This past Christmas, Santa brought M a hamster. I think everyone who reads this knows that Santa is actually me, which means I hid this silly hamster in a travel cage under my bed for two days so I could put the adorable little furball under the tree on Christmas Eve.
When we got Fluffy, he was just barely two months old. Fluffy was the love of M's life. She held him, she kissed his head, she said good morning to him every night (because hamsters are nocturnal so our night is their morning).
Tonight when M got home, she said hello to Fluffy and brought him downstairs. As she was carrying Fluffy back up the stairs, Fluffy fell and unfortunately Jimmy (one of our dogs) was there to break the fall with his mouth. I did not see this happen, but the blood curdling scream from M's mouth somewhat gave it away. By the time I made into the kitchen, M had gotten Jimmy to drop Fluffy and had Fluffy in her hands. I sent the dogs for a little outside time and grabbed a very lifeless Fluffy. With no formal training what so ever, I massaged his little chest and gently blew air into his little nose and mouth and I got a pulse. I washed the dog slobber off and just held him for a while. Then his breathing started to get slower, and he was beginning to be unresponsive so M came in and held him for his last few minutes.
Obviously, I have an incredibly upset 7 year old on my hands that is also incredibly pissed off at the dog.
M is not ready to let Fluffy go. When our cat died a few years ago, I had the cat cremated and the ashes are in a wood box in my computer room along with a ceramic tile with Kitty's paw print. My suggestion to find a shoe box and we bury Fluffy in the back yard was met with, "No, I want to have Fluffy turned to ashes so he can be in a box and I can always have him."
So I will be spending my Monday finding a place that will cremate a hamster and put his little teeny paw prints into a ceramic tile.
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