Earlier this week my son Matthew got a Winter White hamster, whom he named Rumpelstiltskin. He's the cutest, friendliest ball of white fur. He has one fault. He's an escape artist.
He escaped from his cage early this week. And while we weren't able to find him, it was okay because he got bored and climbed back into his cage while we were searching for him.
This morning he disappeared again. And so we built a cute ramp leading up to his cage with raisins on it. But he hasn't turned up yet. Thankfully, we don't have to worry about Jezebel (our black Lab)--she doesn't like hamster snacks. Though I do wish she'd sniff him out for us, but she's already met Rumpel and thinks he's beneath her attention.
So our wish for Christmas is to find Rumpelstiltskin.
Showing posts with label hamsters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hamsters. Show all posts
Friday, December 23, 2011
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Take Me With You
Matt’s hamster Grover isn’t really a hamster. I’m not sure what he is exactly. But here’s a faithful description of what I’ve witnessed. (Ariel will verify it because she was there.)
Here’s the background. Every night Matt moves Grover’s cage to the dining room when he goes to bed because hamsters are semi-nocturnal and spend most of the night running their wheels, which is very noisy. You might not think it’s a big deal, but hamsters have been known to run 8 miles a night—in a wheel that measures 6 inches in diameter. That’s a lot of noisy running.
But, back to Grover. He was in his cage on the dining room floor. Ariel and I decided we needed a bag of popcorn to share while we watched a movie so we headed to the kitchen. We glanced into Grover’s cage. Grover was sitting in his wheel. But not just sitting, he was sitting on his rear-end with his legs hanging over the edge of the wheel and his hands out in front of him, holding a piece of food. He didn’t look any different than a person, except for the hairy body and beady eyes. Then, he had the audacity to look at us and tilt his head. Ariel and I both said, “Did you see that?!”
We chattered all through the popcorn popping. On our way back to the movie, we peeked into Grover’s cage. Now he was walking around. Not on his four paws. He was walking on his two hind feet like any normal biped. In other words, like a person. Once again, we locked eyes, and if I didn’t know better I was sure he was going to say, “What, you’ve never seen a hamster walk?”
I’ve been thinking about it for days now. I do believe that Grover’s a hamster. But he’s not any hamster, he’s a Narnian hamster—I think he ran past the lamppost without thinking and got stuck in our world. And I’m hoping that one night when no one’s around and I whisper, “I believe in Aslan too” that he’ll take me back with him.
Here’s the background. Every night Matt moves Grover’s cage to the dining room when he goes to bed because hamsters are semi-nocturnal and spend most of the night running their wheels, which is very noisy. You might not think it’s a big deal, but hamsters have been known to run 8 miles a night—in a wheel that measures 6 inches in diameter. That’s a lot of noisy running.
But, back to Grover. He was in his cage on the dining room floor. Ariel and I decided we needed a bag of popcorn to share while we watched a movie so we headed to the kitchen. We glanced into Grover’s cage. Grover was sitting in his wheel. But not just sitting, he was sitting on his rear-end with his legs hanging over the edge of the wheel and his hands out in front of him, holding a piece of food. He didn’t look any different than a person, except for the hairy body and beady eyes. Then, he had the audacity to look at us and tilt his head. Ariel and I both said, “Did you see that?!”
We chattered all through the popcorn popping. On our way back to the movie, we peeked into Grover’s cage. Now he was walking around. Not on his four paws. He was walking on his two hind feet like any normal biped. In other words, like a person. Once again, we locked eyes, and if I didn’t know better I was sure he was going to say, “What, you’ve never seen a hamster walk?”
I’ve been thinking about it for days now. I do believe that Grover’s a hamster. But he’s not any hamster, he’s a Narnian hamster—I think he ran past the lamppost without thinking and got stuck in our world. And I’m hoping that one night when no one’s around and I whisper, “I believe in Aslan too” that he’ll take me back with him.
