Wednesday, October 22, 2008

An EVEN BETTER Story


The following blog entry comes straight from www.missthystle.com , who wins this month's BEST FREEKING BLOG POST EVER award-which is an award I will be bestowing on blogs who take a subject I write about and DO IT WAY BETTER THAN ME. And this is not one of those 2D photoshop created awards: this is an ACTUAL TROPHY which I will send to winners so that they can display it proudly next to their other awards such as Mother of The Year or Mary Kaye Salesperson Extraordinaire. You can nominate yourself or anyone else at any time--just remember that the post has to relate to a subject blogged here first.

Okay, so for the record I AM WARNING YOU RIGHT NOW. You do not want to read this story. For reals. You should leave. Like now.

Are you still there? OMG. You people never, ever listen.

M, despite being an avid bird hunter, is wildly in love with every animal ever. If there is an animal, she wants it. I am asked daily for things like kittens, birds, fish, monkeys, lemurs, puppies, hippo's, sea lions and all manner of things that are either cute, fuzzy, cuddly, smooshy or all of the above.

My husband, having had caged pets like mice and guinea pigs growing up thought it would be a good idea to get her a hamster. I, for the record, do NOT love anything that lives in a cage. I put my foot down. They stopped on their way to PetCo and came home with a fuzzy yellow rodent called "Carl".

Carl was a boring ass animal. He lived in his cage. He ran in his wheel, he shoved shavings everywhere and peed on you if you picked him up. Much like many of the dates I went on in college, he smelled perpetually of feet.

But M loved that little guy. She kept him in her room and told him stories and staged plays wherein he married Beanie Babies and even gave him a theme song (inexplicably "Mambo number 5"). It was frickin' adorable.

The problem was the dogs. Our lab, Buddy, excelled at opening doors. Locked doors. Doors both locked and held shut with a hook and eye. And Buddy, well, he wasn't smart. But he was affectionate. He loved everything but cats with an all consuming passion that resulted in everything he touched being "loved" to literal pieces.

Do you see where this is going? You should leave now.

WHY ARE YOU STILL THERE?

Fine.

So, while we were at work one day, Buddy broke into M's room and "freed" Carl. You know, to play with him.

Days and days passed and we were examining piles of poop for Carlness, when lo and behold the little fuzzy bastard wandered out from under the t.v. credenza, missing a few toe nails but otherwise unscathed.

The bedroom door was give additional fortification, was always locked and Carls cage moved to a shelf about 5' high.

Which worked. For about a day.

And then, Carl was missing again. The cage looked like a hamstercide had occurred and M was inconsolable.

But, sure enough, two weeks later, there was Carl; alive, though barely.

Only, this time, well, lets just say, 6oz hamsters are not good playmates for 80lb labs. Like at all.

Before M could see poor little Carl I snatched him up and wrapped him in tissue. But six year olds? They're smart. She knew exactly who I was trying to spirit away in a Kleenex shroud and demanded to see him. Figuring it would be a good time to explain the Circle of Life, and since Carls head wasn't really too mangled, I decided to let her say goodbye and uncovered his head.

Reaching out her wee little finger she lovingly stroked his head and whispered goodbye.

Then, he tried to bite her.

She shrieked like a mad woman, "Oh, MAMA! He's alive! We must take him to the vet! We simply MUST!"

Uh. No. No way am I spending $85 for a $6 hamster to be put to sleep.

So I told her, no. Carl was in pain, but Mommy would give him a shot herself. That way he could go to heaven from his very own home.

This seemed reasonable and she flung herself to the floor sobbing as I carried the wretched little mite away. To the garage. Where I gave him a shot. With a...well, let's keep this PG-ish and say that it was quick and painless and the only option.

For a moment I felt very Laura Ingalls Wilder in my practicle farm girl resolution to the situation. Then, of course, I thought; WHAT THE F@!K? Why the hell do I have a husband if I'm left to do things like hit hamsters with hammers? Oh. Wait. I wasn't going to say that part. I did warn you to leave though. And it's not like I LIKED doing it. Or even had a choice. The poor little smudge will probably greet me in Heaven with a big sign (well big for a hamster, so like 1"x3" and attached to a toothpick) that says "THANKS FOR PUTTING ME OUT OF MY MISERY".

