To animal heaven.
January 17, 2012
I’ve buried an animal twice in my whole life.
The first time was when I was in middle school, when I buried my pet hamster Macy after she had mysteriously grown silent inside her porcelain den for one too many days. Macy was a golden white furball of curiosity and squishiness, no bigger than my fist, and at the time, I was thoroughly convinced that she was hands down the cutest hamster on the face of the earth. Now that I am no longer bathed in bias, of course, I realize she was actually quite fat and ugly and had genitals the size of a large grape. But still, she was my first real pet and I had as much love for her as any middle school kid could for another creature at the time.
I was crushed when I realized that Macy had died. Three days had passed since she had shown any signs of activity, and I was becoming bored and impatient. Then, a fourth day of suspicious hibernation. Poke, poke. My finger met a rock hard resistance, not the usual warm, furry flesh that bounced off my fingers. In horror, I watched as my dad gingerly lifted the den away from the layer of fluffy wood shavings to unveil a lifeless animal that had slept to its death. The actual cause of death – unknown. I conjectured all kinds of possibilities in the coming days. Contaminated food or water? Pneumonia? Depression? Heart failure? Diabetes??
My dad decided he would wrap Macy in a paper bag and bury her along the outskirts of our small backyard, since we were on the first level of our condo unit — I helped him dig the hole. I remember my dad holding my hand and telling me that he would pray for her, so that she can go to heaven and be at peace with Jesus. But that night, I didn’t sleep very well.
The next morning, I returned to Macy’s burial site and discovered that Macy’s hole had been dug up by a fox, and the shredded pieces of the paper bag were littered throughout the yard. I remember thinking at the time, very distinctly and with a soberness beyond my years, that the world was a very cruel place to live in.
The second time came a few days ago, when I said goodbye to my rabbit of more than four years. As you can imagine, rabbits are not the world’s most affectionate pets, nor are they terribly smart or entertaining to have around. Some people say it’s like having a giant hamster that costs more, takes up more space, eats more food, and poops more crap everywhere. Indeed, sometimes I could swear that I had the world’s dumbest rabbit who couldn’t even sniff out and find a food pellet just 3 inches from her face, or who would blissfully leap into the air, only to land straight into the wall or my coffee table leg. On more than one occasion, I remember propelling whole assortments of cables, remote controls, even purses and shoes at her that she had chewed up and destroyed during the precious few moments she managed to escape my watchful eye. I mean it’s amazing how destructive those tiny front incisors can be when left to it…amazing. I remember angrily chasing her around the room like a heathen on crack, knowing full well that this little animal could easily outrun me even on my best day. Eventually, reality would catch up to me, if I wasn’t already on my knees trying to catch my breath, and I’d resort to other forms of punishment, such as grounding her in her cage for a week, or revoking food privileges, or simply throwing her the most evil, hateful looks of death that I could muster with my facial muscles. Truly, she was, sometimes, without a doubt, just a big ball of trouble. At one point, I debated renaming her Excedrin, because I could swear my migraines were caused by that sneaky little furball.
But, a death of a pet is not easy. Even though she was just a rabbit, Hazel’s death was much harder to swallow than I had imagined it would be. Maybe because despite all the mischief and trouble she caused, she still possessed a certain sweetness that can only originate from the purity of animals. Maybe because after 4 years of a life ridden with change, she was really the only tangible constant in my life. And maybe because I was just unwilling to face yet another part of my life that I had to let go and yield into the hands of a force that I had no control over.
With the help of a friend, I buried Hazel properly this time, fox-proof.
I think I want to believe in an animal heaven. Because that’s where Hazel and Macy would be right now, cage-free, happy, and properly loved. I’d like to think so, anyway.
Rest in peace, my Hazelnut.