Friday, September 11, 2009
A New Hamster
Matt’s hamster Sam died, and we buried her in the backyard. (You may remember our “male” Sam became “Samantha” when she gave birth to a litter of babies.) After the burial, it was time to get a new hamster. First, we went to Petco. They had hamsters, but Matt didn’t like the conditions of the cages. Unless hamsters are properly cared for they can be aggressive and won’t make good pets. Matt could get a PhD from a major university with what he knows about hamsters, including their Latin names. On to PetSmart.
PetSmart had clean cages and happy looking hamsters. Matt debated whether to get a Roborovski hamster or a Russian white. The Roborovski are small and hyper, which means they can’t be held—they are escape artists. But robos are fun to watch. Russian whites are actually brown/black mottled, but their fur turns white during the winter. As Matt was trying to decide, we were distracted by some dwarf Chinese hamsters. Matt pointed one out and said, “Mom, you should get the small animal care person. I think that hamster is having a baby.” I said, “You’re right!” Promptly, I tracked down the small animal salesman, brought him to the cages, and explained the problem. The man looked at the hamster. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, that’s a male hamster. They’re just, uh, well-endowed.” I blushed every shade of red.
Later I explained the situation to Matthew. He looked aghast and said, “They look really deformed—I’m glad we bought a Russian white instead.” I guess he doesn’t know everything about hamsters.
PetSmart had clean cages and happy looking hamsters. Matt debated whether to get a Roborovski hamster or a Russian white. The Roborovski are small and hyper, which means they can’t be held—they are escape artists. But robos are fun to watch. Russian whites are actually brown/black mottled, but their fur turns white during the winter. As Matt was trying to decide, we were distracted by some dwarf Chinese hamsters. Matt pointed one out and said, “Mom, you should get the small animal care person. I think that hamster is having a baby.” I said, “You’re right!” Promptly, I tracked down the small animal salesman, brought him to the cages, and explained the problem. The man looked at the hamster. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, that’s a male hamster. They’re just, uh, well-endowed.” I blushed every shade of red.
Later I explained the situation to Matthew. He looked aghast and said, “They look really deformed—I’m glad we bought a Russian white instead.” I guess he doesn’t know everything about hamsters.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Eskimo Kisses
The boys came home the other day to discover that Jezebel had silver toenails. All three boys pitched a fit. They knew what had happened. Ariel had struck. She’s been talking about Jez, saying that she’s the ultimate Goth dog. She’s solid black with a spiked collar and a nasty growl. To complete the picture all she needed was silver nails and piercings. Of course, Ariel knows better than to pierce anything. Jez gets vey worried about pain; Cal even has to comfort her when it's time for a nail clipping.
We are currently (providentially?) out of nail polish remover so the boys are scrapping silver paint off the dog’s nails. But, it’s kind of ironic really. Jezebel puts on a great show with her vicious guttural growl, the hair that stands on end, and the big spiky teeth. It's even better when you see her watching birds through the window with her nostrils flared and her muscles quivering. You can almost hear her saying, “If it weren’t for the glass…”
But aside from birds (you can’t get beyond breeding), she’s an old softie. She loves just about any creature, especially hamsters. Clara and Sam spend the night in their cages on the dining room floor because they are too noisy. First thing in the morning after Jez eats, she checks on the hamsters. And the hamsters, who are obviously stupid animals, climb the bars of their cage to say “Hi” to Jez. They stick their noses out, and Jez rubs noses with them. Yep, that’s right—they give each other Eskimo kisses.
After that, Jez checks the floor. The hamsters throw the food they don’t like out of their cages and Jez eats it. She loves hamster food. It could be that they just have a deal going. A Lab-hamster shakedown along the lines of “Throw out your food, or I’ll eat you.” Could be. But Eskimo kisses are hard to fake.
We are currently (providentially?) out of nail polish remover so the boys are scrapping silver paint off the dog’s nails. But, it’s kind of ironic really. Jezebel puts on a great show with her vicious guttural growl, the hair that stands on end, and the big spiky teeth. It's even better when you see her watching birds through the window with her nostrils flared and her muscles quivering. You can almost hear her saying, “If it weren’t for the glass…”
But aside from birds (you can’t get beyond breeding), she’s an old softie. She loves just about any creature, especially hamsters. Clara and Sam spend the night in their cages on the dining room floor because they are too noisy. First thing in the morning after Jez eats, she checks on the hamsters. And the hamsters, who are obviously stupid animals, climb the bars of their cage to say “Hi” to Jez. They stick their noses out, and Jez rubs noses with them. Yep, that’s right—they give each other Eskimo kisses.
