Posts Tagged ‘Hamster’

Okay, so yesterday I brought you some good news – some brilliant news, but now I have to give you the not so good news – the terrible news. When Tucker was only 2 days old, we were celebrating new life, but little did we know that a life very close to us was coming to an end. My (little) big bro Frodo passed away. He was very very old and had made a mockery of his supposed life-expectancy by more than doubling it, but it was still a bit of a shock, even though we were semi-preparing ourselves.

It seemed like the older he got the more his character developed, and the more life and energy he had. The weekend before he passed he was out in his ball causing havoc in a way I can only dream of. He was running amok everywhere, tripping people over, getting stuck in small, tight spaces, exploring far away corners of the house I’m never likely to find… We all miss the little guy, but we can try to console ourselves with the fact that he had a very long, fulfilling, happy life, and he wasn’t poorly and didn’t suffer at the end.

Night night, Frodo. Thanks for being my bro and my pal.




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First and foremost I have an apology and confession to make. Although I am, chiefly, responsible for my blog I do get my mummies to deal with the technical bits and Mummy El does all of the scheduling and publishing. She messed it all up this week because yesterday’s blog was supposed to go live today and today’s was supposed to have been up yesterday. AND, she skipped a day! She reckons that it’s been a particularly stressful week and that she can’t think straight with all that’s gone on (and continues to), but I think that the sun’s frazzled her brain.

Whatever the reasoning, she’s been totally rubbish and it’s inexcusable. She needs to get her priorities sorted, and by that I mean that we need to go back to the old rule: What I say goes, and everything else is secondary. I don’t care if your hair is on fire or the roof has collapsed (neither of those things happened, by the way), feed me, get my blog done, then deal with whatever the problem is.

So, without any further ado, here is the third and final part, albeit, 2 days late and out of sync, of A Day in the Life.

17:27pm: I retreat into the living room and hang my head in shame after my failure to conquer the guest room. I chill for a bit whilst Mummy El gloats.


Chillaxing. It’s the word all the cool kids are using.

17:45pm: I go and see Mummy J and remind her that all work and no play makes a grumpy Mummy and a bored bunny.

18:00pm: Mummy J finally prizes herself away from her desk and comes to see me for a couple of minutes before dragging Mummy El off to the kitchen to help her cook. By “help” I mean stand, watch and be useless.

18:01pm: I have nothing better to do than have a wash and a kip.

18:43pm: My mummies come back, dinner in hand, I’m rudely awoken and have to get comfy again before I can relax and watch TV with them.

18:45pm: I take my place on the rug, right in front of the TV, wait for someone to fire up the Tivo and catch up with the latest goings on in Emmerdale. Don’t judge me, there’s a lot of drama in that village.

18:49pm: All of the food smells and their chewing makes me hungry so I join them in the chomping and have a nibble on my nuggets.

18:56pm: I come and join my mummies on the sofa and put up with all of their fussing. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for a comfy seat.


19:33pm: I get a bit involved in the televisual dramatics and only realise when I get moaned at that a little poopy has slipped out, so I leg it off the sofa into my loo.

19:36pm: I get off the loo and have a good wash.

19:47pm: Mummy El takes the plates out and I follow her to check on the door situation.

19:57pm: After checking all of the doors, several times, I sit outside the bedroom door and wait for someone to come and open it.

20:09pm: Mummy El goes into the bedroom, I try to follow her in, but she strategically opens it just a crack, sticks her foot in the threshold and closes the door quickly behind her. I stick my head in and grunt, but it’s all in vain. Mummy El – 2, Tino – 1. It’s not looking good for me.

20:10pm: With the two of them having showers I hop and run around for a bit then make sure I go and park myself in the best spot on the sofa before they get back.

20:33pm: My mummies come back and I realise, once again, that the sofa comes accompanied with cuddles, kisses, stupid high-pitched baby voices, and lots of stroking.


20:35pm: Having let them have their fun and taken all I can of all of the cuddling and cooing I decide that it’s now time for affection the Tino way. I lower my chin to the ground and look up at them with my big beautiful eyes, and they know the drill. It’s time for nosey kisses. They’re my faves. My mummies do a kissy relay, one taking over when the other’s neck is about to snap, stroking my nose from tip to forehead with their face. I don’t know what all the fuss is about – it doesn’t hurt me in the slightest. If they stop I remind them that I’m still here and haven’t said they can stop by shoving my nose under whichever body part of theirs is closest. It gets them every time.

20:52pm: Both of their necks have had it, which means an end to the kisses and the need for an extremely thorough wash. It feels lovely at the time but I end up filthy.

