Hammy the Hamster…R.I.P.

Early this morning, I had a call from my littlest friend, A., the 8-year old daughter of a buddy of mine. She wanted to tell me herself, that Hammy had died. His tiny body was still warm, so it must have happened just as the household was waking up.

Oh no.

A. is a solemn little thing, and Hammy was her first pet. She’d inherited him from a friend who relocated; he was about a year old when she got him.

A hamster’s lifespan is only 3 years.
A lot of kids have hamsters.
Losing a pet is never easy.

That she even thought to call me and tell me, because she know how much I loved Hammy too, blew me away. Kids will do that to you.

“I’m so sorry about Hammy, sweetheart…have you talked to Mum about where you want to put him?”

“I think we have to bury him,” she said.

She handled it very well, over the phone. Her Mum had done a good job of preparing her. Before they went away for the summer holidays, little A. already knew Hammy might not be around when they got back. “Knew” in the academic sense, of course. To everyone’s delight, he was still there when the family returned home after the holidays.

And in fact, he made it through two more months, and was fine until last night. I’m sure he went quietly; he had been showing signs of slowing down for some while…fur loss, sleeping longer, not so active any more. And he was nearly 3 years old, so yes, we were all expecting it.

Her Mum told me later that A. didn’t want to bury him…”She’s still not quite accepted that he’s gone, and I’m letting her handle it her own way. The cage is still there, and she said, ‘Can we just pretend he’s gone to stay with someone else for awhile?’ ”

Hammy was the first hamster I ever met, and got to know up close and personal. I’d never seen one before, and I fell completely in love with him. Tiny, waffle-nosed little thing, with bright beady eyes and the softest fur. I’d seen pictures of hamsters, but never realized how tiny they really are. None of the pictures were half as cute as Hammy.

He never used his exercise wheel, but he loved rolling across the floor in his exercise ball, and it was fun watching him. A. was always very gentle with him, and made sure when her friends were visiting that Hammy wasn’t treated roughly or over-handled.

I always wondered how such tiny, defenseless little balls of fur could possibly survive in the wild.

I’m convinced he recognized me because whenever I’d visit, I’d invariably check him out before saying “hi” to anyone else. He’d mostly be asleep, but would usually wake up when I tickled him, and come to the door of his cage so I could take him out. Sometimes he’d wake up grouchy and gently nip my finger, letting me know he didn’t want to be handled right then.

I’m glad I saw him just 2 days ago. He did wake up that day, and I did hold him for awhile, and made a big fuss over him. And now he’s gone. Full stop.

Death is that final; as adults, we know this. For a child, it’s an unknown quantity… till it happens to a pet. I’m sure A. will have a lot of questions for her Mum, as the days wear on; kids will ask those questions. What happens when you die, Mum? Does it hurt? Where do you go after here? What is it like over there? Will you and Dad go there too? Are there children there too? Will I see Hammy when I go there?

For today, she told her Mum, “Please help me to forget?” and “I know the fish died too, but this is different.” Already, she knows it’s different.