Gerb, 2011 - 2014

There was sadness in the house today: this morning we found that our second and last gerbil, Gerb, had passed away.

Gerb's sister Isabella had preceded her by almost seven months, but while Bella's passing had been a rather sudden affair, we could tell the end was coming for Gerb.  We brought them home from the pet store in late March 2011, so we figure she lived to be three--which is pretty darned old for a gerbil.  Since becoming alone in July, Gerb had taken to preferring to curl up in a ball in a big pile of shavings, her own little nest.  Gerb had never been one for the exercise wheel, but found her own ways to stay busy: since her sister's passing, Gerb managed to gnaw a hole in the back of the plastic gerbil cage.  Fortunately the cage sat within a larger tub, so despite gaining her freedom from the main cage, she was still confined ("Dammit!" I'm sure she exclaimed on getting free, only to find a second tub waiting for her).  Still, you have to admire the stick-to-it-iveness.  She also would consent occasionally to being picked up--moreso than when Bella was alive--and only a few weeks ago had a chance to get out and explore with me again.

Gerb l-o-v-e-d her pumpkin seeds.  We could offer her one through the metal bars of her cage, she would come over, seize it with her teeth, and begin to tug on it; if you held on, she would actually brace herself against the bars of the cage and tug harder.  Silly gerbil, always after her favorite snacks: her favorite season was early November, when the jack-o-lantern seeds were quite fresh.  We've now a bag of seeds with no one to munch them.

You could always get Gerb going with a paper towel tube.  Placed in her cage, it would soon be set upon by those gnawing teeth; sometimes, watching TV, we could hear the sound of her starting to work on a new one and it always brought a smile.

We knew something was wrong Sunday when a fresh paper towel tube got only halfway gnawed, then abandoned.  That had never happened before.  Monday, she was visibly weak: scarcely moving from her nest, and trembling.  She didn't try to run away when we would reach in to pet her softly--another thing without precedent.  But most troubling of all was, she wouldn't touch her pumpkin seeds.  Sarah succeeded in feeding her one, but she only half-nibbled at it, and let it lie.

This morning we learned she hadn't made it through the night, and is now at peace.  Tonight I broke through the frozen ground out back next to her sister.  We found a small box; Sarah, then David, took turns holding her one last time, then we gently laid her in.  Sarah and I put some of her bedding around her, like her nest, and a little strip of her paper towel tube.  David added a couple of her pumpkin seeds, and we closed the box.  David handled the honors out back, tamping down the soil firmly to protect his gerbil.  He confessed he had shed a tear at school that day for thinking of her.  She was a good pet.  As we said with her sister: Rest in peace, little gerbil, and thanks for the memories.