Squeaky goes to Valhalla

                                                  

   Squeaky in better times.

Squeaky died sometime in the night.  Scotty said that he noticed when the hamster wheel suddenly went silent.  Oh, well.  It was his time.

Scotty had always been pragmatic about things in his life.  Lose a favorite Wheel Box car?  Oh, well. It'll turn up somewhere.  Dropping a slice of pizza?  Oh, well. Just brush it off.  So when Squeaky's little ancient hamster heart stopped beating, Scotty and I (as the parental unit) both thought about how to give him a suitable burial.

Scotty had been into Vikings after watching "How to train your Dragon" for the twentieth time.  "Let's throw a Viking funeral!" Alright, we can do that, no problem. But I didn't know what I was saying.

Scotty retrieved a canoe/barge made of popsicle sticks at church camp last summer. We put Squeaky on a pile of twigs layered on the water craft.  After pushing the funeral barge out in the swimming pool, Scotty used the "Hunger Games" bow with a burning marshmallow at the point of the arrow aimed at the barge.  

Again and again.  

When the canoe finally caught fire, it initially went up in flames and the thing burned before hisssssing out and sinking, leaving a singed marshmallow sticky Squeaky floating on the top of the water.

Oh, well. 
I managed to scoop Squeaky from the failed Viking send-off with the pool skimmer.  What now?

Scotty had watched some warrior movie where the slaughtered hero was placed on a funeral pyre.  "Let's do that, Dad!"  So we did.

My plans for Squeaky were minimal.  I could image Squeaky rolling in his plastic hamster ball on the Rainbow Bridge in Asgard.

We lay out some sticks crisscrossed to form a good solid structure on the patio, and carefully placed Squeaky on it. Scotty used the Kingsford wand lighter to get a good burn going on the bottom layer.  But, with us being novices at funeral pyres, the whole thing collapsed, leaving Squeaky lying on the concrete surrounded by embers.

Odin, can you see this?? Oh, well.  

I didn't know how we were going to give Squeaky a big send off.  But, Scotty, being the boy scout he is, had an idea which made me wince and cringe.  It made sense, but man....really?

I pulled out the old rusty Coleman barbecue and built a pyramid of Kingsford guaranteed-to-light charcoal briquettes.  Scotty placed Squeaky on the center above the coals, using my brand new BBQ tool set.  Then he performed the Kingsford lighter ritual and got the coals going.

At first, it seemed that Squeaky was finally heading to his fiery hamster Valhalla.  But Noooo.

Squeaky had some sparks here and there, but clearly the charcoal was not ready.  It developed a nice white ash like briquettes do.  But that was it. Instead, the odor of grilled Squeaky told us the truth.

Oh, well.  

By this time, Scotty had had enough.  "Let's just bury it."  He retrieved a shovel from the garden.

"Dad?"

Oh now, what will he ask? A pine box?  What do I say? Odin, please help us. Thankfully, Scott dropped the dead hamster into the dirt and covered it up.

"Dad?  Can we go to Lucille's BBQ?  Mom has a coupon for free appetizers."  He wiped a charcoal streaked hand across his nose.  "I'm kinda in the the mood for ribs, aren't you?" 

  

My daughter Mary's hamster Max died on the first day of middle school. Mary wept, indicating that she should stay at home for a day of mourning. Didn't happen. In a rare moment of kindness, my son John placed Max in a shoe box and buried it in the backyard with all the other deceased pets. Mary did go to school, but has insisted over the decades that she never recovered from the loss. At 42yrs, she still mourns the loss.

I wrote this in 2014 and exhumed it. I felt it needed a more elaborate resurrection. It was fun to write. ‎

 

500 words

Squeaky's big send off

 

Squeaky died sometime in the night.  Scotty said that he noticed when the hamster wheel suddenly went silent.  Oh, well.  It was his time.

Scotty was always pragmatic about things in his life.  Lose a favorite car?  Oh, well. It'll turn up somewhere.  Dropping a slice of pizza?  Oh, well.  Things happen.  

So when Squeaky's little ancient heart stopped beating, we both thought about how to give him a send off.

Scotty had been into Vikings after watching "How to train your Dragon" for the twentieth time.  "Let's throw a Viking funeral!"

