If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet
syndrome, including toilet-flush burials for dead goldfish, the
story below will have you laughing out LOUD!!!
My husband had to take my son’s hampster to the vet. Here’s
what happened:
Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell my husband
there was “something wrong” with one of the two hampsters he
holds prisoner in his room.
“He’s just lying there looking sick”, he said. “I’m serious
Dad, can you help?”
He put his best hampster-healer expression on his face and
followed our son into his bedroom. One of the little rodents
was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. He immediately
knew what to do.
“Honey”, he called, “come look at the hampster!”
“Oh my gosh!” I realized after a minute. “She’s having babies!”
“What?” our son demanded. “but their names are Bert and Ernie,
Mom!”
My husband was euqally outraged. “Hey, how can that be? I
thought we said we didn’t want them to reproduce” He accused me.
“Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?” I
enquired. (being totally sarcastic)
“No, but you were supposed to get two boys!” He reminded me (in
his best loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting his teeth)
“Yeah, Bert and Ernie” our son agreed.
“Well, it’s just a little hard to tell on some guys, ya know.”
I informed him. (again with the sarcasm)
By now, the rest of the family had gathered to see what was
going on.
I shrugged, and decided to make the best of it.
“Kids, this is going to be a woundrous 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 hampster babies?” My husband wanted to
know. (Being totally snotty)
We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked
like a tiny foot appeared briefly, vanishing a scant second
later.
“We don’t appear to be making much progress.” My husband noted.
“It’s breech!” I whispered, horrified.
“Do something, Dad!” our son urged.
“Okay, okay!” Squeamishly, he reached in and grabbed the foot
when it next appeared, giving it a gingerly pull, but it
vanished again with the same results.
“Should I call 911?” our eldest daughter wanted to know.
“Maybe they could talk us through the trauma.”
“Let’s get Ernie to the vet.” My husband said grimly.
We drove to the vet with our son holding he cage in his lap.
“Breath, Ernie, breath,” he urged.
“I don’t think hampsters do Lamaze.” I said to him. (I think my
husband thought I was being cruel to my own son, being cruel to
my husband was one thing, but to the one that I carried for 9
months is another. HE was wrong, I was just pointing out the
obvious!)
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?” My husband suggested
very scientifically.
“Oh, very interresting,” he murmured.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a
moment?”
I gulped, nodding for our son to step out.
“Is Ernie going to make it?” I asked.
“Oh, perfectly,” the vet assured us.
“This hamspter is not in labour. 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 me.
“Well, you know what I’m saying Mr. Cameron.”
We were silent, absorbing this. “So Ernie’s just excited?” I
offered.
“Exactly,” the vet replied, relieved that we understood.
More silence.
Then, I started to giggle, and then laugh and continue to laugh
loudly.
“What’s so funny?” My husband demanded, while tears started
rolling down my face from laughing so hard.
“It’s just….that…I’m picturing you pulling on
it’s…it’s…teeny little…” I gasped for more air to bellow
with laughter once more.
“That’s enough!” He warned.
We thanked the Veterinarian and hurriedly bundled the hampter
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.” our
son told my husband.
“Oh, you have NO idea, son,” I agreed, collapsing into laughter
once again.