Sweating the Small Stuff

I’m a little worried about our hamster.

 Maximus, the dwarf hamster, has lived with us for about a year now. He has adapted well to life in our home, despite being constantly stared at by the cats and ignored for days at a time. He has gone on vacation to the beach a few times, survived a close call with the stairs, and generally enjoys a nice quality of life with plenty of sunflower seeds and corn kernels. Sure, he gets dropped occasionally or batted around in his hamster ball, but that certainly can’t be any more dangerous than, say, living in the wild.

 As you may recall, we got the hamster after much pleading from both my friend BD, who had an extra hamster who needed a home, and my baby girl, S, who does not believe in such a thing as cute overload. BD convinced me that having a small pet was a great way to teach S about both responsibility and death, claiming that small pets have a shelf life just slightly longer than the average kid’s attention span. After explaining the details of cage cleaning and feeding and handling to S, I finally broke down and allowed the hamster to move in with us.

Don’t tell my kids, but I like the hamster too. I visit with him every night after they go to bed. I even talk to him in the same annoying voice I use on the cats. I pick him up out of his cage, I hold him, and I feed him seeds and treats. Which means that when S is spending lots of time with Maximus, he gets double treats and love and snuggling. I don’t know if he enjoys all that human contact, but he is a butterball. I wonder if obesity is as unhealthy for a rodent as it is for a person.

Over Easter, my sister’s family came to visit. My two nephews are a few years older than my daughters and have reached an age where playing isn’t really their thing. S has a hard time relating to her 13 and 16 year old cousins, who in turn share few common interests with their 10 year old girl cousin. Lucky for S, she has Maximus the hamster. My nephew SM will keep S company as long as they can play with the hamster, which might be cute, but is still a rodent and therefore maintains a slight cool factor.

After my sister’s family left, S seemed a little blue. I assumed it was because Easter was over, or perhaps because she was crashing from all the candy she had consumed before breakfast. But she moped around all afternoon, so I asked her what was bothering her.

“I don’t like Maximus anymore,” she told me.

Okay, this is the same kid who can look at a picture of kittens and cry. How could she no longer like the hamster that eleven months ago she was begging for?

“Why not? Did he bite you?” I asked her. Maximus is partial to children's fingers.

“You know that red thing on his belly?” she said.

I do know that red thing on his belly. I always assumed it was an umbilical hernia, but I didn’t want to say anything out loud, mostly because I didn't want to have to explain what an umbilical hernia is. “What about it?” I asked her.

“Well, SM said it is Maxi’s penis.” She got all disgusted, like just saying the word left a bad taste in her mouth.

 “That’s crazy. That’s not his penis.”

 “Well, SM said it was.”

“What is he, a hamster anatomy specialist? He is wrong, sweetie. I think that’s his belly button.”

“If it’s his belly button, then why does it stick out?” she asked me.

An excellent question, really. One that required an Internet search. How did parents do it before the Internet? It turns out that what SM thought was a penis and I thought was a hernia is actually a scent gland, locating inconveniently in the center of the hamster’s belly. And based on the photos and research I saw, Maximus’s was infected.

I kept a watch on Maximus’s gland over the next few days, and sure enough, it got redder and angrier on a daily basis. He still slept all day and ran on his wheel all night and ate his seeds, so I didn’t give it much thought, until I had to clean his cage. Normally his cage is kind of gross from all his food hoarding and bathroom activities, but clearly something else was going on with the little guy. Something that involved infection, and drainage of said infection.

It was time to bring the situation to my husband’s attention. I tend to overreact, whereas he likes to minimize. Together, we form a normal perception. Plus, he is a dentist, so while he has no formal rodent training, he can at least offer a slight medical perspective, even if he works in human mouths only.

“I think the hamster might be sick. Do you think you can take him to the vet tomorrow?”

 “The vet?” My husband said. “Who takes a hamster to the vet?”

 “But his scent gland looks infected.”

“What’s a scent gland, and how can you tell?” he asked.

“It’s that thing that SM thought was his penis, and you don’t want to know.”

 “I wouldn’t even know where to take him.”

I anticipated this response and was ready for it. “I found two small animal vets nearby, and they both have weekend hours. Maybe you could take him tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to do that. I’ll look into how to treat hamster infections online.”

 It suddenly occurred to me that maybe he was right, maybe taking a hamster to the vet wasn’t the best idea I ever had. Maybe this was what BD meant when she said that hamsters were a great way to teach children about death. It’s a lot easier to get over the loss of that pet you never played with than it is to lose your grandmother.

 “Well, I’ll do it then. How much do you think it will cost?” I wasn't playing the martyr so much as I was genuinely worried about that little guy.

 “Probably more than four new hamsters.”

Faced with that financial reality, I decided to go the home remedy route. I soaked a Q tip in hydrogen peroxide and cleaned the hamster’s gland. I cleaned out his cage. I put less bedding in the bottom of it so his belly wouldn’t get too irritated. So far, he is holding on, but for how much longer? The gland seems to change on a daily basis, and yet, I can’t bring myself to haul him down to the vet for a round of tiny antibiotics because his treatment costs more than his replacement. Don’t judge me.

 I figure I have two approaches to take. I can either let nature take its course and allow Maximus to live out the rest of his days, however many that may be, in the comfort of his brightly colored cage, or I can scout out the pet stores for his doppelganger. I don’t really like either choice that much. Instead, I am bracing myself for the inevitable, which I think will begin with tears, move on to a shoe box funeral, and end up a trip to the pet store for a new hamster.

I hate to end on such a sad note, so instead how about a funny little Maximus story?

 My tween has a bad habit when it comes to laundry. She forgets to empty her pockets, and frequently I find candy wrappers and loose change in the bottom of the washing machine. Unfortunately, she also forgets about her feminine hygiene products as well. Those items she does not keep in her pockets, but nonetheless, they end up in the bottom of the washer as often as the candy wrappers.

 The other day, I washed a load of light clothes, like bras and t shirts and panties. I transferred the wet clothes to the dryer but something kept getting stuck on the agitator. I tugged and tugged but whatever it was wasn’t budging. I looked into the machine and realized that one of her panty liners, which she of course forgot to throw away, was stuck to the inside of the washing machine. Disgusting.

 I screamed at her, “E, you left your maxi pad in the washer!” at the top of my lungs because I was pissed and she was downstairs.I wanted her to be able to hear both words and tone.

At the same time E answered with a “huh?” my younger daughter S screamed hysterically, “Maxi? Who put Maxi in the washing machine?” Maxi, short for Maximus.

 “No, sweetie, Maxi is in his cage. I am talking to E.” I tried to calm her down.

“Gross, she put her pad in the washing machine?”

E came into the laundry room. “I don’t even use maxi pads, Mom.” “Whatever, it's called, you left it in the laundry again. Now your napkin is extra sanitary,” I told her.

We all had a good chuckle, kind of like at the end of a sitcom when everyone laughs together until they freeze the frame and the credits roll.


My husband insists that Maximus is fine, that if he were really sick, he would be lethargic and snippy and unpleasant. But how can you tell if a nocturnal rodent is lethargic? I’m not staying up that late to find out. He is eating and pooping and sleeping, so really, he looks about the same as normal. Except for his giant gland, which is not a penis.