Dead Pet Diaries: Roger

staying with the rodent thread, about two years ago, my daughter bought a gerbil. she named it something cute, like snuggles, but then spent an afternoon with her bossy little friend up the street and mysteriously declared later that day that her gerbil's name was now "roger." (for more on this neighbor, see a later entry on "smudge").

roger lived a strained existence. once emma lost interest (after about a month), he would sit, neglected. he had his wheel, but no playmates, and often his basic care was left to me putting away underwear in emma's drawer, looking up and saying, "oh, crap! roger has no food!" (substitute water, clean shavings, dignity here)

but then roger began chewing off his own tail. it was this tragic self-mutilation, this desperate cry for help, that caused me to lay down the law with my daughter, but i was undermined, no doubt. one day i came home and emma said, "roger ran away," and i said, "what?" and she said, "dad was cleaning out his cage and he ran away." she looked sad. a little relieved. i was mortified.

these things happen. parents give away pets and lie to their kids. sometimes, they release them into the backyard, reasoning that they will fare better in the wild than under the care of an irresponsible eight year old, and then lie to their kids. but it was not the same as dumping out my jar of captured caterpillars to let them go. this was cruelty and deceit at a high level. i would have at least fed him to the snake.

i have included roger in the dead pet diaries because i assume he is dead; frozen to death, or maybe dinner for a snake or a hawk. or maybe he found a nice little burrough and made some field mice friends, and they dance and sing songs and drink tea and tell stories by the fire. i'd like to think he has lots of cheese wherever he is. perhaps he is hiding, spying, plotting his revenge, hanging out at peta rallies, forming a gerbil army. wherever he is, i'm sure he is better off. my tail is chewed down to the nub.