I have been slacking on my duties. I have skipped a couple of opportunities to inform everyone that we have suffered a loss. Sir Phillip Ondeez, our pet squirrel, died in his sleep last Wednesday. He had been acting strange in the days before his death. I thought it was because of mating season because he seemed agitated and his nuts were enormous. He may be the first squirrel in history to die from blue ball syndrome. I briefly considered fixing him up some sort of stuffed animal girlfriend or other stress relief method but I felt that crossed a personal line of the bro-code. I laid out some pecans and hoped that he would be happy with the treat. After a day, I noticed that the pecans hadn’t moved. Very odd.
I tried to lure him out with my usual conversation but nothing moved inside his house. Not good.
I prepared Supermom for the news and dumped out his nest. He was buried in the strips of felt fabric, perpetually frozen in a curled-up napping pose. Dead as a doornail. So… we had an impromptu squirrel funeral before starting on Quesadilla night festivities.
Is that where our animal craziness stopped for the week? No. Of course not.
Bindi is growing and doing well. Except for the other night. Supermom decided that with our warmer weather it might be good to let Bindi wander around the back yard and stretch her legs. For the first five minutes it seemed like a good idea.
Then it went something like this:
Wallabies are two legged hairy T-Rex deer. They are wild prey animals who have strong instincts to run and/or die. When the fresh air of freedom touched her primitive nostrils, she forgot anything and anyone she had ever known. Supermom and I, her parents, became monstrous carnivores who wanted to eat her flesh. She began running circles around the backyard and breathing heavily. The more we tried to herd her to the back door the more she rebelled. We set up some obstacles to force her into a safe space. She ran headlong into the fence, slid across the concrete, and careened off the rabbit cage. She became overheated and started licking her arms in an effort to cool down. We eventually resorted to locking the dogs in a bedroom and leaving the backdoor open until she wandered back inside. At that point, her mind returned. Somewhat.
She was breathing heavily and showing the early signs of shock. Wallabies use their blood sugar in quick bursts of energy and sustained stress causes them to go into shock. The first step is to get them something with sugar. She had no interest in milk (a bad sign) and would not drink water. I did manage to get her to eat some honey which was helpful but she was twitching from panic. Our handy-dandy, how-to-keep-a-wallaby-alive guidebook said that shock “is often fatal” and “requires treatments of Diazepam” to bring things under control.
Hmmm. Our zombie deer needs Xanax because she is traumatized by Bermuda grass and may die for no reason at all.
What now? Do I drive downtown and look for a questionable looking person on the street corner and try to score some totem poles for my wallaby? Dear authors of the handbook, suggesting controlled substances for an exotic pet is not practical.
Unless it is… I remembered that our youngest had a seizure several years ago. Part of the preparedness was a suppository gel that was comprised of petroleum jelly and Diazepam. I checked the back of our cluttered cabinet and sure enough the unused colon cannon was just waiting to calm something down. I broke open the box, adjusted the dosage dial to “Zen Buddhism”, and shot her mouth full of the calming rectal medication. I had the brief thought that the gel component may be harmful and the not-so-brief thought that I didn’t care at that point.
Bindi smacked her lips for a good five minutes and her breathing slowed down. She slumped into a pile. I didn’t know if she was dying or super-duper high. I think the second one. I am happy to report that she did live and is back to her old self.
If anything, her brush with death has given her a bitter edge. She no longer takes any chances with the dogs and even surprised Jasper with a well-placed missile drop-kick a few days ago. I heard a commotion and looked over just in time to see her kick him across the room with both back feet while standing on her hands. Ninja moves. He smacked the wall and looked confused for a second before walking away to find something better to do.
Jasper deserved it.. He has been pushing his karmic luck. He found a soft mud spot in the backyard somewhere. On two separate occasions, he has returned to the backdoor looking like a child labor coal miner.
If you have had a tough couple of weeks from things like Xanaxing your pets, this post is for you. You’re welcome. Oh and just in case you missed it, our girls identified a new holiday on our family schedule board. April 25th is now “Take a Dump Day”.
-Underdaddy to the rescue.