Then we got the text. Not a call, a text. Would we also be willing to critter sit Oliver, the Princess’s cute little pet hamster?
Oh. Um. Critter sit a little, uh, rodent? In our nice, clean, vermin-free house? Oh, boy. Well now, how could we possibly refuse to take care of our elder granddaughter’s cute little hamster? So, okay, sure. We’d. Love. To.
Taking care of Oliver fell to me, of course. Why was I not surprised at that?
Second Son arrived with both pets on Palm Sunday after church. When we opened the door, Buddy rushed in first, tail wagging, obviously excited and happy to see us. After running around the house to check everything out, he proceeded to chew on his toy pork chop. He hadn’t yet figured out he wasn’t going to sunny Florida with the family. Soon he would realize he was staying in frigid Michigan with Grandma and Grandpa where he would be spoiled rotten. As the grandpuppy, being spoiled rotten was his natural right.
Following Buddy’s entrance, Second Son carried Oliver’s cage into the house and ensconced it in my laundry room on the counter I use for pre-spotting and folding clothes. Fortunately, MG set a boot tray down first to protect the counter. So far, so good, because the cage was a mess. Oliver’s burrowing made large piles of the white shredded lining in the cage. The evidence of the bodily waste he eliminated stood out clearly against it. Eww.
Oliver was nowhere to be seen during the day. Of course not. Hamsters are nocturnal critters. That much I knew. Second son teased me about taking good care of Oliver. It would look bad if Oliver died on my watch. The Princess might never forgive me. Gee, thanks, Son.
The grandkids requested frequent updates on the pets with photos because they missed them. It is easy enough to capture photos of Buddy to send. He is awake when we are.
Oliver is another story. He comes out at night while the rest of us sleep. His food is always gone in the morning. One night, I was in the creative zone and was still writing after bedtime. I heard a squeaking noise coming from the laundry and I investigated. When I flicked the light switch on, Oliver deserted his exercise wheel and scurried back into one of his little houses. Mystery solved.
I noticed his food dish was almost empty so I opened the cage top, refilled the dish and replaced it. Miraculously, Oliver appeared, climbed up the tube nearest his dish, and he proceeded to pig out right in front of me. He didn’t try to hide again. I snapped a pic with my IPhone and sent it to the Princess in the morning. She loved it.
MG and I were up late a couple of nights ago when we heard Oliver’s exercise wheel begin to squeak. I was determined to get a photo of Oliver running in the wheel to send to the Princess. I knew I’d have to be quick. I turned on the light and clicked away. I got the shot. I thought Oliver would peel out and hide immediately but he didn’t. He kept on running in the wheel and getting nowhere. I switched to video and recorded a short video of Oliver scampering in his wheel. I sent it to the Princess the next day. It was a big hit.
I wonder if he’ll miss me when he goes home on Sunday.
]]>We hesitated at first when our Number Two Son asked if we’d pet sit the family’s three-year-old Golden Doodle while they were on vacation. We weren’t sure how we’d feel with another dog in the house, but we eventually agreed.
The last time we pet sat Buddy, we also baby sat the grandkids too. The Princess, eldest of NT’s four children, did the honors taking care of Buddy. The Princess fed him, kept his water bowl full, let him out to answer the call of nature, put him through his obedience training, and took him outside to play and get some exercise. She did all the work so we didn’t take notice of his schedule or of what a bundle of energy Buddy was. Dickens did. He spent a lot of time avoiding the rambunctious Buddy.
This time around, it was just Buddy and us. His people dropped him off on Friday morning on their way to Niagara Falls. They left his bed, his food and water dishes, his food, his treats, his rawhide bones, his leash, and his cowbell on a cord.
That wasn’t a typo. Buddy really has his very own cowbell. It hangs on the doorknob of the door into the garage, which leads to the back door to the yard. Buddy was taught to ring the cowbell by bumping it with his muzzle whenever he needed to access the lawn in order to periodically deposit bodily waste upon it.
As we soon discovered, Buddy doesn’t ring the cowbell only when he has to go potty. He rings it at other times too–like immediately after his family left without him. He rang it so he could go outside and look for them. NT mentioned before he left that Buddy does that at home because he’s afraid he’ll miss something, and he might do it after they leave.
That he did. He rang it, and rang it, and rang it. Did I mention that the clang of Buddy’s cowbell is loud and maddening? We lasted approximately thirty-five minutes before we removed it from the doorknob when Buddy wasn’t looking and hid it. That may have been a mistake, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
We never really noticed before how much Buddy loves to bark, and bark, and bark, and bark. Our neighborhood’s annual garage sale took place on Saturday. Cars and pedestrians traveled up and down our road for most of the day. Buddy barked at them for most of the day. In keeping a watchful eye on these interlopers, Buddy gifted our windows with original nose art creations.
Buddy requires lots of attention. You could say his is needy, but that would be an understatement. Buddy gives new meaning to the word needy. Once you start petting him, you’re not allowed to stop. Should you stop, he lets you know that is unacceptable. He is not above climbing into your lap and getting right in your face to issue his demand for additional attention.
Even though MG had been his favorite from the start–MG was able to get down on the floor and play with him–Buddy sought refuge at my side while MG continued to rant about pooping dogs. How could I be angry at that little guy with the pitiful pleading look in his eyes. I’m a card-carrying softie, and dogs figure that out almost immediately.
NT and family got home just before dawn on Monday, and he came by to collect Buddy on Tuesday afternoon. Buddy went ballistic when his master walked in. Buddy was so happy to see him, he just about leaped into his arms–from a standing start.
After they drove off, the house returned to its former state, empty and very quiet, but not for long. Buddy will make a return visit next month when his people take another trip. When he does, you’d better believe we’re not going to hide the cowbell.