Thursday, April 26, 2007

A FOND FAREWELL

Every kid has an awesome opportunity to learn about the facts of life when they own a hamster: Squirrel away as many goodies as you can. Everything goes in a circle. Avoid people who squeeze too tight. Even your best friend will poop on you once in a while.

A mother blocks out a few of the myriad of colorful details that her children enrich her life with. At least I did. But kids remember all. His name? Harry. Favorite food? Peanuts. Pastime? Running on his wheel. Death? One fateful fall day…..

Poor Harry was done in, in an untimely fashion, by his passion for peanuts and by his beloved wheel. His hoard of peanuts had gradually dwindled, to the point where peanut anxiety was escalating to frenzy. And there, in the corner, on the far side of his wheel, was a whole pile. Just out of reach. You could say he was suffering from peanut envy.

These peanuts had taunted him for quite some time. He chased those peanuts for miles, like a greyhound after a mechanical hare. He could see them. He could smell them. He couldn’t quite reach them, no matter how hard or long he ran.

And so one fateful night he got clever. There was no room for a lateral attack. Over the top was out of the question. Although he loved to climb, the wheel wasn’t exactly climber friendly, and I suppose even a teeny-brained hamster could picture how idiotic he would look trapped upside down in the corner of the cage.

But hey, hamsters are burrowers by nature, and the obvious approach to those peanuts was to sneak under the wheel. It was a tight squeeze right quick, but he was already halfway there. Tighter and tighter, he pushed onward and felt his body being forced against the glass by the wire framework, almost there, smell them, almost…

That critter, air squeezed out, guts squeezed in, trapped by greed. He was a hairy little pancake when Tansy found him the next morning. Wanted to play with him. So did the dog. Daddy has a better idea. A funeral.

Not just any funeral. The first order of business was the coffin. Skedaddle around the house searching for a little box. Line it with a holy old sock. He was laid out with an inkling of dignity. My sweet seven year old genius, thinking to protect her sweet friend, wrapped him neatly and thoroughly with nice shiny black electrical tape. At this point she’s pretty sure the dog won’t be able to chew it open.

All the while Daddy is taking the opportunity to expound on funeral customs around the world. And so, after a short discussion, a decision was reached. A funeral Pyre would take up a good bit of time. Might as well milk this to the max, they concurred.

A gaggle of four sisters spent that full morning gathering twigs and branches egged on by Daddy. The chill autumn air nipped at their noses and frosted them pink, but they were too caught up in the preparations to notice. Everything was about set when they scrambled into the house to slurp some soup and eulogize.

Finally the big moment was upon them. They gathered in the middle of the driveway, filled with anticipation. Harry’s life was well memorialized by their excitement. The shiny black casket sat solemnly placed onto the stack of tinder. Daddy appeared with the charcoal lighter fluid and matches. After dousing the whole works thoroughly, a match sparked it into a roaring inferno. Oohh.. Ahhh!!!

Everyone backed up, flames dancing in their awestruck eyes. After the mandatory admonitions (stand back, don’t burn yourself!) Daddy retreats to the rare solitude of a quiet house, knowing sometimes a parent has to step back and let life happen

They watched from a distance briefly, then drew closer like moths, heat seeking, enchanted moths. Tansy grabbed the perfect sturdy stick that she had set aside. This was her show, after all, and she began to tend the fire, pushing here and there, keeping an eye on Harry the whole time. They gathered up dry leaves and added them for a wonderful smoldery effect, and eventually banked the coals around the dearly departed.

I doubt that anyone else could have taken the task more seriously. By now she realized the folly of the tape, poking at the tenacious mass in the center of the fire, willing it to burn, knowing it wouldn’t. She’d roasted enough weenies to realize Harry was well done. Impaled on the end of the charred branch, she lifted him gently, reverently suspended over the ashes, rocking him to and fro as she contemplated a fitting ending. Then hoisting the stick above her head she swung with all of her might, lofting Harry majestically over the ledge into the trees, a grander send-off than a soul could hope for.

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