21:00pm: I get my one hour warning to have a run around and enjoy myself before I have to go back to my hutch.

21:01pm: I run around like a loon, jump up on the sofa, use my mummies as spring boards to get on the back of the sofa and then jump onto the window sill and have a look out of the window.

21:02pm: The sight of one of the over-the-road neighbours scares me to death and I hop back down.

21:05pm: I get over the shock and start circling the coffee table at speed. I’ve got some serious four-wheel drive and traction control.

21:08pm: I have a little rest and go again.

21:12pm: I have a refreshment and comfort break, then, of course, a wash.

21:30pm: I go and see Frodo, despite warnings from my mummies.

21:31pm: Warnings not heeded, a tiny paw comes through the bars and I get a smack round the face. Why can’t we all just get along?

21:37pm: Mummy El feeds Frodo. She puts a nice big pile of seeds in the palm of her hand and opens the door; he clambers out, sits on her hand and starts picking out the bits he likes the most and pouches them, item by item. I love Sunflower seeds – it’s a weakness – but they’re not included in my fruit salad or nuggets so I hop on over to see if maybe I can scrounge one. Mummy El knows what I’m after so picks one out for me, but Frodo also knows what I’m after so I get a second smack. They think I’m a fool for continuing to try to foster a relationship with him, but I think I’m just an optimist, hopeful that one day he’ll realise that I’m a nice boy really, and just want to be friends.

21:39pm: I sit and have a nibble on my Sunflower seed, feeling a bit sorry for myself and have a little wander, killing the last few minutes before “the b-word”.

21:53pm: I hear the familiar and tempting sound of the bedroom door opening and see the perfect opportunity to avoid “the b-word”. I hare towards the door at lightening speed and manage to get past Mummy J! They’re a bit dozy by that time of night, bless them. Mummies – 2, Tino – 2.

21:54pm: I realise that my naughtiness has been preempted. The bed is completely blocked off and they’ve already built my ramp. Poop. Mummy El joins Mummy J in the bedroom and they try to cajole me up onto the bed and onto my ramp with cries of “Come on, Tino, bedtime!” “Up into bed, there’s a good boy!” Good boy and into bed, my fluffy backside! I grunt and double-back, only to find that Mummy El has closed the bedroom door, and I’m stuck here. Mummies – 3, Tino – 2. I fear it’s too late in the day to pull this one back.

21:55pm: I lay down as far from the bed as I possibly can and have a sulk by the drum kit, out of principle.

Having a sulk

21:59pm: My principles are overpowered by my tummy. I hear my bowl being replenished with nuggets and decide that maybe my hutch isn’t such a bad place to be after all. I hop in, Mummy J gives me 3 pieces of dried apple and then I get lots of cuddles and kisses, which I’m more in the mood for now.

22:05pm: I’m snuggled up, safe and warm with Big Brother on. I watch it for as long as I can keep my tired little eyes open, then drift off. My mummies cover my hutch with a blanket to make me feel secure all night (and to stop me chewing on the bars at 5am) and that’s the end of another day in the life of a very happy bunny.

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My mummies have been doing a bit of organising and planning, what with the puppy coming (eventually!), because he’s going to sleep in our room with us, so needs plenty of space and a place to put his bed since I’m not making him a hay one now.

When Geordi slept with us he liked to be on the rug next to my mummies’ bed, and then moved around in the night and slept on the wood when he got too hot. He never got in his bed at night, but often got into theirs in the morning!

Cheeky boy 😉

See, Geordi didn’t have a place of his own; the whole room was his and it was my mummies who had a place of their own, which Geords thought they should be grateful for 😉 They’ve said the puppy can’t be bossy though, so it’s important that he has his place, and it’ll be better for him to have somewhere that’s just his where he can go if he needs some alone time. I know where they’re coming from, I’ve got a place like that too.

My special place

Anyway, they’re moving things around, and Mummy El’s being told that she has to throw some stuff away, so I had a think about what I could do. I don’t have much stuff, and the majority of it is in the living room but I do have a fair sized hutch, and I’m not sure I need all that space.

I went to see Frodo next door, and luckily Mummy El was cleaning him out. He was running around in his ball, which meant he couldn’t attack me, and his slide and other interiors were all out getting a good ol’ scrub, which meant I could hop in and see how it was.

Checking it out

It wasn’t too bad at all. Cosy. Bijou. Not a great deal of head room, but you don’t need head room if you’re sleeping… I could do worse.

