Saturday, November 15, 2008
I haz a ball!
The year I was 10, my sister and I asked for hamsters for Christmas on a whim. We figured it couldn't hurt. We already had a dog and a bunch of lizard-type slimy things (though those mainly infested my brother's room), so we wouldn't have been too hurt if it didn't happen. But as it was, Santa smiled and we woke up Christmas morning to a blonde and an auburn hamster, to be named Snowball and Taffy (who was eaten by said dog a few months later and replaced with longhaired Wicket). We loved those ridiculous little balls of fluff, and often received hamster accoutrement for birthdays. We had leashes, wheels, fancy water bottles, tubes, the works. But the one thing we were never allowed to give our beloved rodents was the Hamster Ball. I could never be sure why, and when I played with a hamster ball filled with a friend's gerbil, I couldn't see that he was having anything other than the time of his life. Plus, for his owners, it's a chance to let the little bugger run free in an apartment without worrying he might get lost, squashed, eaten, forgotten, scooped up by a dustpan or fly out the window.
Note to owner: What's the dood's name? I forgot. k thx bai.