Now, granted, I do have a few drafts that would be awkward to post now since they are SO yesterday's news, but ain't nothin' gonna come from half-written blog posts
So, here's to you, Katie Reynolds. Thanks, for reminding me to write! :)
Let me tell you a story. A story about my pet hamster, Stuart.
Little Stu is a total cutie. I got him in an impulsive moment of grieving after losing my beloved betta fish, Jorge. I mean, come on! The hamster cage was on sale and he was too. I couldn't refuse. When the Pet Supermarket associate raised the little hammy igloo, little fur balls sprawled across the cage, except for one little dude who must have been in some serious REM sleep, because he was all sorts groggy. He had the "old-man-ruffled-hair-Monday-morning" look as he squinted his eyes and attempted to figure out whether he was still dreaming.
THAT ONE.
The one in the middle? The one that's not moving from his spot?
Yeah. I stared at him with the creepy 7-year-old child within me.
I thought to myself, he's gonna be SO chill and awesome. I'll cuddle with him, ... and hug him and squeeze him, and love him! (Anyone? Anyone? Remember that cartoon?). Oh, how very wrong I was. The lady reached in, and he was GONE. It took her a good few minutes until she asked, "are you sure it has to be that one?"
Yes. I was no longer in love. I was determined. He was going to be my hammy, and he was gonna LIKE it.
Shelly and I drove home with the little cardboard house holding Stuart in my lap. Every once in a while, his pink nose would poke out of a hole, but most of the time, you just heard frantic scratching. I forced a smile, thinking the whole while, he'll calm down and warm up to me.
Stuart and my relationship wasn't what I planned for. Playtime for me was torture for him. This GIANT hand reaching in for him meant war. I'd leave my hand in the cage, rub my hands in his bedding to "become one with the hammy," and talk to him. He'd slowly come up, sniff my finger, bite me and run away. I'm talking Mexican jumping bean (name credit to Shelly. Holla!).
I looked up every hammy whisperer website, tried every recommendation but no success. It was a frustrating-for-me, traumatic-for-him type of experience. I got this close to driving to the nearby nature park and letting him be free in nature (we won't mention whose dinner he would be that night).
But then redemption came. From a toilet paper roll.
I had just finished a roll of toilet paper (you know we all come to that moment every so often), and I thought, hmm. Maybe Stuart would like this.
I laid the peace offering in the middle of his cage. Mr. Grumpy Pants stuck his head out of his nest and noticed this new contraption. It didn't take long before he was in LOVE with a toilet paper roll. He sniffed it, touched it with his little paw, and then slowly proceeded to climb into it. And the rest is history. He loved it!
And you know what's even better? This toilet paper roll was the golden solution to playtime. Stuart would make his way into the roll when I opened his gate, and I would pick the roll up and rest it on my leg. Stuart would slowly poke his head out, a look of amazement (I do know hammy facial expressions) on his face, and then he'd realize it wasn't so bad after all to play with Val Pal.
Yes, we still have our ups and downs. The relationship can sometimes be strained when he's in a bad mood, but it hasn't gotten to the point where we need counseling of any sort. We're making progress and starting to trust each other more.
I love my little Texas Roadhouse mustached hammy.
COMING NEXT: how does a toilet paper roll with a hammy relate to a profound life lesson? Those of you who were in Relief Society when I taught a few weeks ago, your lips are sealed.
I should have named him Waldo.
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