Of Mice, Men, Hamsters and Little Girls

My daughter lost her first pet today. Well, her first furry pet. Yes, she's lost fish before and yes, she was sad, but it seems that the watery grave they return to has gotten less painful for her as she has gotten older.
Yesterday we returned from Thanksgiving in MN and she went to check on Bonnie, her dwarf hamster. Bonnie had died while we were gone. Harper's little heart was broken. Her brother was sad as well, but Harper was devastated. It's such a blessing to own a pet; they give unconditional love every day. yes, they can leave hair all over and can be messy, but that doesn't seem to be limited to just pets. Bonnie was her little compadre, her OWN pet, the one she was solely responsible for. And so this blog today is dedicated to Bonnie, in the words of Harper. It doesn't matter if you have owned a hamster or a cat or a dog......it will touch you regardless.

Bonnie the Hamster
by Harper

   Bonnie is a beautiful ginger and cream colored hamster with a black stripe running from her head down to her tail. In the winter, she turned gray. She had big, kind, understanding eyes and was very smart. I bet she still is. 
  When I first met her, I put my finger up to the glass, and she put her fuzzy paw up, too. I would beg Mom to take me to see her before I owned her. I got her 5 days before my family, Nieve, and I went to Hayward. I love her, because we are a match made in heaven.
  Over the years she acquired some nicknames. Bon Bon was the first, and I used it almost every day. Bitty Bonnie, Da and The Bonster, and BB were some others. When Bonnie hissed, it wasn't a snake-like sound, like a cat, or a growling sound, like a dog. It was a squeak. A loud, squeaky-toy squeak. I loved it. I only heard twice in my life. Once when Bonnie was being held by her vet for the first time, and once when I scruffed her for to long.
  When she was angry at you, she'd spit her food at you. It was more funny than threatening, but we always left her alone if that happened.
  Bonnie was the hardiest hamster in the world. She survived, in order, a URI (Upper Respiratory Infection), 3 major cat attacks (one in which Zeus the cat knocked her cage off my desk 5 feet to the floor where it shattered in to all it's little attachable pieces with Bonnie landing safely and unharmed in my swimsuit drawer which Zeus had opened the night before and that I hadn't bothered to close), a tumor (which was about the size of my first finger, then it shrunk to a tiny pimple sized bump and then it became slightly larger), a seizure, and at least 180 small cat attacks. Despite all this, she lived a year and a half beyond a Djungarian (DJ for short) hamsters average life span.
  She had her own car, too. It was a red car with flames on the side and back and front lights and a license plate. I customized it myself, turning it into the "Bitty Bonnie Mobile." I even customized the license plate so it said "I'm NOT the small!" Inside the frame was a red hamster wheel she could run in, so I could swap the modes. If If it was lower, her running powered it. If it was high, she could run, but it wouldn't move.
   I joked about her being a "Grumpy Old Lady" almost every day. She nibbled and bit almost everyone but me. In her last year, Zane, my brother, would pick her up , but if I set her on him, he'd squeal like a little girl.
  She starred in the home made movie Super Luna. She was also in the Super Luna comics. I was going to make a second Super Luna, titled "Super Luna 2, Bitty Bonnie's Story", but I never got around to it. I regret that.
  In the finals days of her life, she wasn't falling apart or sleeping all the time. She wasn't withdrawn or depressed. She wasn't sick or weakening. She was her happy, hyper self. More hyper, in fact, then I'd ever seen her. She ran around day and night. She ran so much her wheel shook, rattled, and squeaked. Her eyes were bright and her little was filled with tunnels. On Thanksgiving, in her final hours, she dug, ran, ate, and was happy. She dug so many tunnels that her tiny TV house tipped over. Then, though this drove me insane, she went to sleep in her water bottle passage. I had always forced her out, worried about her getting soaked. Once, she had dyed her tail green by sleeping in her puddle with green food. But anyways, as she slept, her old, tired heart gave away, and she went to a better place in her sleep. I cried at first, but everyone does. I'm happier when I tell myself she's in a better place, but I'm still sad. Bonnie touched my heart in so many ways, and I'll always miss her until we're reunited in heaven. She, to me, was the perfect hamster , and I love her. Whoever said hamsters were tiny obviously didn't count their hearts.

Joe Paterno....a parent's take

So I am having a bit of trouble with all the adulations of Joe Paterno. I feel sorry for Paterno's wife and his children and grandchildren who have all lost someone they loved very much. Yet, I find my stomach is a bit queasy over the outpouring of support for someone who played a part in the sexual abuse of a child. I read an article where Paterno said it wouldn't have mattered if he had been given more information about the abuse, because he couldn't understand the "rape of a man". Really, Joe? I find this hard to believe. You never heard the don't drop the soap jokes in your locker room? Saw the Shawshank Redemption? Read the news? Yet, in the same instance, he went on to say that if someone had touched his child or grandchildren, he would have gathered up a group of people and given the molester a bloody nose. His wife's take is more blunt: "If someone touched my child, there wouldn't be a trial, I would have killed them. That would be my attitude because you destroyed somebody for life. " Yet, Joe passed it on to the powers that be. And then sat back and DID NOTHING FURTHER ABOUT IT. No phone calls. No check ins. Nothing. And that is the part that troubles me that most. This man, who supposedly instilled accountability in his players, did not follow up with his higher ups because he "didn't know which way to go. So rather than get in there in make a mistake...." Let's finish this, shall we? Rather than taint the reputation of his school, he didn't follow up on the abuse of a child. Where are the ethics that Joe constantly hammered home to his players? Joe continues to live his life while this child (and the others molested by Sandusky) are relegated to a life of shame and fear and pain. I feel no sympathy for Joe Paterno. My sympathy lies with the victims....the children who could have been protected had he followed his own code of ethics and spoken up. The outpourings of love and support make me ask....what if it was your brother? Your son? Your child? Would you still be continuing to idolize this man who basically tossed your loved aside? The out of touch grandpa act just doesn't cut it for me. After receiving the phone call that Paterno had been fired, his wife called back the trustee and snapped that Paterno "deserved better." Paterno was not the victim and he did not deserve better simply because he was a winning football coach....a man who got paid to coach a game....a man who's wins brought in millions of dollars for a university. No. The children who were abused deserved better. And they were failed in epic proportions.