He retrieved a canoe/barge made of popsicle sticks at church camp last summer.  We put Squeaky on a pile of twigs layered in the water craft.  After pushing the funeral barge out in the swimming pool, Scotty used the "Hunger Games" bow with a burning marshmallow at the point of the arrow aimed at the barge.  

Again and again.  

When the canoe finally caught fire, it initially went up in flames and the thing burned before hisssssing out and sinking, leaving a singed Squeaky floating on the top of the water.

Oh, well.  

I managed to scoop Squeaky from the failed Viking send-off with the pool  skimmer.  What now?

Scotty had watched some warrior movie where the slaughtered hero was placed on a funeral pyre.  "Let's do that, Dad!"  So we did.

We lay out some sticks criss-crossed and carefully placed Squeaky on it. Scotty again used the Kingsford wand lighter to get a good burn going on the bottom layer.  But, with us being novices at funeral pyres, the whole pyre thing collapsed, leaving Squeaky lying on the concrete surrounded by embers.

Oh, well.  

I didn't know how we were going to give Squeaky a big send off.  But, Scotty, being the boy scout he is, had an idea which made me wince and cringe.  It made sense, but man....really?

I pulled out the old rusty Coleman barbecue and built a pyramid of Kingsford guaranteed-to-light charcoal briquettes.  Scotty placed Squeaky in the center above the coals, using my brand new set of BBQ tool set.  Then he used the Kingsford lighter and got the coals going.

At first, it seemed that Squeaky was finally heading to his fiery hamster Valhalla. I could already see him rolling up the Rainbow Bridge.  But Noooo.

Squeaky had some sparks here and there, but clearly the charcoal was not enough.  It developed a nice white ash like briquettes do.  But that was it. Instead, the odor of grilled Squeaky told us the truth.

Oh, well.  

By this time, Scotty had had enough.  "Let's just bury it."  He retrieved a shovel from the garden and quickly dispatched the hamster with minimum effort.

"Dad?"

Oh now, what will he ask?  What do I say?

"Dad?  Can we go to Wild Wings tonight?  Mom has a coupon for free appetizers."  He wiped a charcoal streaked hand across his nose.  "I'm kinda in the the mood for ribs, aren't you?"

Well, then.‎


Saturday, ‎22 ‎March, ‎2014 first posting
Sorry about the lengthy story; just got going on it, I guess.

My daughter's hamster Max died on the first day of middle school.  My son, in an unusual act of kindness, placed it in a shoe box and buried it.  Nothing elaborate, mind you.  She has never recovered from the loss, she says (at age 32).

Squeaky's Big Send-Off

Oh, well.

Squeaky died sometime in the night.  Scotty said that he noticed when the hamster wheel suddenly went silent.  Oh, well.  It was his time.

Scotty had always been pragmatic about things in his life.  Lose a favorite Wheel Box car?  Oh, well. It'll turn up somewhere.  Dropping a slice of pizza?  Oh, well. Just brush it off.  So when Squeaky's little ancient hamster heart stopped beating, Scotty and I (as the paternal unit) both thought about how to give him a suitable burial.

Scotty had been into Vikings after watching "How to train your Dragon" for the twentieth time.  "Let's throw a Viking funeral!" Alright, we can do that, no problem. But I didn't know what I was saying.

Scotty retrieved a canoe/barge made of popsicle sticks at church camp last summer. We put Squeaky on a pile of twigs layered on the water craft.  After pushing the funeral barge out in the swimming pool, Scotty used the "Hunger Games" bow with a burning marshmallow at the point of the arrow aimed at the barge.  

Again and again.  

When the canoe finally caught fire, it initially went up in flames and the thing burned before hisssssing out and sinking, leaving a singed marshmallow sticky Squeaky floating on the top of the water.

Oh, well.  

I managed to scoop Squeaky from the failed Viking send-off with the pool skimmer.  What now?

Scotty had watched some warrior movie where the slaughtered hero was placed on a funeral pyre.  "Let's do that, Dad!"  So we did.

We lay out some sticks criss-crossed to form a good solid structure on the patio, and carefully placed Squeaky on it. Scotty used the Kingsford wand lighter to get a good burn going on the bottom layer.  But, with us being novices at funeral pyres, the whole thing collapsed, leaving Squeaky lying on the concrete surrounded by embers.