Then, of course, there I am standing in the garage with a recently euthanized hamster wondering what the hell one does with a dead hamster? It's not like Chipper the fish, or Jimbo the fish or any of the other fishies that found their final rest in the municipal sewer system.

Back in the living room, contemplating what to do with the victim I go to find M, holding a tea-light box coffin lined with scrap of satin and a cotton ball for a pillow. Her grief apparently overcome with arts and crafts.

"Let's have a funnel" she says.

"A funeral? For Carl?" I ask, and she nods, all big eyes and barely contained excitement. I agree and perform my duties as funeral director while she summons the neighborhood kids. ALL OF THEM. I swear to God there were 15 kids in my yard. You'd have thought I was giving away ice cream covered bicycles or something.

Solemnly, yet gleeful at the spectacle, they lowered the casket into the earth, covered it with dirt and placed a headstone over it. It read "Carl. Wus a gud hamper". When the eulogy was over and each child (many of whom I'd never even seen before) said a nice little bit about Carl's wonderful hamster contributions to the world, they demanded snacks.

Because children are macabre little beasts with no souls and never ending stomachs.

But they're resiliant, and that's something to be grateful for.

OR SO SAYS MISS THYSTLE

18 comments:

Not Fainthearted said...

I concur with the judge(s) and think that if this were a just and fair world, a cash prize would accompany said trophy. This was truly The Best Hamper Story EVER. The end.

Lorrie Veasey said...

OK; let's all go over to Thystle's place and click through her ads. Who's with me?

Miss Thystle said...

You didn't say there was a TROPHY! I swoon!

As for my ad content, guess how much I've made so far? TWENTY NINE CENTS! Not bad for six months work, right?

zakary said...

That. Is. Hilarious.

I'm so getting one of those trophies.

Hawtness.

Jennifer said...

I didn't think anything could be funnier than your hamster story Lorrie. But after reading Miss Thystle's I'd have to say I was dead wrong. That was funnier than hell.

And now it's my goal to get one of those trophies. I've never won a trophy and I think one of yours would be the best place to start.

Debbie said...

Yes, that trophy is to die for. Oh wait...I guess Carl thought of that first.

kip said...

Great Story. We drown the wild rodents here in New York. I recommend it as the least messy rodent disposal.

Lorrie Veasey said...

Honey-you're supposed to save the suggestions for things to do with the kids for another blog.

Bj in Dallas said...

omg, I saw the word disposal and thought you were putting them down the garbage disposal...
that would be bad, a big lemon clogs mine up....

Bj in Dallas said...

when is blogslurr? I need to meet you people.

Le @ Third on the Right said...

Oh dear - what a mother of a story !! congrats on your well deserved award and ya for lorrie for thinking this one thru :)

I have nothing yet that compares to banging the head in of a family pet ...

Lorrie - as per your request I am now twittered up - find me as lethird.

I don't know how to use the dang twitter thing yet so be gentle with me :) le

TJ said...

I love the trophy, now I never have to think of anything new to blog about, I can just constantly try to rewrite your blog.

Megan said...

I almost cried from laughing so hard!

Miss Thystle, you are a peach, in a hamster clubbing with a hammer kind of way.

Lorrie, I WANT THAT TROPHY.

Balhatain said...

Snazzy. :)

kwr221 said...

BJ - I vote we have Blogslurr in NYC! The Big Apple.
The City that Never Sleeps!

Woohoo!

How about spring? That always a nice time.

It *just so happens that I will be there the weekend after Easter (you know, the annual Yankee pilgrimage) on my way to celebrate Easter ALL OVER AGAIN.

With the Greek side of the family. WooHoo!

Miss Thystle said...

I, too, vote for Blogslurr to occur in NYC. Then next year, we can slur in Vegas and then we the next year we can slur in some place tropical and so on. What could be for fun than an annual drunken girl-weekend?

Spatula said...

OMG, Ms. Thystle, you is a woman of steel. I didn't know whether to laugh, cry or scream during this story, so I did all three. Lucky I was at work at the time.

Racie Lover said...

I just spilled my morning Kaluha and coffee all down the front of my work clothes. What was left spewed through my nose, drenching my monitor. Miss Thistle, you are SO worthy of that .29 cents! I will match that everytime you make me ruin my morning coffee break.

Meanwhile, Paco better keep an eye on our pets. I might have to sacrifice one of them if I am to win one of those groovy trophies.