Absorbing the view through the skylight

I offered to move into smaller digs, but my mummies said it wasn’t at all necessary. They said I’m still numero uno and I don’t have to change a thing. They bought furniture especially for my hutch to sit on so I’m not budging an inch. Secretly, I’m quite relieved, I do love my hutch and I feel really at home and safe in it, but at least they know I was willing to make the sacrifice.

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It’s Wednesday, and I know what that means. Abandonment. That’s what.

Mummy El’s started this thing called Pilates; she has to go out to do it, so I’m not really sure what it entails, but I do know that the first time she did it she ended up doing further damage to her already dubious back and spent all weekend in bed. In fact, I don’t think I even want to know what it is – it must be bad!

Anyway, she braved it and went again the week after and took Mummy J with her. She either didn’t want to suffer alone or it’s fantastic exercise and amazing for toning your abs, depending on whether she was talking about Mummy J or to Mummy J. Mummy El wasn’t too bad after her second go, and Mummy J didn’t have to take to her bed, but she did have a bit of a groan when she sneezed or coughed. Yep, they can definitely leave me out of it, whatever it might be.

Last week, they went again! That’s when I noticed a pattern forming. It’s ritual abandonment. Last week took the mick though; they left at 7 and didn’t get home until 10:30! 10:30! They didn’t phone, didn’t text, nothing. Just left me shut in the living room with stinky Frodo and Billy the Puffer Fish. Have I mentioned that I’ve got a pet Puffer Fish? I don’t think I have. There’s not much to tell, really, although we do have a lot in common. We both live alone, we’re both very intelligent, we both have a good sense of humour and we both have large, sharp front teeth.

A pretty rubbish picture of Billy admiring himself

Billy, not posing for his picture again. He’s camera shy.

Anyway, getting back to my situation; apparently, with my gift for eating the mouldings and taking a disliking to the occasional carpet, when they leave the house and I’m not in my hutch I get shut in the living room, as was the case last Wednesday. Now, they don’t have much of a social life so only tend to nip out for an hour here or half an hour there, which is acceptable, but 3 and a half hours?! I ask you! In fact, someone phone the RSPCA.

The worst of it: they didn’t leave me a light on! Allegedly, they intended to be back at 8:45, straight after Pilates, well before it gets dark, but on the spur of the moment decided to go to the 24 hour supermarket with the big green letters, since they were in the area. That’s their story, and they’re sticking to it. Did they buy me anything to let me know they were thinking of me, or to compensate me for my woes? No.

Well, I let them know exactly what I thought of them when they got in. I ignored them, wouldn’t let them cuddle me and stood outside the closed bedroom door, demanding that they open it and let me go to bed at once. Then I had a good old-fashioned sulk in my hutch and watched Big Brother. Don’t judge me, it’s good TV.

Just chillin’, having a drink, watching a bit of BB

Anyway, I’ve got it sussed now and I’m prepared to spend tonight sad and alone. They’ve promised they won’t leave me for any longer than they have to and that I won’t be sat in the dark this time, but I’m not sure how much I trust them.

Please can somebody send them a gentle reminder that they’ve got a furry little boy waiting for them at home?

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I’m trying hard to be patient, but Frodo and the parrots are doing my head in! The latter are obviously unfamiliar with the concept of being seen and not heard, and the former has personal hygiene problems, not to mention the omnipresence of the vacuum cleaner lately, thanks to all 3 of them!

I think the parrots are getting louder. My bedroom (which I let my mummies share) is right above the conservatory, where the parrots live, and we have a wooden floor which isn’t quite so good at buffering noise, and when the window is open I get it in surround sound! If they talked sense or sang something catchy it wouldn’t be so bad, but they just yell and squabble all the time, having only a brief interlude when Mummy El replenishes their food bowls.

Frodo and I had been getting along better since, for the most part, we’d been staying out of each other’s way, but every time I go into the living room where he resides (he’s too noisy at night to live in our room) to escape the squawking and get too close to his cage… Well, let’s just say when you get too close to Frodo you resent having nostrils.

Luckily, the stink is localised. Unless you’re right in front of him you can’t smell it, which is a relief, or my mummies would have a real problem on their hands. Who wants to live in a place that smells of rodent?! They take his cage apart every weekend and scrub it with antibacterial spray and hot water, but within hours of its reassembly he’s stunk it out again. They even give him a good rub down with antibacterial pet wipes at the same time, but it makes no odds. I think he was just born that way, poor chap.