Oh, well.  

I didn't know how we were going to give Squeaky a big send off.  But, Scotty, being the boy scout he is, had an idea which made me wince and cringe.  It made sense, but man....really?

I pulled out the old rusty Coleman barbecue and built a pyramid of Kingsford guaranteed-to-light charcoal briquettes.  Scotty placed Squeaky on the center above the coals, using my brand new set of BBQ tool set.  Then he performed the Kingsford lighter ritual and got the coals going.

At first, it seemed that Squeaky was finally heading to his fiery hamster Valhalla.  But Noooo.

Squeaky had some sparks here and there, but clearly the charcoal was not ready.  It developed a nice white ash like briquettes do.  But that was it. Instead, the odor of grilled Squeaky told us the truth.

Oh, well.  

By this time, Scotty had had enough.  "Let's just bury it."  He retrieved a shovel from the garden.

"Dad?"

Oh now, what will he ask? A pine box?  What do I say? Odin, please help us. Thankfully, Scott dropped the dead hamster into the dirt and covered it up.

"Dad?  Can we go to Lucille's BBQ?  Mom has a coupon for free appetizers."  He wiped a charcoal streaked hand across his nose.  "I'm kinda in the the mood for ribs, aren't you?" 

  

My daughter Mary's hamster Max died on the first day of middle school. Mary wept, indicating that she should stay at home for a day of mourning. Didn't happen. In a rare moment of kindness, my son John placed Max in a shoe box and buried it in the backyard with all the other deceased pets. Mary did go to school, but has insisted over the decades that she never recovered from the loss. At 32 yrs, she still mourns the loss.

I wrote this in 2014 and exhumed it. I felt it needed a more elaborate resurrection. It was fun to write. ‎

Well, then indeed.

A good Viking funeral

Squeaky's Great Send Off

Squeaky died sometime in the night.  Scotty said that he noticed when the hamster wheel suddenly went silent.  Oh, well.  It was his time.

Scotty was always pragmatic about things in his life.  Lose a favorite car?  Oh, well. It'll turn up somewhere.  Dropping a slice of pizza?  Oh, well.  Things happen.  So when Squeaky's little ancient hamster heart stopped beating, we both thought about how to give him a send off.

Scotty had been into Vikings after watching "How to train your Dragon" for the twentieth time.  "Let's throw a Viking funeral!"

He retrieved a canoe/barge made of popsicle sticks at church camp last summer.  We put Squeaky on a pile of twigs layered in the water craft.  After pushing the funeral barge out in the swimming pool, Scotty used the "Hunger Games" bow with a burning marshmallow at the point of the arrow aimed at the barge.  

Again and again.  

When the canoe finally caught fire, it initially went up in flames and the thing burned before hisssssing out and sinking, leaving a singed Squeaky floating on the top of the water.

Oh, well.  

I managed to scoop Squeaky from the failed Viking send-off with the pool  skimmer.  What now?

Scotty had watched some warrior movie where the slaughtered hero was placed on a funeral pyre.  "Let's do that, Dad!"  So we did.

We lay out some sticks criss-crossed and carefully placed Squeaky on it. Scotty once again used the Kingsford wand lighter to get a good burn going on the bottom layer.  But, with us being novices at funeral pyres, the whole pyre thing collapsed, leaving Squeaky lying on the concrete surrounded by embers.

Oh, well.  

I didn't know how we were going to give Squeaky a big send off.  But, Scotty, being the boy scout he is, had an idea which made me wince and cringe.  It made sense, but man....really?

I pulled out the old rusty Coleman barbecue and built a pyramid of Kingsford guaranteed-to-light charcoal briquettes.  Scotty placed Squeaky in the center above the coals, using my brand new set of BBQ tool set.  Then he used the Kingsford lighter and got the coals going.

At first, it seemed that Squeaky was finally heading to his fiery hamster Valhalla.  But Noooo.

Squeaky had some sparks here and there, but clearly the charcoal was not enough.  It developed a nice white ash like briquettes do.  But that was it. Instead, the odor of grilled Squeaky told us the truth.

Oh, well.  

