Jill the gerbil became my pet after the loss of my dear dog Maggie.
It didn't happen in a nice way. My schoolmate Ron Missmer was her owner, and I think it was family allergies (or a fed-up parent), but he had to get rid of her. He let this be known in class, and I begged my parents for her. Probably they didn't want a gerbil, but I was a dog-less only child and they felt badly, so that's how we got Jill.
I remember when Ron's family came to drop her off. He got out of the car holding her wire cage with the green bottom tray, which had a sleeping shelf, an exercise wheel, and a small water bottle attached to the side. We were given her food too. I thanked him, and he turned to go, with big tears in his eyes, and swallowing hard. It still hurts to remember how hard this was for him. He was choking and his voice cracked as he said "She loves sunflower seeds" before he ducked back into the car.
Jill was a nice pet and a very welcome diversion, especially after the loss of my dog Maggie. I'd never had any kind of pet other than Maggie, so Jill was exciting and interesting to watch. She wasn't idle too much during the day, always burrowing, digging, chewing, or running - wuhn-chee, wuhn-chee - on her squeaky little wheel. Knowing now that gerbils are very social animals, I should have gotten her a friend, but didn't know that back then.
I didn't handle her very much at first. I felt skittish, afraid she might bite me, and frankly, her tiny toenails in my palm tickled. For a long time, I was content to just watch her, talk to her, and gaze into her large deep brown eyes.
Over time, we got more comfortable. I began feeding her by hand, and she seemed more curious about me too. Soon we were fully trusting. I offered her different foods you probably shouldn't give to a gerbil (like potato chips) and took her for short spins on my record player (on the slowest speed, 16 rpm). Eventually I was using up toilet paper and paper towels like there was no tomorrow just so I could give her the thrill of another cardboard roll to run through, and later chew busily to bits. The ritual of refreshing her wood chip filled cage, and freshening her water and food was easy to do. I wasn't allowed to let her run loose in the house, but she crawled all over me, up my arms, on my shoulders, in my hair, and it was fun.
When we got another dog, Tillie, Jill had to leave the upstairs den and was relegated to the basement. It was a shame, but Tillie went bonkers with a critter so close by, especially when Jill would run in her wheel. Tillie was an Australian terrier, and terriers are bred to hunt burrowing animals, so it wasn't a good match.
There's no telling what led to Jill's end, and there were no obvious signs it was coming. I went for a visit with her downstairs one day and found her laying belly up. While I can't recall what we did when she died, probably she got a shoebox burial in our backyard. She was a nice critter, and she came to me at a time in my life when I needed companionship at home after the terrible loss of my first dog, so I am glad Jill and I crossed paths.
It didn't happen in a nice way. My schoolmate Ron Missmer was her owner, and I think it was family allergies (or a fed-up parent), but he had to get rid of her. He let this be known in class, and I begged my parents for her. Probably they didn't want a gerbil, but I was a dog-less only child and they felt badly, so that's how we got Jill.
I remember when Ron's family came to drop her off. He got out of the car holding her wire cage with the green bottom tray, which had a sleeping shelf, an exercise wheel, and a small water bottle attached to the side. We were given her food too. I thanked him, and he turned to go, with big tears in his eyes, and swallowing hard. It still hurts to remember how hard this was for him. He was choking and his voice cracked as he said "She loves sunflower seeds" before he ducked back into the car.
Jill was a nice pet and a very welcome diversion, especially after the loss of my dog Maggie. I'd never had any kind of pet other than Maggie, so Jill was exciting and interesting to watch. She wasn't idle too much during the day, always burrowing, digging, chewing, or running - wuhn-chee, wuhn-chee - on her squeaky little wheel. Knowing now that gerbils are very social animals, I should have gotten her a friend, but didn't know that back then.
I didn't handle her very much at first. I felt skittish, afraid she might bite me, and frankly, her tiny toenails in my palm tickled. For a long time, I was content to just watch her, talk to her, and gaze into her large deep brown eyes.
Over time, we got more comfortable. I began feeding her by hand, and she seemed more curious about me too. Soon we were fully trusting. I offered her different foods you probably shouldn't give to a gerbil (like potato chips) and took her for short spins on my record player (on the slowest speed, 16 rpm). Eventually I was using up toilet paper and paper towels like there was no tomorrow just so I could give her the thrill of another cardboard roll to run through, and later chew busily to bits. The ritual of refreshing her wood chip filled cage, and freshening her water and food was easy to do. I wasn't allowed to let her run loose in the house, but she crawled all over me, up my arms, on my shoulders, in my hair, and it was fun.
When we got another dog, Tillie, Jill had to leave the upstairs den and was relegated to the basement. It was a shame, but Tillie went bonkers with a critter so close by, especially when Jill would run in her wheel. Tillie was an Australian terrier, and terriers are bred to hunt burrowing animals, so it wasn't a good match.
There's no telling what led to Jill's end, and there were no obvious signs it was coming. I went for a visit with her downstairs one day and found her laying belly up. While I can't recall what we did when she died, probably she got a shoebox burial in our backyard. She was a nice critter, and she came to me at a time in my life when I needed companionship at home after the terrible loss of my first dog, so I am glad Jill and I crossed paths.