After that, Jez checks the floor. The hamsters throw the food they don’t like out of their cages and Jez eats it. She loves hamster food. It could be that they just have a deal going. A Lab-hamster shakedown along the lines of “Throw out your food, or I’ll eat you.” Could be. But Eskimo kisses are hard to fake.
Here’s a picture of Jez with Clara. I tried to get a photo of them rubbing noses, but I’m a slow cameraman. You’ll have to take my word for it.
And here's picture of Jez waiting for a snack of hamster chow. Be sure to check out the silver toenails.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Hank the Ham, not the cow dog
At every holiday I try to cook something special. At Easter I make a roast leg of lamb. On Thanksgiving I cook a turkey. And on Christmas I normally cook duck. But this year we decided that duck was a little too pricy. So, I thought we’d do something regional. After all, we’ve lived in many places, and I’ve tried to learn regional cooking. When we lived near San Diego, Cal and I learned to love swordfish tacos (though it’s only recently that I found a “killer” recipe). When we lived in Little Saigon, Cal and I fell in love with lemon grass and mint. In Santa Cruz…well, vegetarian food isn’t quite our thing. Then in New England I learned how to make real New England clam chowder and Italian spaghetti (even if I learned by way of a Polish friend).
Now we’re in the South and I’ve seen all these “country hams.” So, I thought, “Hey, they’re cheaper than duck and they’re regional. Sounds like a great opportunity.” So, after researching it in the Joy of Cooking, we bought our first country ham, aka Tennessee ham or Kentucky ham. The first sign there might be a problem at home was when the children realized that it was sitting in the pantry. Ariel asked me why it didn’t need to be refrigerated. I explained that the ham had been smoked, brined, and salted. Unfortunately, that made her curious, and she found the recipes I was considering.
Her first question was: “What does this mean ‘Scrape off any mold’?!! Are you going to cook and feed us something that grows mold on the outside!?!” I explained that mold itself wasn’t the issue; she ate mold all the time when she ate cheese. In no uncertain terms, she explained that cheese was completely different and irrelevant to the discussion. I told her to trust me—I got a raised eyebrow in return.
So, for the last two days we’ve been soaking and scraping our country ham, which releases the excess salt from the meat. And every 12 hours I change the water that “Hank” is soaking in. When Ariel heard me call the ham “Hank,” she was very disturbed. I can’t imagine why—it’s not like I called him “Wilbur” or some porcine name with literary implications. But she said, “How can you name our food?” I countered, “I always call the turkey, ‘Tomas.’” Apparently, that’s different.
At any rate, Hank is now 12 hours away from his date with my cooking pot. Cal and I are salivating at every whiff of smoked pork, and Ariel walks around the house muttering imprecations and murmuring words that sound like “food poisoning.”
p.s. If you've never read Hank the Cow Dog, you absolutely must. The audio books are great, even better than the books because the author sings the most hilarious songs (my personal favorite is "When Sally Mae comes with her Broom."). I know HCD are supposed to be "little kid stories," but these audio books are listened to surreptitiously by all the teens in our home, not to mention the pre-teen. Bunnicula is also fantastic.
Now we’re in the South and I’ve seen all these “country hams.” So, I thought, “Hey, they’re cheaper than duck and they’re regional. Sounds like a great opportunity.” So, after researching it in the Joy of Cooking, we bought our first country ham, aka Tennessee ham or Kentucky ham. The first sign there might be a problem at home was when the children realized that it was sitting in the pantry. Ariel asked me why it didn’t need to be refrigerated. I explained that the ham had been smoked, brined, and salted. Unfortunately, that made her curious, and she found the recipes I was considering.
