No More Cry

"Ben, the two of us need look no more

We both found what we were looking for

With a friend to call my own

I'll never be alone

And you my friend will see

You've got a friend in me"

            Charlotte was my very first pet. The tiny standard white mouse marked the beginning of a lifelong love affair. Yep, a love affair with rodents, almost always female rodents. From the different coloured mice through gerbils and hamsters and finally rats, my life has always played host to one gnawer after another. There were brief moments in time that my life did not contain these creatures. More often than not, especially in the last 15 years, I have incubated each tiny beast like it was a cat or even a favourite dog. I am unsure as to the reason for my deep appreciation. Perhaps the introduction to the species as a young child defined my want; I got Charlotte when I was 5 years old. Perhaps my exposure to film and television featuring Mickey Mouse or Tom and Jerry cinched the deal. Motion pictures like Willard may have inspired a unique fascination for me. Each little puff was always easy for me to grow attached to. There have been so many, dozens and dozens, and each little lady found a place in my being. Each one also fell away like all things do. I spent as much time in the losing as I did in the loving.  Without fail, life always managed to steal them from me.

             People get attached to their pets. There is something so safe when adopting an animal. It is like adding another member to your family. It is not the size or species that defines their place. It is our relationship with them that connects us. It may be a bird or a ferret, or even a rattlesnake, but for many people pets are as significant an addition as any child would be. Of course, not everyone is a friend to the animal kingdom. Men do the most terrible things to those we consider innocent. They murder them for food. They abuse them for fun. They continue to test with them. Some men even rape them, each beast unable to give their consent. These people are the ugliest people of all. Like the guy who locks his dog in a car on a hot summer's day, it seems easy for them to cast away a life they clearly do not see as equal to their own. There is a cavalier disregard that appears quite rampant. One of the saddest parts of living, for me, has been watching creature after creature suffer at the hands of evil men. I much prefer when we embrace our fellow travellers and let them lead us in the light.

            Some were smart and some quite stupid. Each rodent had its own personality, its own style and quiet grace. The smaller the beast, the greater the tender. An increase in size usually meant a higher IQ and a nasty habit of biting. I suppose I got tired, early on, of handling the frail things when all I wanted was a more hands-on approach. Smaller mice evolved into gerbils and then gerbils evolved into hamsters. For a few years, each mini-teddy bear was more than enough. When I discovered the rat, I discovered much joy. Such intelligent and social beings, each one was a unique and singular entity unto itself. The first girl, a plain white pink-tailed damsel, crawled and played with me in the security of our bathroom place. Savannah set the course it seems, the standard I continued and tried to replicate. I even graduated from one friend to several. Each time one passed away, I replaced them with another. I felt sorry for them living all alone. Well knowing how social rats tend to be, I felt obligated to keep more than one. At one point, for almost a year, I had three little ladies living in the large metal cage on top of my antique wardrobe in our library. In the end, I had no idea the trap I had set for myself.

"Ben, you're always running here and there

You feel you're not wanted anywhere

If you ever look behind

And don't like what you find

There's something you should know

You've got a place to go"

            It  may have been foolish letting things with much less of a lifespan enter my heart. Watching one pet after another die has been torture for me. It has been a privilege to know each one but it brought me great sorrow, each and every time. It may have been easier for me not to care, to never get involved in the act of compassion. I am very aware that there is a price we pay for loving and the bill comes due at the whimsy of time and eventuality. Each one jumped ship every year or so, for the most part in February. As if that month wasn't bad enough for me, to have a constant shrill from the toll reach me, over and over, was not only a challenge but a mere harbinger of the reality that comes from each day we exist within it. Although the pain may not equal the loss of a parent or spouse, or even a child, the attachment to each and every critter hurt as much as any mortal passing might bring. It seems, luckily, that the hurt fades quicker than it would with any human relationship we might have had. Even the victims of a harsh death seemed easier to 'rat'-ionalize given a little time and space. The pain may not last as long as it does with most human deaths but it still hurts the same, at least initially. One after another, these tiny morsels of fur met their end.

