The Heart Matters

Today one of our gerbils died. The boys called her Cookie. I called her Baby. She was one of four gerbils born 2 1/2 years ago. I don’t usually get too bonded with our family vermin, but she and her sibs were born and raised here.

I had discovered a litter of four baby gerbils, much to my delight, nestled in the corner of the cage. Three were black, one was white. The boys were ecstatic. All the babies grew to adulthood. We separated the females from the males as we did not wish to raise a growing colony of babies.

The females battled for dominance with the mother ruling the roost. The males fought continuously until just one remained. The brothers slaughtered one another, in terrible ways, including gnawing off one another’s feet. Indeed it was the survival on the fittest. The lone male soon succumbed to a mite infestation.

Only the females survived, Cookie and Cream. They became close companions, grooming each other daily, engaging in sporadic boxing episodes. By day, they huddled together for warmth and comfort. By night, they took turns running on the wheel, taking turns grooming one another.

Cookie and Cream - enjoying some sisterly wheel time.

The boys knew their little pets were aging. Cookie’s once charcoal fur was lightened with gray. Henry had recently commented that they would die soon. No one knew that it would be this soon. Cookie died today.

Noah picked Cookie up from the pine bedding and placed her in an Aveno oatmeal bath box. A suitable box for a critter burial. A tear ran down his sweet boyish cheek. Cream ran back and forth, seemingly lost without her sister.

Tonight, Cookie will join the vast number of pets in our garden walk of memories. She will join those who came before her. Friends like Uno, Seth’s little maze mouse, who was slain by Mickey Mouse. Frisky, who suffocated himself in the corner of his cage, wedged between a Habitrail tube and the glass. Snowball, aka Gnurlman, the hated hamster, for whom all prayed that Death would come early. Mickey Mouse, the murderer, who lived a long life in isolation. (He was dearly loved though he slew his brother, Uno.) Shadow, Winter, Crunch and Munch and a litany of beloved vermin lay within the boundaries of our flower bed.

This evening we will gather and remember this family companion. The boys will stiffen their lower lips, trying not to cry. Soil will be lifted and patted gently in place. A friend will be put to rest.

So the cycle of family pets continues. Sad though it is, I will remember these moments with tenderness, for this is what raising children entails. It is bitter sweet. I cherish the memories.