Her first question was: “What does this mean ‘Scrape off any mold’?!! Are you going to cook and feed us something that grows mold on the outside!?!” I explained that mold itself wasn’t the issue; she ate mold all the time when she ate cheese. In no uncertain terms, she explained that cheese was completely different and irrelevant to the discussion. I told her to trust me—I got a raised eyebrow in return.
So, for the last two days we’ve been soaking and scraping our country ham, which releases the excess salt from the meat. And every 12 hours I change the water that “Hank” is soaking in. When Ariel heard me call the ham “Hank,” she was very disturbed. I can’t imagine why—it’s not like I called him “Wilbur” or some porcine name with literary implications. But she said, “How can you name our food?” I countered, “I always call the turkey, ‘Tomas.’” Apparently, that’s different.
At any rate, Hank is now 12 hours away from his date with my cooking pot. Cal and I are salivating at every whiff of smoked pork, and Ariel walks around the house muttering imprecations and murmuring words that sound like “food poisoning.”
p.s. If you've never read Hank the Cow Dog, you absolutely must. The audio books are great, even better than the books because the author sings the most hilarious songs (my personal favorite is "When Sally Mae comes with her Broom."). I know HCD are supposed to be "little kid stories," but these audio books are listened to surreptitiously by all the teens in our home, not to mention the pre-teen. Bunnicula is also fantastic.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Capture
Last night around midnight, Luke heard a noise, then another noise and another. He tiptoed out of his room (okay, Luke doesn't tiptoe--he's more like a mastadon, but you get the idea) and woke up Ariel. In the darkness they surrounded Oswald, flipped on the lights, and captured him.
Later, during Oswald's interrogation (which did not involved torture, merely the dangling of honey-coated bird treats in front of his nose), Luke and Ariel discovered that Oswald had set up his base of operations under Luke's dresser. And, though Oswald did not protest during his arrest, he was furiously chewing the bars of his cage this morning. Luke believes Oswald spent his time on the lam recruiting other creatures in his bid for world domination. So we'll have to see what other creatures try to escape. Our spy network has told us that Jezebel was recruited, but she refused to participate--Oswald couldn't better her current arrangements of four square meals, a warm bed, plenty of bones, and a two and half mile run over the hills three times a week. Besides Jezzie thought Oswald's secret code was a bit over the top.
Later, during Oswald's interrogation (which did not involved torture, merely the dangling of honey-coated bird treats in front of his nose), Luke and Ariel discovered that Oswald had set up his base of operations under Luke's dresser. And, though Oswald did not protest during his arrest, he was furiously chewing the bars of his cage this morning. Luke believes Oswald spent his time on the lam recruiting other creatures in his bid for world domination. So we'll have to see what other creatures try to escape. Our spy network has told us that Jezebel was recruited, but she refused to participate--Oswald couldn't better her current arrangements of four square meals, a warm bed, plenty of bones, and a two and half mile run over the hills three times a week. Besides Jezzie thought Oswald's secret code was a bit over the top.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Escape
The other day, Ariel's hamster Oswald escaped from his cage during the night--he knocked the cage onto the floor, the wheel broke off the cage, and he hightailed it. How Ariel slept through this all is rather mystifying. And we haven't seen any sign of him since. Luke talks about Oswald breaking free to mate with rats and then discusses of the possibility of hunting ham-rats in the basement, Cal talks about a tasty treat for Jezebel (our five month old black Lab), Jacob talks about the lights dimming as Oswald chews through electrical wires, and Matt mentions seeing the phantasm of poor, dear Oswald. Ariel "patiently" ignores it all.
Personally, I believe that Oswald is a secret agent who has been "placed" in our home to spy out the secret goings on--who gets up for a midnight snack and leaves the pizza out on the counter, who leaves legos/dining room chairs/violin cases in the middle of the floor to be tripped over, and who gets up and secretly transmits coded messages about world domination and demands a new knuckle bone.
Personally, I believe that Oswald is a secret agent who has been "placed" in our home to spy out the secret goings on--who gets up for a midnight snack and leaves the pizza out on the counter, who leaves legos/dining room chairs/violin cases in the middle of the floor to be tripped over, and who gets up and secretly transmits coded messages about world domination and demands a new knuckle bone.
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