            Most of these gnawer deaths were simple and seemingly easy. It may ache the same but there is something to be said for a quiet, private passing. Finding a body at the bottom of a cage is simpler than having to put something down. I can appreciate the mercy gained from age and the symptoms that come with it. Unfortunately, doom is not always a friendly face. Even age does not necessarily determine cause of death. A few of the rats I have kept over the years did not die gracefully. I've been informed, over and over, that the large growths which sprung up about their lower extremities were a result of inbreeding. Ovaries, a bringer of life, also can bring disease, mutation and great suffering. Watching something you love transform into a mass of tumour was not my favourite part of these experiences. Eventually, the foreign invaders sucked the very life right out of a few of my little ladies. One victim, Emily was her name, died in the bathroom on a Saturday morning. When I went to clean the cage, she sat up on the floor, amidst shavings and pieces of food, and those lumps burst open like a giant zit. Blood poured out from her and her end grew near.  You could hear her pain and see her torment as she spilled out all over the place. I reacted without having to think. I grabbed her, clutched her hard, and submerged her into the toilet. Her suffering met its end by my hand. She was the last pet I was allowed to bury on my parents' property. After 40 years there, there was just no more room. That pet cemetery is full. Up on the hill she sleeps with all the cats and the dogs and all her brethren. I would rather she was buried in my backyard, up beside Emma and Ella, in the corner by the new spruce tree. There is no real marker in this cemetery. There is only a quiet place, a simple place, a place where they can be safe and rest easy.

"I used to say 'I' and 'me'

Now it's 'us' now it's 'we'

I used to say 'I' and 'me'

Now it's 'us' now it's 'we'"

            When I put my previous pets down, it was easy to justify the act because of their health or age or situation. There is something to be said for dying "au naturel." You think the mercy one grants to our pets would make it easier to say goodbye to them. It is never easy. It is what we agree to when we love something. Putting that something down, having to mercy kill it in a literal manner, embedded a guilt I wish I did not have to know. Since then, I struggled with the idea of halting this torture. I decided that with Eden, one last rat, I would no longer keep any type of rodent or gnawer of any form. I just can't separate from  the attachment I make with each one. Their time here is so brief compared to cats and dogs and even most aquarium fish. Previously, not one of the critters I have collected over the years lived to see their 2nd birthday. Most died somewhere around 18 months, tops. I could not help but take it subjectively, over and over, death after death, decade after decade. I just can't take it anymore. The constant bombardment of grief is one thing but watching something you love fade in slow painful motion is something I can no longer expose myself to. When Ella, Eden's dark chocolate coated sister, died in early fall 2016, the die was cast. I bought Eden's coffin almost right away. I made the decision to no longer indulge but for the life of me.

            It just fucking figures. Almost immediately after Ella's passing (at the bottom of the cage, I might add), Eden began to show a tumour growing rapidly under her immediate right front paw. I said to myself, "It won't be long now." All these months later and the damn thing holds onto life like I do. Often a distant, territorial beast, the death of her sister turned her into a moody crank. When the growth started growing, she turned from crank to miserable bitch. I loved her anyway. First thing in the morning, every morning, found me covering a saltine cracker with whipped cream from a can. Every morning she supped, her tongue flicking bit after bit past her fuzzy white face. I thought for sure she would not make it through Christmas or New Years. I then found myself readjusting as Valentine's Day passed but she didn't. For awhile, one day she was fine and the next she wheezed heavily, looked weak and even let me pet her, a feat I rarely accomplished in the almost 2 years she has lived here. Ironically, the last rat was the longest rat. I've had Eden, I believe, weeks longer than any other rodent. These days, she sits in her box with her pretty green shroud and waits for internment. The winter cold will keep her but also restricts her from joining her family out in their frozen corner spot. I am a little saddened but I am glad it will be the final pet burial I have to attend. I have decided that both cats will be cremated and put on a shelf. If I never have to buy another coffin or drown another friend, my days will be better, much better.

 "Ben, most people would turn you away

I don't listen to a word they say

They don't see you as I do

I wish they would try to

I'm sure they'd think again

If they had a friend

like Ben"

(Ben, Michael Jackson 1972)

           

            I am not afraid to love something or someone. As a matter of fact (and revelation), I have spent my life doing just that. I am not afraid of commitment. I thrive in those conditions. I find it easy to maintain. I am loyal to a fault, whether man or beast. At this point in my life, I just can't imagine going through this type of experience every year or so. It's not fair to me to put myself through it. I know very well it would be easy to carry on just like it has been.  I know there will be great temptation. Something has got to give. With the exception of any fish I might one day bring into my life, I will never own another pet smaller than a shoe box. I can't do it anymore. It hurts much more than I imagine it is supposed to. I am trying to embrace my limitations. It's the only way I can manage to keep a little peace in my life. I will miss it, I will miss them. I would have thought it would be harder, considering all the laughter and joy these multi-coloured buggers brought into my life. Each and every one meant the world to me but from here on out, there will be no more cry.

Photos

Sydney and Sybil

Summer 2013

Eden

Autumn 2016