Frodo getting his weekly scrub

The most disturbing thing about it all from my perspective though, is the amount of work the hoover is having to do these days. Being a very house-proud rabbit I understand that the vacuum cleaner (or Henry as he’s known in our house) is an essential tool in the fight against grime, and I’m mentally prepared for his presence a couple of times a week, but lately I’ve been seeing far too much of him.

Now, I consider myself to be quite a brave boy considering my size and lack of ferocity. I’m oblivious to creepy crawlies and take no issue with the dark or small places – in fact I positively encourage them! – but the hoover… The hoover terrifies me. As I said, a couple of times a week, whilst I’m safely in my hutch I can just about deal with, but it doesn’t seem to be away lately.

The parrots are, apparently, moulting again. I haven’t seen it for myself, but Mummy El said the conservatory looks like the scene of an explosion in a pillow factory on a daily basis, hence Henry, and Frodo insists on throwing saw dust all over the floor around his cage.

Moulting Maxi

The parrots are a law unto themselves so there’s no point talking to them about the noise, and I’m quite the moulter myself, so I’d have no leg to stand on there, but I thought I’d maybe try to help Frodo out with his predicament a bit, and help myself and my mummies along the way. A little known fact about us bunnies is that we are extremely clean. I house-trained myself from being a baby and apart from when I’m trying to make a point I always use one of my 2 loos. Frodo, on the other hand, is fairly indiscriminate about where he goes, which I think is half of the problem with the smell.

Anyway, the other night I bobbed my head into his doorway to give him a couple of pointers and help him find a suitable place to go and the little blighter slapped me! Right across the face! No signs, no warning, just: smack!

Now, I ask you, is that any way to treat your brother?

I’m trying hard to keep my cool, but sometimes it’s a trial being me.

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Right, after the stress of yesterday’s discovery I decided that the best thing to do was to be honest and have it out with my mummies. I was a brave boy and I just asked them outright if it was true, if I was really adopted.

They sat me down and told me what I already suspected. It’s all true.

I asked how it all came about, so they put the kettle on and we had the much needed chat.

It was actually just by chance or more by fate really, that we found each other. My mummies had gone shopping in town, which they don’t do all that often, but they’d parked just out of the centre, which meant a bit of a hike back to the car. On their way they happened to pass by a pet shop and, on a whim, they decided to go in. The parrots had grown a bit and were struggling to fit into the bowl they insisted on using as a bath soMummies El and J wanted to see if the shop had a nice big bowl for the birds.

Now Mummy El is a bit wet when it comes to animals and can’t help but go and make cooing noises in front of every cage in any and all pet shops they visit, so she headed straight past the parrot accessories to the back of the shop where all the fluffy people were. Apparently, our eyes met and it was love at first sight. Well, for her anyway. She said she can’t remember any of the other animals she saw that day, she only had eyes for me.

Now, the next part of the story shook me a bit, so prepare yourselves. I’m not her first bunny. There were bunnies who came before me. And I don’t just mean 1 or 2. Including her sister’s pet bunnies and some accidental babies we’re talking more than a dozen. Add to this that my other mummy, Mummy J, has had 3 other bunnies too, I had quite a bitter blow. I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it. It just came as a bit of a shock. The point is, Mummy El’s last bunny died when she was 11 or 12 so it’d been a long time since she’d had one around, and all of her previous rabbits had lived in the garden. It had never occurred to her or Mummy J as grown-ups to have a bunny, they always thought of them as children’s pets, although Mummy El had known a grown-up with a pet rabbit who lived in the house, and she’d liked the idea.

Anyway, Mummy J finally managed to drag her away from my cage and out of the shop, parrot bowl in hand (I think they paid for it first!) and off they went home.

All the way home they talked about me and neither of them could get me out of their heads. They’d never seen a Netherlands Dwarf like me before and when they got home they got straight on the computer and googled my kind (other search engines are available!). They compared every picture they looked at with me and decided (correctly) that I was cuter than all of them. It was too late for Mummy El, she’d gone past the point of no return and was in love with me.

She started researching the practicalities of having a house-rabbit, toilet training, what sort of health care I’d need, how much I would cost to feed and house… She knew she had to make it work – she needed me.

Anyway, as fate would have it, it was 2 days before Mummy El’s birthday and Mummy J hadn’t got her a present yet, she hadn’t been able to find the perfect thing. She’d seen the look on Mummy El’s face when she saw me for the first time and she saw the look on Mummy El’s face then, looking at hutches and pictures of not-so-devastatingly handsome members of my breed, and knew what she had to do. She asked Mummy El if they should go back to the pet shop the next day and bring me home. Well, Mummy El’s eyes welled up telling me about that part so I can imagine what a state she would have been in at the time. The shop had been shut for about half an hour when Mummy J put forward her proposition, so they couldn’t phone up right then to find out if anybody else had taken me home already, so they had a long wait until the next morning to make sure they made me theirs.

