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show details 9:29 PM (9 hours ago)
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Back to the hedgehog, Hildie. She smelled sort of sour. Like an old person left unturned.
She needed a bath. A warm bath. And mealworms. I ran a hedgehog sized bath in the sink. I set the spiny ball on the bathmat while I fussed with the bath plug. It just sat there, like an anemone. ‘Dang,’ I thought, ‘this isn’t encouraging at all.’
She placed the ball in the water. It rolled slightly. She poured water over the ball with her hands. It bristled. She rolled it around a little. Dripped water on what she thought must be it’s head.
And what a fun thing to do on a Saturday night.
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4:34 PM (14 hours ago)
These are stories I want to tell.
Remember: Christian Commune that organized railroad lie-downs when the trains would come to Kings Bay.
The ‘witches house.’
The house my father built. Rach’s house.
Also – my life in cats and dogs. Animal Families.
Oh, Dang – I forgot. Already. That the geriatric hamster that refused to die actually did, finally die. In a small heap by her water bottle. She was about three years old. Which is pretty darn old for a hamster. It was time. Except it was not. Meaning it was bad timing, horrible timing. Meaning it was 6:15 in the morning and Olive was already distraught about getting dressed and eating breakfast and her mom wanting desperately to take a shower. Just so she could be alone.
A lovely and efficient pre-sunrise burial promptly ensued. Hurried tales of golden wheels and hamster spirits making wind. In a fit of being the mother of Olive’s dreams, I promised we could get new hamsters. I delegated this animal procurement to the children’s father. In part because I wanted to take a nap and in part because I am trying to be generous in sharing delightful experiences with Leo and Olive. How fun is going to buy hamsters? In my mind, extremely.
I just received a harried phone call regarding limited availability of anything other than dwarf hamsters…
They will be here momentarily.
I knew it was a little morbid to take a picture of the deceased Hammy in her burial vessel. But, I wanted to remember that I took the time to wrap her in satin trimmed with sequined lace. That I made her a pillow filled with timothy hay and dried marigold petals. That Olive tucked a cat-toy mouse in beside her. It was a remarkably lovely ceremony in spite of the pre-dawn hours.
Here is a cellphone picture of my chicken ladies, roosting on the garden bench late in the afternoon. The yellow pansy beside them marks Hammy’s final resting place.
The chicken ladies are such a nice addition to our animal family. Under the scrappy terrier mix is very protective of them. The cats have expressed little more than momentary interest. I can see calculations of edibility in their feline eyes. The ladies are just too big and too collective to bother with. It is fascinating to me that the ladies are 8 individual animals that often move as one. I have a flock in my yard.