Jill the gerbil became my pet after the loss of my dear dog Maggie.
It didn't happen in a nice way. My schoolmate Ron Missmer was her owner, and I think it was family allergies (or a fed-up parent), but he had to get rid of her. He let this be known in class, and I begged my parents for her. Probably they didn't want a gerbil, but I was a dog-less only child and they felt badly, so that's how we got Jill.
I remember when Ron's family came to drop her off. He got out of the car holding her wire cage with the green bottom tray, which had a sleeping shelf, an exercise wheel, and a small water bottle attached to the side. We were given her food too. I thanked him, and he turned to go, with big tears in his eyes, and swallowing hard. It still hurts to remember how hard this was for him. He was choking and his voice cracked as he said "She loves sunflower seeds" before he ducked back into the car.
Jill was a nice pet and a very welcome diversion, especially after the loss of my dog Maggie. I'd never had any kind of pet other than Maggie, so Jill was exciting and interesting to watch. She wasn't idle too much during the day, always burrowing, digging, chewing, or running - wuhn-chee, wuhn-chee - on her squeaky little wheel. Knowing now that gerbils are very social animals, I should have gotten her a friend, but didn't know that back then.
I didn't handle her very much at first. I felt skittish, afraid she might bite me, and frankly, her tiny toenails in my palm tickled. For a long time, I was content to just watch her, talk to her, and gaze into her large deep brown eyes.
Over time, we got more comfortable. I began feeding her by hand, and she seemed more curious about me too. Soon we were fully trusting. I offered her different foods you probably shouldn't give to a gerbil (like potato chips) and took her for short spins on my record player (on the slowest speed, 16 rpm). Eventually I was using up toilet paper and paper towels like there was no tomorrow just so I could give her the thrill of another cardboard roll to run through, and later chew busily to bits. The ritual of refreshing her wood chip filled cage, and freshening her water and food was easy to do. I wasn't allowed to let her run loose in the house, but she crawled all over me, up my arms, on my shoulders, in my hair, and it was fun.
When we got another dog, Tillie, Jill had to leave the upstairs den and was relegated to the basement. It was a shame, but Tillie went bonkers with a critter so close by, especially when Jill would run in her wheel. Tillie was an Australian terrier, and terriers are bred to hunt burrowing animals, so it wasn't a good match.
There's no telling what led to Jill's end, and there were no obvious signs it was coming. I went for a visit with her downstairs one day and found her laying belly up. While I can't recall what we did when she died, probably she got a shoebox burial in our backyard. She was a nice critter, and she came to me at a time in my life when I needed companionship at home after the terrible loss of my first dog, so I am glad Jill and I crossed paths.
It didn't happen in a nice way. My schoolmate Ron Missmer was her owner, and I think it was family allergies (or a fed-up parent), but he had to get rid of her. He let this be known in class, and I begged my parents for her. Probably they didn't want a gerbil, but I was a dog-less only child and they felt badly, so that's how we got Jill.
I remember when Ron's family came to drop her off. He got out of the car holding her wire cage with the green bottom tray, which had a sleeping shelf, an exercise wheel, and a small water bottle attached to the side. We were given her food too. I thanked him, and he turned to go, with big tears in his eyes, and swallowing hard. It still hurts to remember how hard this was for him. He was choking and his voice cracked as he said "She loves sunflower seeds" before he ducked back into the car.
Jill was a nice pet and a very welcome diversion, especially after the loss of my dog Maggie. I'd never had any kind of pet other than Maggie, so Jill was exciting and interesting to watch. She wasn't idle too much during the day, always burrowing, digging, chewing, or running - wuhn-chee, wuhn-chee - on her squeaky little wheel. Knowing now that gerbils are very social animals, I should have gotten her a friend, but didn't know that back then.
I didn't handle her very much at first. I felt skittish, afraid she might bite me, and frankly, her tiny toenails in my palm tickled. For a long time, I was content to just watch her, talk to her, and gaze into her large deep brown eyes.
Over time, we got more comfortable. I began feeding her by hand, and she seemed more curious about me too. Soon we were fully trusting. I offered her different foods you probably shouldn't give to a gerbil (like potato chips) and took her for short spins on my record player (on the slowest speed, 16 rpm). Eventually I was using up toilet paper and paper towels like there was no tomorrow just so I could give her the thrill of another cardboard roll to run through, and later chew busily to bits. The ritual of refreshing her wood chip filled cage, and freshening her water and food was easy to do. I wasn't allowed to let her run loose in the house, but she crawled all over me, up my arms, on my shoulders, in my hair, and it was fun.
When we got another dog, Tillie, Jill had to leave the upstairs den and was relegated to the basement. It was a shame, but Tillie went bonkers with a critter so close by, especially when Jill would run in her wheel. Tillie was an Australian terrier, and terriers are bred to hunt burrowing animals, so it wasn't a good match.
There's no telling what led to Jill's end, and there were no obvious signs it was coming. I went for a visit with her downstairs one day and found her laying belly up. While I can't recall what we did when she died, probably she got a shoebox burial in our backyard. She was a nice critter, and she came to me at a time in my life when I needed companionship at home after the terrible loss of my first dog, so I am glad Jill and I crossed paths.
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