Wednesday, July 12, 2006 :::
Seems like it would be a hazard to mow.
A Walk in The Park
Speaking of hamsters...
As a child I was not allowed pets. My mother is deathly allergic to cats the way that some pale-faced nerds are allergic to dairy. My father had been bitten by a dog as a child, so those were out, too. Birds are a chirpy nuisance. My sisters had hamsters, which while ostensibly cute, rarely did much more than poop in your hand when you took them out of their cage. Occasionally they would frantically gnaw their way out of their prison and find their way to my mother's pantry, so by the time I was old enough to have a hamster of my own, it was forbidden. Instead I was allowed a single goldfish that I kept in a barren glass mixing bowl on my shelf. It wasn't much, but I was ecstatic to be allowed to own anything living, so for two whole weeks I cared for it with unparalleled attention. Then I got bored. Plus the stench of the thing and the appearance of the murky poop-filled bowl on my shelf was starting to make me nauseous. Secretly hoping it would perish from having to live in its own filth, I would clean its bowl as little as possible, but somehow it perservered. I neglected it completely for months on end, but it was resilient. I prayed for its death to no avail. Eventually, I "accidentally" sprayed some 409 into its habitat, hoping it would choke on the toxicity, but that somehow made it stronger. Finally, one day, it started to swim erratically, fighting to stop from floating to the top. I decided it was in its death throes and that I should put it out of its misery, so I dumped it into a stinky old milk carton and callously tossed it out with the trash. I wish I could say I feel bad about it, but I learned a valuable lesson. Like my mother and father before me, I'm really just NOT a pet person. Its probably a good thing I wasn't allowed a hamster. And dogsitting has put me off puppies forever, especially after dogsitting two dogs at once, when I witnessed them devour each other's poo as a late afternoon snack. I can pet and cuddle with someone else's pet at someone else's house like nobody's business, but the second it expects me to clean up its poo, I'm outtie.
I know I already posted this, but it's appropriate once more.
::: posted by dan at 11:22 PM :: [ link ] :: (8) comments
8 previous comments:
poor Michael I have also come to the decision I am not an animal person. I don't know if it is because my parents did not allow me the pleasure of a childhood pet or if it was the memory of Kris's hamster on my head as I woke up from sleeping over that turned me off to them.
I could probably be talked into a cat but all the cat hair and sifting around in dirt throwing poop away every day does not seem worth the company of one.
By Stacy, at 12:42 PM
I have had all kinds of pest.. err... i mean pets. you're not missing out...
I had two goldfish at once, and also neglected them. one of them finally died so the other one ate it. how hot is that?
By the other sarah, at 3:20 PM
I'm all for sharing stories but I think somethings should be buried deep in your heart forever.
By , at 5:35 PM
Apparantly you do not remember squeezing the life out of one our many hamsters. Possibly the last hamster we owned. Maybe that's why mom wouldn't let you have one of your own.
By Colleen, at 8:48 PM
That was really very funny.
Your blog overall has made me chuckle quite a bit. Thank you!
By , at 7:56 PM
I have always been highly suspicious of "dog people." And the way they do things like share an ice cream with their dog after it has just licked it's own crusty cock. Ew.
By tui, at 6:18 PM
I am calling PETA and giving them a link to your blog. Seriously. And let's all give a collective prayer that Dan does not decide to procreate. Little bastars wouldn't have a chance in hell.
By , at 4:18 PM
"Accidentally" huh? I laughed for like ten minutes after reading this. I'm not sure if its a lack of sleep or the fact that I'm a fish killer also. I bought one of those cheap ones from walmart, it lasted like 4 days before I "forgot" to feed him. Needless to say he jumped out of his bowl and committed fishy suicide. I think he did it to spite me. I'm still bitter p.s. Oh well, someone has to be Darla. Finding Nemo.
By sam, at 8:14 PM
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