My family and other animals

Perhaps it's because I always had some sort of pet as a child that I've been more amenable to my own children's request for pets than some of my friends.  The standard line is "no – you are not going to look after it" which is what the sensible parents stick to.   

I on the other hand have time and time again been swayed by the promises and sacrifices my children have offered in return for my agreement to allow them to have the latest trend in pets.  We've had goldfish, rabbits, hamsters, cat, lizards, birds and a tortoise.  I don't think the sea monkeys really count as a pet, but we've had them too.  Unfortunately, a number of our pets have come to regrettable ends.

My daughter's goldfish jumped out (or more likely was slopped out by an extra hard knock against the cupboard it was placed on, caused by my daughter) of the tank and was missing for days before we found its dehydrated body, after searching for days.  It was a pity for it to go this way as it had already survived its tank being used as a place for my daughter (then aged four ) to wash out her paintbrushes, presumably because getting up to get a jar of water was too much effort.  I recall seeing it small sorrowful eyes peering out the murky grey water and putting two and two together.  Strangely enough my daughter actually denied doing it when I confronted her.  I never could understand the lying-about-the-obvious tactic that small children employ.

The hamster was drowned by my daughter (who was about eight by now) whilst giving it a bath.  Apparently the resident hamster expert a.k.a. the boy across the road told her that hamsters like being bathed.  Whether or not this was true, I don't know; however what I do know is that he failed to impress upon her the importance of putting in the water first and ensuring that it was shallow enough for the hamster’s tiddley legs to comfortably stand on the bottom whilst keeping its head above the waterline.

The rabbits, of which there were two, both came to an unfortunate end.  The first got out of its run and despite hours of chasing it round the garden it refused (with what can only be described as suicidal pig-headedness) to go back into the hutch.  As darkness fell I knew it is hours were numbered; without the protection of the hutch a night time predator was sure to get it.  As I closed the backdoor, finally admitting defeat, I said a sad goodbye to Fluffy and sure enough we never saw her again. 

Rabbit number two, was neglected to death by my family whilst I was away on a weekend training workshop.  Despite the fact that I was not in the house, both my husband and my daughter thought that I had fed it.  Obviously I hadn't and I returned to find its cold lifeless body in the hutch.  After that I decided that we would not have any more mammals.

The moratorium on mammals meant that when it was my eldest sons turn to request a pet he opted for a bird.  The first bird we had was a white cockatiel.  It had a beautiful crest and was tame, i.e. it was used to being handled.  When we went to see it at the pet shop it happily chirped whilst perched on my son’s arm.  

My husband took delivery of it on my son's birthday because my son and I had gone to collect his birthday cake.  By the time we got back the bird was cowering in a corner on the far side of the cage, crestless!  Worse still, when we tried to go anywhere near it, it would hiss aggressively and try to peck you.  I never found out what had transpired between the bird and my husband, indeed all he would say was “I had to put it in the cage”. 

Despite giving Max, that's what my son called the bird, lots of love and attention, Max continued to hate us and wouldn’t let any of us handle him.  One day it was sitting the curtain rail when my husband, unaware that Max was out of his cage, opened the French doors.  Max took one look at my husband standing in the doorway and then with the aeronautical manoeuvrings of The Red Arrows, flew past him to freedom.

Max’s replacement was called Prince.  Prince was a Barraband Parrot, which according to the pet shop was a very quiet bird with only a few chirps and whistles.  QUIET, are you kidding!  Prince must have thought he was a rock star too.  He was the noisiest bird in all of eternity.  Worse still, Prince was at his noisiest when competing with either the TV or people having a conversation.   

What with the noise and the fact that my son had got fed up with his bird and now wanted a snake (I draw the line at snakes), I decided to re-home Prince.  A nice man answered the advert In Gumtree and came and collected Prince.  He was supposed to come back the next day to discuss taking Prince’s very large birdcage; however we never saw him again.  The kids were convinced Prince had become the main course in an exotic food restaurant.

If you’re thinking we haven't done that well with our pets so far, you are yet to hear the fate of the Lizard, and the tortoise.  Enter into the stakes, my youngest son, who is into reptiles.  "Can I have a Lizard for my birthday mum?" "A Lizard, are you joking?  No you can't have a Lizard, unless you're talking about the rubber variety".  After months of pestering, pleading and complaining it was unfair because his siblings had had pets, I decided to check it out at the local pet shop.  

My son wanted a Yemen Chameleon; however they aren't really pets, more like tropical fish, you just look at them.  The pet shop advised that if we wanted to keep a Lizard as a pet, we should go for a Bearded Dragon.  Beardo was about 4 inches long when we got him.  He's now about a foot and considerably wider.  I actually like Beardo and more to the point so does my son. 

Admittedly, I have to constantly (i.e., on a daily basis) remind him to clean out Beardo’s cage, feed him and change his water, however he will sit with him on his arm for ages and they watch TV together.  This may not seem like much but this is as exciting as it gets with a Bearded Dragon.  The trick was to get my son some second-hand biker gloves (which I found on eBay). This meant that when Beardo got to be about eight months and had sharp claws, my son was still able to pick him up without getting scratched. Apparently their sharp claws are what turn most young pet owners off them. 

The biggest problem with Beardo was getting him a mate.  Zoe was faster and hungrier than Beardo which meant that she often ate all the food before Beardo could get a look in.  I think this is probably why he bit her.  By the time I realised, her wound had become infected.  A trip to the vet, netted me a bill of £220 and the pleasure of having to give the lizard IV antibiotics for a week.   

Zoe appeared to make a full recovery and about four weeks after she finished her course of treatment and her leg had completely healed, she died unexpectedly.  I was not impressed; if she was going to die anyway I think she could have done it before I forked out all that money.  Indeed she very nearly was toast when the vet said “£220”; however a weeping son with eyes that said “murderer” forced me to pay up.

After two years of half-heartedly taking care of his pet lizard, my son decided he would also like a tortoise.  My husband was adamant "No - definitely not".  However, shortly afterwards, I heard David Attenborough being interviewed; he was saying that he first became interested in animals as a child and always had lots of different pets which his parents supported.  Convinced that I could be stifling the next David Attenborough by not supporting my son’s passion for reptiles, I persuaded my other half that getting our son a tortoise could be an investment.  That is, if our son became rich and famous too, he would be able to take care of us in our old age.

My sons interest in Shelley (what he named the tortoise -he's not the most imaginative when it comes to names) lasted until she poohed on him - about a month. Shelly was adopted by my daughter and everything was going well until the weather warmed up and we decided to put Shelley in the garden.   

Normally we'd leave her outside if it was warm and dry and bring her back in if it got cold and wet.  Shelley hated coming back inside and so got very good at hiding.  Each time we’d bring Shelly back inside; the next time it would take longer to find her.  However, we always managed to find Shelly and I thought that we had identified all her hiding places.  That was until two weeks ago!   

Despite repeated searches, Shelley remains lost in the garden.  In case you are wondering, is not possible to get out of our garden as it is walled on all sides.  Unfortunately time is running out for Shelley as the weather has been pretty cold lately and she may have gone into semi-hibernation; which means she's not eating or drinking anything.

The moral of this tale of wow – pets and children don't mix and only get a pet for your child if you are prepared to look after it yourself. 

In case you're wondering about the cat, the cat has always been my cat and so lives a happy, relatively event-free life.  

Do you have a pet horror story? If anyone has any tips on how to find a tortoise I would really appreciate them. I look forward to reading your suggestions and comments.