By this time, Scotty had had enough.  "Let's just bury it."  He retrieved a shovel from the garden and quickly dispatched the hamster with minimum effort.

"Dad?"

Oh now, what will he ask?  What do I say?

"Dad?  Can we go to Famous Dave's BBQ tonight?  Mom has a coupon for free appetizers."  He wiped a charcoal streaked hand across his nose.  "I'm kinda in the the mood for ribs, aren't you?"

Well, then.‎

Susan Kane

This was first posted on 22 March 2014,  Decided to re-post it, since I really enjoyed writing it:
Sorry about the lengthy story; just got going on it, I guess.
My daughter's hamster Max died on the first day of middle school.  My son, in an unusual act of kindness, placed it in a shoe box and buried it.  Nothing elaborate, mind you.  She has never recovered from the loss, she says (at age 32).

B is for

Having pets is part of family life.  We had a dog named ‘Midnight’, another dog ‘Buddy’.  Then we had a cat, also ‘Midnight’, and then another one ‘Scuba’.  My daughter had a hamster called ‘Romeo’.   Wanting another pet and being an entomologist, my son decided upon the perfect pet for anyone:  Mr. Bustamante.

The spider is molting.  Really cool!

Mr. Bustamante was a rose tarantula, quite pricey as spiders go.  It was huge, bigger than my splayed out hand.  It had long spider legs, which moved slowly and gracefully over its web covered tank.  It was blind, as all of its species are, so it operated totally on the feeling of vibrations.  When a cricket was dropped into its enclosure, Mr. B. was on that thing with lightening speed.  The cricket never had a chance, since every place it moved was laced with webbing, and that webbing lead Mr. B. to its unfortunate dinner.

He is not poisonous.

In the initial weeks of Mr. Bustamante’s moving in with us, fascination reined.  We learned that it could crawl up our arm, and move onto another surface without pause or fear, since it couldn’t see.  It wasn’t much fun when it came to the rolling around on the ground, but it was entertaining anyway.   After doing much research and consulting with the pet store, my son decided to give Mr. Bustamante a real treat.

The pet store guy said that a fetal mouse would be a ‘treat’ for the spider, and something different from the crickets that we regularly tossed into the tank.  So my son came home with a wriggling hairless blind pink baby mouse.  He held it in the palm of his hand and we both stared down at this helpless and slightly disgusting mouse.  It stretched and wiggled; it turned its blind eyes and mouth in search of food; and, it reminded me of a newborn baby, so much so that I had to leave the room.

With me out of the room, my son placed the mouse near Mr. Bustamante.  Then my son waited for the joyous spider to discover his present.  The thing never moved, even though the mouse was wiggling and turning over.  My son nudged the mouse closer, using a ruler.  Nothing happened.  I came in the check on the mouse’s demise, and found my son staring quizzically at the two life forms in the tank.  We both decided to let the two work things out overnight, and see the result in the morning.

No!  They are not cute!

In the morning, Mr. Bustamante was clinging to the screening that covered the top of its tank, while the mouse lay in its original spot, still wriggling and squirming helplessly.   My son decided that perhaps the tank was too large for them to meet up.  So he took Mr. Bustamante and ‘Fred-the-mouse’ out and put them into a deep bowl with steeply sloping sides.  Surely this new positioning would force Mr. B. to dive right in with his fangs.  Nothing happened.

 Hours passed and Mr. Bustamante was motionless on top of ‘Fred’.  This became too much for both of us.  My son called the pet store guy, who expressed regret about this treat not working out, but he couldn’t take the mouse back.  He told my son to kill the mouse and throw it away.  My son turned ashen, as he has a sensitive soul, and asked how to do that painlessly.  “Put it in a baggie, and then in the freezer.  The thing will go to sleep, and then freeze to death.”  My son reluctantly followed these directions, and after many hours, buried ‘Fred’ in the backyard next to the late hamster Romeo.

Neither of us ever really recovered from this experience, and we don’t talk of it much.  Some things are just too painful.

 Many thanks to Arlee Bird, Jeffrey Beesler, Alex J. Cavanaugh, Jen Daiker, Candace Ganger, Karen J. Gowen, Talli Roland, and Stephen Tremp.  You are all brave people.  Link to the following link to check out other entries!

http://tossingitout.blogspot.com