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I had to take my son's hamster to the vet. Here's
what happened: Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there
was
"something wrong" with one of the two hamsters he holds prisoner in his
room.
"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad.
Can you help?" I put my best hamster-healer statement on my face and
followed him
into his bedroom. One of the little rodents was indeed lying on his back
looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.
"Honey," I called, "come look at the hamster!" "Oh, my gosh," my wife
diagnosed after a minute. "She's having babies." "What?" my son
demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!" I was equally
outraged.
"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to
reproduce," I accused my wife.
"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage,?" she
inquired. (I actually think she said this sarcastically!)
"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my
most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth together).
"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.
"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, ya know," she
informed me. (Again with the sarcasm, ya think?)
By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on. I
shrugged, deciding to make the best of it. "Kids, this is going to be
a wondrous experience," I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle
of birth." "OH, Gross!", they shrieked.
"Well, isn't THAT just Great!; what are we going to do with a litter
of tiny little hamster babies?" my wife wanted to know. (I really do
think she was being snotty here, too. Don't you?)
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a
tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later. "We don't
appear to be making much progress," I noted.
"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified. "Do something, Dad!" my son
urged.
"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it
next appeared, giving it a gingerly tug. It disappeared. I tried several
more times with the same results.
"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know. "Maybe they
could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females
in my house?) "Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the
vet with
my son holding the cage in his lap. "Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.
"I don't think hamsters do Lamaze," his mother noted to him. (Women
can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing,
but this boy is of her womb, for God's sake.)
The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little
animal through a magnifying glass.
"What do you think, Doc, a c-section?" I suggested scientifically.
"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr.. and Mrs.. Cameron, may I
speak to you privately for a moment?" I gulped, nodding for my son to step
outside."Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.
"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This hamster is not in labor. In
fact, that isn't EVER going to happen... Ernie is a boy."
"What!?"
"You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into
maturity, like most male species, they um.... er.... masturbate. Just
the way he did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife.
"Well,you know what I'm saying, Mr.. Cameron."
We were silent, absorbing this.
"So Ernie's just...just...excited?" my wife offered.
"Exactly," the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence.
Then my viscous, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then
even laugh loudly.
"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the
woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.
Tears were now running down her face. "It's just...that...I'm
picturing you pulling on its...its...teeny little..." she gasped for more
air to
bellow in laughter once more.
"That's enough," I warned.
We thanked the Veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hamsters and our
son back into the car. He was glad everything was going to be okay.
"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you've done, Dad," he told
me.
"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing into laughter.
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groggy
bitchy
blank
awake
scared
depressed
sick
