H is for...

H is for HAMMIES!! Gotta love the little rodents. It all started my senior year when the biology class did their reproduction unit. Each year, they breed something different: duck eggs, chicken eggs, ostrich eggs, etc. Well, my year, they let the class hamsters loose together, and poof! baby hammies (no, I was not in Biology, I took Chemistry; thus "poof! babies"). One of my friends took a pair home for her little sister, and they were just the cutest balls of fluff, that I started begging Mom to let me have one. She kept saying no. A few weeks later, I was telling the Bio teacher my sad tale and she said that there was only one baby left if I truly wanted one. It was a sign. We russled up a box (latex gloves, I think, it was a lab after all) and I took her home without telling Mom. [kids, don't do that at home] She was so small and cute, I kept saying she was a little munchkin, and the name stuck. Mom wasn't amused, but what could she do? Munchkin was already home.

Our favorite game was to jump down people's backs or sit on their heads. It's really funny to watch someone with a hammie down their back, trying not to spaz out as tiny hammie claws scritch on their skin. Sometimes we would ride in a pocket and fall asleep there. Sometimes we would pee there, too. But she was just a little hammie, she couldn't help it. (John says hammies missed that gene where animals never pee where they sleep, because hammies always pee where they sleep!) Aside from a few humorous escapes and the accident that damaged some of her toes (ask Mom about having to soak a hamster's foot in epson salt water), Munch lived a ripe long life with us.

When she passed, the Bio class was breeding eggs, so I went to the pet store and got a panda. Her official name was Rogue, but because she was a biter, we often called her Vlad the Impaler. I called her Madame when talking to her, trying to be polite so she wouldn't bite. She wasn't as friendly as Munch, but she was a cutie all the same. I don't blame her for her biting; I chalk it up to pet-store-syndrome: kids tapping on glass, me getting her at an older age, not being handled much when she was young. She was still a good hammie.

Then, in college, I was searching Petfinder.com one day out of boredom. But I knew myself enough that I knew I would not be able to withstand the sad stories of the puppies and kittens, so I was looking in their "small and furry" category. It just so happened that there was a friendly hammie from the SPCA near where John lives. I made arrangements to meet the foster mom, but when I got there I was asked, do you want a baby too? Ginger Momma had come to the SPCA pregnant! So I took home Ginger and Baby... and had apparently used up all my creative juices in naming other things because they have stayed mostly "Momma" and "Little One." I did learn something new with them, though: hammies don't live together well. John said I had an illegal underground hammie fighting ring, because they would fight all night long! So I got a new cage and separated them, and Little Girl said thank you! She has probably doubled her weight since then, now that she doesn't have to fight for food. Bad me.

And now for some random hammie cuteness...

Like most animals, you can scruff hammies, too. But I feel so bad doing it!

We call this look, above, the Cobra Ham. When they stuff their cheeks totally full, they look like little cobra hoods all flared out. Very amusing.

Ginger Momma was intent on helping Victoria with her homework... or showing her the differences between a mouse and a hammie.

Munchkin was the sweetest hammie ever! She realized St Nick needed a bit of help at the holidays, so she offered to deliver gifts with her own tiny reindeer.

Munch was also very smart. She could do the crossword in pen (with some white-out nearby in case she really messed up).