They set an alarm for 8:30am – unheard of for a Saturday – and waited anxiously, phone in hand, for the clock to tick over to 9am so that they could ring the shop. Mummy El couldn’t stand the wait though and decided at 8:50 that someone would be there by that time to get things ready and open up, so she dialled the number.

What luck! Someone answered! Mummy described me and asked if I was still there: I was. She asked if I was still available: I was. She asked if I was ready to move out of the shop into a new home: I was. She asked if she could reserve me: She could. The lady asked Mummy how long I needed to be reserved for and Mummy told her, as long as it took to neck a slice of toast and drive there.

Now, the memory is fuzzy, but when my mummies told me about the next bit, something started to come back. Not as a thought or picture, more as just a feeling. When they got to the shop the lady lifted me out of my cage and put me into Mummy El’s arms, and she held me whilst the lady put some saw dust into a box to transport me home in, and packed my new belongings that Mummy J had bought me into a bag. I remember feeling warm, safe and loved.

Mummy J drove home very carefully, and they told me that they remember listening to Barry White on the way. I would say that there’s no accounting for taste, but they had just chosen me, so I’ll reserve judgement.

They set up my new house, made it all cosy and put my new things in it for me, and Mummy J carefully helped me move in.

The first ever photo of me, being helped into my new hutch by my Mummy J

I’m so glad that it was them that chose me. Apparently I’ve got a real brother who was in the shop with me, but he was mean and bullied me – I’m glad I don’t remember that part. And can you imagine if I’d been chosen by people who weren’t as kind and gentle as my mummies? I could be sat somewhere getting my ears pulled and my eyes poked right now, or I could be sharing outdoor digs with another rabbit, or worse, a guinea pig!

Anyway, I’m glad that I had that talk with them and it’s all out in the open now, but it has to be our little secret; I’m not to tell Frodo. I was right, he was adopted too, and my mummies don’t think he’d take the news as well as me. Geordi knew all along that he was adopted and I think that we’ll make sure that the puppy knows from day 1 too, I don’t want him to stumble upon it one day by accident like I did.

Now that I know the whole story it makes me feel even more special knowing that I was adopted. I’m the central part of the best family in the whole wide world, and my life is exactly the way it was always meant to be!

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I’ve had a nasty shock. I think… I think I’ve uncovered a family secret. I think… I think I was adopted.

My face says it all

It never really occurred to me before, I can’t remember living anywhere other than here and I don’t remember anyone other than my mummies taking care of me, so I didn’t really give any thought to where I came from. I suppose it makes sense though because Frodo (who’s technically my big brother since he’s about 10 months older than me) calls our parents ‘Mummy’ too, but families come in all shapes and sizes and I didn’t think there was anything stranger about mine than the next one.

Anyway, I was going through some of Mummy El’s papers this morning, looking for something to shred, and I found a form from a pet shop with my name on it, and it said “Age at Adoption: 12 weeks”.

I’m not really sure what to do with this information. I mean, it all makes sense now; the fact that I’m so much smaller than them, I have bigger ears, a furrier bottom, I walk on 4 legs, oh, and I have a tail. I suppose this means that Frodo was adopted too… What about the parrots? I think I may have opened a can of worms here.

I thought Frodo and I were an integral part of the family and that the birds and fish were all of our pets. I mean, hierarchically, that’s certainly how it feels. The birds live in a cage, except for on Sundays (I think that’s mainly due to how messy they are) and the fish never come out of the tank… Wait, I think the reason for that’s been explained to me… Anyway, the point is, I’m a free-range rabbit, only in my hutch to sleep, and Frodo’s allowed to run around in his ball when he can be bothered.

So, where do I go from here? Do I pretend I never saw it? Do I talk to my mummies about it? I wish my big bro, Geordi, was still here – he’d know what to do. Oh my goodness. Geordi. He must have been adopted too!

You know what? The more I think about it, the less I think it matters. Geordi was my bro and my best friend, Frodo and I don’t always see eye to eye, but he’s my brother too and I’d never hurt him, and I know my mummies love me more than anything. I’ve got a warm bed right next to theirs, I’ve got hay and nuggets and lots of yummy treats, I’ve got the run of the house, cuddles on tap and the best view of the fish tank.

Family is family. It doesn’t matter where you come from, all that matters is where you end up, and I think I’ve landed squarely on my big fluffy feet.

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