From now on, I’m going to post once a week (I’ve got WordPress added to my action list!). About my life, because that’s how this blog started: as a diary. By going back to the basics, I’m hoping to learn more about myself – and the world I live in.
An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language
• Martin Buber •
It all started a few months ago, when I noticed one of my gerbils squeezing his right eye.
A few trips to the vet left me with an antibiotics-type of eye cream and a very upset little gerbil.
You see, my Meeko doesn’t like to be picked up, let alone be tortured back into health – which is what I imagine he must think of it all, seeing as after two weeks of wriggling about fruitlessly in my hands, he started menacingly grinding his teeth at me.
Which in gerbil language means bad business. Very. Bad.
Meeko also steadfastly worked his way through 4 (!!) oven mittens and 1 welding glove (my dad’s), but only after having perforated my left hand in more ways than you can imagine with his tiny yet incredibly sharp teeth.
Maybe he grinds them to sharpen them…?
After 2 weeks of antibiotics, 4 oven mittens, 2 perforated fingers, 1 gnawed-on thumb, and NO eye-improvement, I had had it.
I went to a “specialist in small rodents” aka a “gerbil doctor”.
What can I say?
It cost me a rib and then some, but at least the woman knew what she was doing.
Outside the fact, of course, that Meeko managed to escape her examining table a whooping 3 times, twice within the first ten minutes.
Then once more by literally LAUNCHING himself from his travel box into the air and onto his path to escaping all those awful hands. Like a teeny tiny, furry cannonball he shot out!
“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a gerbil do that!” the gerbil expert exclaimed, baffled.
I had to agree, baffled.
The vet concluded Meeko has an inflammation of his tear duct and needs other meds than the ones he was getting.
Those meds not only cost me another rib, but I fear will cost me a few more sets of oven mittens as well, considering I now have to administer 2 droplets into Meeko’s eye, three times a day. That’s 5 more torture-moments for him than before!
Oh, and the good news? (For the gerbil doctor, at least.)
If this doesn’t work within 2-3 weeks, I have to come back so she can perform a CT-scan on Meeko.
Which will cost me all my remaining ribs.
I love my pets. Let nobody ever think otherwise!
I try my hardest to give them the best care in the World.
But if this new medicine doesn’t work, I consider moving to Switzerland to become one of those screeching mountain marmots, seeing as they best vocalise how I’m feeling right now:
The best part of last week, of which my gerbil’s health issues and my emptying bank account were really the least of my frustrations, was this song:
I need more of this on the radio, please! So I can wake up every day, even if it’s going to be a bad one, with a smile on my face and the knowledge I’ll make it through somehow.
Plus, it helps to drown out my inner screeching marmot.
How was your week?