Death trap

Of all pet animals, hamsters die the worst possible deaths. I actually heard someone claim this recently. While I do not necessarily agree with the assertion, I am almost positive that most pet-owners have a hamster mortality story of their own. Here is mine:

Like most hamsters, Taco enjoyed rolling around in a plastic ball. True, it was his only leisure activity, but I think, given that he was a hamster, he was more than satisfied. The way he would rocket around our house with that contented look on his face suggested that in another life he may have been a racecar driver. In this life, though, he had a more modest occupation: king of the kitchen floor.

One night my parents had some friends over and I decided that if the rest of the family was having fun, Taco should be too. I put him in his ball and set him free in the kitchen. With acceleration that would make most remote control cars envious, he sped off out of sight.

Needless to say, watching a hamster in a plastic ball isn't all that exciting, so I went back to doing kid stuff. A few hours later, after my parents' guests had departed (they had been drinking wine in the living room), I realized that Taco was missing. I searched throughout the house but could find no clues as to his whereabouts. Confused and growing concerned, I informed my parents of the situation. Though neither had paid the rolling plastic ball much attention, both recalled seeing him at some stage earlier in the evening.

"Relax, Andrew. I'm sure he is around here somewhere."

I wasn't so sure. It wasn't like Taco to be elusive. After all, there are very few places to hide effectively when you are encased in a 10-inch diameter ball of plastic.

Now it is important for me to tell you that half of our living room is about 5 inches lower than the other half. If Taco were to roll into this part of the room, gravity and his size would render him stuck and confined to that area. Since my parents had been occupying this room with their guests, I hadn't checked it yet.

So, flanked by both my parents, I walked hurriedly to the living room, certain that I would find him stuck in a corner of the room or something. Perhaps his little legs had grown tired, and he had retired for a nap. Or maybe he finally realized the futility of bouncing into furniture in a plastic ball, and was patiently awaiting return to his plush plastic housing unit.

If only that were true. As we scoured the living room, looking under couches and chairs, I noticed with alarm that the sliding glass door to my backyard was wide open.

Oh no, I thought, outside. The one place hamsters should never be. Due to their bite-size statute and lack of any and all survival instincts, a hamster in the wild is, before long, an eaten hamster. That meant I had no time to spare. Birds of prey, our cats, and other predators would only give me so much time before Taco became dinner. Growing more anxious by the minute, I wondered how long it had been since he escaped the house and, more importantly, how far he could have traveled in that time.

Not that far, it turns out. Taco had rolled directly out of the house and into the pool.

I still wonder to this day how long it took the ball to fill up with water and what his little hamster brain was thinking, if anything, as he slowly sank to the bottom of the deep-end of the pool. Maybe, having finally escaped the plastic tubes, wood shavings, endless ball-rolling and general monotony which constituted the entirety of his existence as our beloved pet, he finally felt liberated in his own hamster way.