I was never very good at taking care of pets as a kid. Apparently that’s not a skill I’ve gained with age, either.
First we had a hamster that escaped from its cage frequently. On one occasion, when he seemed gone to the point of no return, I threw out his cage. Sure enough, a few days later I heard my husband yelling, “Aaah! Something’s on me!”
From then on, the hamster’s new home was a trash can. Back in that day we had a housekeeper. The trash can nearly went from being the hamster’s home to being his final resting place. The housekeeper had unknowingly dumped his can into a larger trash bag for removal. After sifting through the garbage for a while, I found the hamster playing happily in an old pasta box. I bought him a new cage a few days later.
But what truly sealed the deal for my status as a dead-beat pet owner was when we had a goldfish. I think I did okay feeding and caring for the fish for a while. But the next time I thought to myself, “Oh yeah, I wonder how the fish is doing,” I found the bowl on a book shelf, Goldy dead at the bottom. Why wasn’t he floating belly up, you might ask? Because his water had dried up.
Fortunately I take better care of my children.
Claire, mother of 5