the truth about googee: a small pet story
Our family spends a lot of time in the car, commuting to the big city, about 2 hours a day. We listen to music and tell stories to one another. I tell my boys stories from my childhood, like how we made Christmas ornaments out of styrofoam and old Christmas cards because we had little money (partially true). How one of my brothers shellacked his chocolate Easter egg because he wanted to preserve it's beauty (entirely true).
Tonight I told them the story of Googee the hamster (pronounced Goo-Gee, hard g. It's important you know this, as we thought it was the most innovative, most original name a rodent could have.)
The story all starts when I was in grade school, with a sleepover in my room. I had two twin beds and a large room in our old parsonage, and occasionally my middle brother and I would stay up late making plans on how to get rich or what prank to play on my reverend father. That night my brother wanted to make plans on getting a hamster. He didn't have enough money. That's where I came in. He proposed dual ownership, with the hamster residing in my room.
We couldn't afford the hamster habitat that promised tons of fun for our hamster as he squeezed himself through various twists and turns. We had an old glass aquarium and a few necessities. Some litter. A salt lick. A bottle of water. More like a hamster prison than habitat. I would also be in charge of it's care and taking, something I sort of did.
Well, not surprisingly Googee came down with mites shortly after we brought him home. My room was not air conditioned and on the second floor, so I had a fan in my window. I'm pretty certain the mites came blowing in with the breeze, past the birds peacefully lodging in the branches outside my window. I was sad about the mites, but had been bitten by Googee several times. So it was with bittersweet emotions I agreed to let my parents take Googee away before my room became mite infested to a larger degree. Googee spent a short amount of time on our covered porch after that, huddled in his sock, maybe knowing his fate, before a decision was made of what to do with him.
I came home from school one day, and Googee was no longer on the porch. I sat with my dad and he told me how Googee died a quick death. I assumed he had taken him to the vet and put him to sleep. I cried over my little hamster. A few days later, my brothers told me my dad had taken Googee into the alley behind our house and bludgened him in his sock with a hammer.
Before you call animal cruelty, let me just tell you this was not true. My brothers loved to get a reaction from me. Somewhere between believing Googee died at the vet, or dying a violent death in the alley, lies the truth. I could totally see my dad giving Googee one quick dash against the rocks in his sock. But again, before you call animal cruelty, I really don't know what happened and I think part of me doesn't want to ask the question. I'll let the boys ask Grandpa instead.
Next up, the story of Buddy the parakeet.
.
Tonight I told them the story of Googee the hamster (pronounced Goo-Gee, hard g. It's important you know this, as we thought it was the most innovative, most original name a rodent could have.)
The story all starts when I was in grade school, with a sleepover in my room. I had two twin beds and a large room in our old parsonage, and occasionally my middle brother and I would stay up late making plans on how to get rich or what prank to play on my reverend father. That night my brother wanted to make plans on getting a hamster. He didn't have enough money. That's where I came in. He proposed dual ownership, with the hamster residing in my room.
We couldn't afford the hamster habitat that promised tons of fun for our hamster as he squeezed himself through various twists and turns. We had an old glass aquarium and a few necessities. Some litter. A salt lick. A bottle of water. More like a hamster prison than habitat. I would also be in charge of it's care and taking, something I sort of did.
Well, not surprisingly Googee came down with mites shortly after we brought him home. My room was not air conditioned and on the second floor, so I had a fan in my window. I'm pretty certain the mites came blowing in with the breeze, past the birds peacefully lodging in the branches outside my window. I was sad about the mites, but had been bitten by Googee several times. So it was with bittersweet emotions I agreed to let my parents take Googee away before my room became mite infested to a larger degree. Googee spent a short amount of time on our covered porch after that, huddled in his sock, maybe knowing his fate, before a decision was made of what to do with him.
I came home from school one day, and Googee was no longer on the porch. I sat with my dad and he told me how Googee died a quick death. I assumed he had taken him to the vet and put him to sleep. I cried over my little hamster. A few days later, my brothers told me my dad had taken Googee into the alley behind our house and bludgened him in his sock with a hammer.
Before you call animal cruelty, let me just tell you this was not true. My brothers loved to get a reaction from me. Somewhere between believing Googee died at the vet, or dying a violent death in the alley, lies the truth. I could totally see my dad giving Googee one quick dash against the rocks in his sock. But again, before you call animal cruelty, I really don't know what happened and I think part of me doesn't want to ask the question. I'll let the boys ask Grandpa instead.
Next up, the story of Buddy the parakeet.
.