Tonight we lost one of our two pet gerbils, Isabella, who had been Sarah's. We got them at the end of March 2011, hardly as newborns, and knowing that the average gerbil lives to be two to three years old, it's not surprising that we're now facing the loss of our first one. But that doesn't make it any easier on Sarah tonight.
Isabella was the "fun one," the social one, the one who would run over to the cage bars first to sniff us and see if we brought any pumpkin seeds. She also, quite frankly, became the plump one, despite being the one more likely to be found on the wheel than her sister Gerb. We tried to spread the treats around, but somehow Bella seemed to be able to wrangle more than enough food.
Bella was the one who, on being put into her plastic gerbil ball, would run and run and run all over the floor while the kids changed their cages; Gerb would be more content to just wait patiently. She would try to climb out of the box, or the cage, or wherever, and when we opened the cage door to let them come out and explore, Bella was always the first one to venture out. She was the first gerbil to trust me enough to come out into my hands and let me pick her up and carry her around.
Sarah loved her gerbil, and is taking it quite hard, blaming herself for not caring for them enough. With a new dog in the house, it's understandable that the old gerbils would have gotten less attention over the past few months, but they were never truly abandoned.
We found a box that had been the presentation box for a fountain pen, and made a bed of aspen chips for her, and nestled her in there, covering her head with some extra chips. David dug a nice deep hole out back, next to the azaleas, in the same area as where we buried Fishy Fish some four or five years ago, and laid her to rest. Jacob Franklin, who was visiting, made an impromptu cross from a twig, and so tonight Isabella sleeps a much longer rest, while Sarah will hardly sleep at all. Rest in peace, little gerbil, and thanks for the memories.
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