, or yours, I’m sure) and then allowing him to be natural again. Sounds like a peach. If he comes back, he’ll have to start from scratch because as soon as summer is done, I’m taking the mess down again which is my annual September chore. When March approaches again next year, let the battles begin.

The kids really enjoyed seeing the baby bird safe and warm in his new incubator. We looked over Sierra’s flyers and it seems they need volunteers all the time. My older two are very interested in this. My seven year old, cried and whined in the car all the way home, demanding a waiver on the age restrictions so that she could go to Sierra and take care of baby bob-cats. Whoa!

Tammy Maher is a resident of El Dorado Hills and bi-weekly columnist for the Mountain Democrat. You can reach her at familyfare@sbcglobal.net

Good Neighbor & Good Brother

Published June 2004

My neighbor Liz and her two sons lost their beloved husband and father quite suddenly last week. It was the day before father’s day and death came unexpectedly as a thief in broad daylight. Dan was at the golf course where his son works, enjoying the beautiful weather with his friends and neighbors when he collapsed and died. The trauma of trying to resuscitate him and the terrible task of calling his wife and comforting his son must have been a nightmare everyone wanted to wake up from. One need hardly imagine the shock and sorrow of the day and the lifetime ahead of trying to understand why. It is the day which serves as the marker for the rest of their lives –understanding that the whys may never be answered and new coping skills will be learned in order to carry on without him.
Good neighbor Dan is gone and we’re void of the words to express to his family how sorry we are and we’re full of regret.

Regret, for us, is that we did not know Dan as well as neighbors should. We knew him from admiring his yard, the changes he made to his home after he moved in a few years ago, and his interactions with his sons. We knew him in his comings and goings to and from work, walking his beagle with his wife, hanging out with his boys and their friends. He seemed quiet, yet he always returned a friendly wave of hello as we passed his house. Last week we lost the potential of a closer friendship with Dan. That is our regret. Our vow is to better our friendship with his family.

Our sister in law, Kate, and her three sons lost their beloved husband and father three years ago last February. Dan was in his early 40’s and home recovering from minor shoulder surgery when he collapsed and died in his bedroom. The trauma of finding him and calling paramedics to a hopeless situation must have been a nightmare for his wife and sons. We do not want to imagine it because sudden death robs us of our breath. It kicks us in the gut and causes the momentum of the earth to stop for several hours while trying to comprehend the facts – “He was here just a moment ago, I talked to him just last night and now he’s gone”. I’ll never forget the day I had to tell my husband his brother had died.

Good brother Dan was gone and we were full of regret.

Our regret was that we didn’t telephone Dan or see him as often as brothers and sisters should. He always called us first. We admired his character, honesty and fortitude. He was a man devoted to his family and active in scouts and sports with his boys. His countenance was pure goodness. We never heard him utter an unkind word against anyone. Death robbed us of the opportunity to tell him how much we appreciated him and there was no time for “goodbye” or “we love you”. Our vow is to strengthen our family ties to his wife and our nephews.

Procrastination, like sudden death does nothing to stand down regret. Life is full of good neighbors and good brothers. Spend more time getting to know and appreciate them.