Reminiscing

While writing the post below, I remembered this one story about my pet gerbil. I was probably about ten years old. He was only about four inches long, mostly light tan with white spots here and there, and he was sleek - not at all fluffy. I think his tail was about the same length as his body, and I loved holding him in my cupped hands, allowing his whiskers to brush my face, me making kissing "ticks" with my tongue against my teeth over and over again. The little noise always made him search my mouth over, as if he wanted to find out from where the noise was coming.

One day, I decided he should be allowed to run around the house. I wanted him to have his freedom, dammit! As soon as I put him on the ground, though, I realized there were too many places for him to hide and get behind and under, areas I could not reach when it was time to fetch him. That it was NOT A GOOD IDEA to release him to the perils of a home unkempt. And at the same I was "realizing", I was also reaching for him as he tried to scurry under the couch. And I got him, alright. His tail, that is. I cannot imagine the horror that must have covered my face as I stood there, holding my gerbil's tail. I had actually pulled it off.

Within a few moments, my dad was explaining that gerbils have an instinctive self-defense mechanism that allows the very tip of their tail to come off in case a predator has them by their tail. And I remember screaming, "Mechanism, schmechanism! I just maimed my gerbil for life!"

(OK, so that was pretty random. See what I have to put up with?! My brain and I go back and forth like this ALL THE TIME.)