Claudine M. Jalajas; Essays

Buzz and Woody

My 4-year-old son wanted a dog. While I'd like to give him everything his heart desires, there's no way in hell that I'm cleaning up dog poop. After two kids, I've cleaned up enough poop thank you very much. But my son wanted a pet-and the idea of him needing to care for a pet struck me as something worthwhile. We compromised on gerbils.

While Luc was at preschool I went to the pet store. I was a little surprised--I thought gerbils would be bigger for some reason. Gerbils are small, about the size of a chipmunk (please don't say mouse). They are a social animal and should be kept in pairs. It's a good idea to get the same sex or you'll have a gerbil farm on your hands. Gerbils are relatively cheap to own. Each is about $5.00. Cage, wheel, food dish, water bottle, bedding and first bag of food will run about $50.00.

I bought two—one black, and one tan with white stripes. The salesgirl picked up each gerbil by their tail and put them in separate small cardboard boxes. While driving home I could hear the gerbils scratching and gnawing at the box walls. Home, I hurriedly put the cage together, dumped a little gerbil bedding in, and set up the food and water. I put on my garden gloves. As I lowered the gerbil box into the cage the gerbil popped out. I shrieked and quickly plopped the second gerbil into the cage. I put the screen top on the cage--a flimsy barrier. I stuck a dictionary on top.

Luc loved his gerbils. He named the tan one Woody and the black one Buzz. A few weeks went by and I stopped imagining them pushing through the metal screen top, getting into the walls of our home, scratching and gnawing forever. Each morning after Luc went to preschool I would check on the gerbils. I made sure they had cardboard for chewing, food, and water. One morning while Woody was running on the wheel Buzz was still and covered in bedding. My face grew cold. Buzz was dead.

How was I going to handle this? First, I had to dispose of the body. Second, what on earth would I tell my son? I called my husband David in a panic, "Buzz is dead! Buzz is dead!" and hung up. My husband had forgotten who Buzz was-he left the office for home a few minutes later. I called a friend for advice and she suggested a formal burial in the yard with an explanation on the circle of life. I pictured my son heartbroken, crying, and thought, "Why tell Luc anything? I'll get another gerbil!"

I soon learned that black gerbils are very rare. I called every pet store within a 50-mile radius yelling, "Do you have a black gerbil?" Finally, one answered, "yes." As I raced out of the house I passed my confused husband and yelled, "bury that shoebox!"

The "new" Buzz was definitely bigger than the last one. No problem-Buzz grew overnight like Clifford the Big Red Dog. Luc came home from preschool just as we plopped Buzz the second into the tank. David and I looked at each other and winked. Yes, we're the best-we scammed a four year old. We decided to treat ourselves to lunch-it had been a stressful morning. As we left I heard the gerbils making little chirping sounds. I said to David on our way out the door, "Wow... I think they are talking to each other." I smiled and thought, "how sweet."

When we returned from lunch I checked on the gerbils. All I could see was a ball of black fur, then tan, then black, twisting and rolling around the cage. I yelled for David to get upstairs. He separated the gerbils, and we saw that Woody had been badly mangled. The whole time we were toasting ourselves to a job well done, Woody was getting his ass kicked.

I called the pet store accusing them of mistreating animals. "This gerbil is a killer!" I yelled. They said to bring him back for a full refund. David and I hash out our story, "Well, you see Luc, Buzz got too big for the cage so we have to take him back to the pet store." When we told our story to Luc his lower lip began to quiver and as his eyes filled with tears he whimpered, "When he gets small again can he come back?" I don't know what came over me, maybe it was the incredibly sad face of my baby or the wine I had with lunch, but I blurted out, "Or we could get Buzz his own cage!" David, obviously a soft touch himself, chimed in, "We could do that!" Fifty bucks later, Buzz, and Woody had side-by-side cages-condos if you will. With daily doses of Bactine Woody lived.

After the ordeal was over my friends' asked, "Would you do it all again or just tell him the truth and spare yourself the hassle?" As it turns out, I've done it 4 more times.