My gerbil, Ben, passed away last night. I didn’t hear him running around in the evening so I left a treat out in the open, but this morning it was still there, uneaten. I already had a feeling something was wrong, and by this point I knew. I pushed his log bridge to the side gently, removed his food bowl from the roof of his house, took away the sand bath, lifted the lid to his house, slowly peeled away at the enclosure he’d made for himself, and there was little Ben. Curled up in a ball, cold to the touch. I did not enjoy finding his body there, but I am glad I found him in his nest. I’d like to think he walked in there, settled himself nicely, curled up to be warm and snug, and just shut his eyes for one final time. I hope he passed peacefully in his sleep.
It fucking sucks. The loss of an animal half the size of my hand. An animal who probably didn’t like me very much. It sucks so much. I miss him already.
At the start of COVID-19, I was living with my then girlfriend. We would walk into Pets at Home to look at some of the small animals; it was the equivalent of a day out back then. On the left of the small animal section was a separate area for adoption/rescue pets. They were all animals who had been brought back for some reason. Ben was parted from his clan, and from his brother, Jerry, and left there alone. Gerbils are not meant to be alone, but the staff policy was to accept any animal return. We felt drawn to him, tiny white furred Ben in a far too tiny cage. They weren’t allowing the purchase of pets during the pandemic, so we would have to appreciate him through the glass.
Eventually, things calmed down and they allowed the purchase of pets again, but for her and I to get a gerbil was just a silly thought. We left it about a week, and decided to see if he was still there. Lo and behold, he was the only animal that hadn’t been taken. Literally, every single cage and box was empty apart from his. We looked at each other and decided immediately that he would be ours. We bought a giant XL cage (totally unnecessary) and all the things a gerbil could possibly want or need. I didn’t have a car at that point, so I carried him home in a cardboard box, wrapped in several boxes so that he couldn’t chew through them, and I had to take the long way to avoid the loud roads. We set him up in his new home, and that was that; I had a gerbil.
We gave him space so that he could adjust to his new environment. He would scurry away when we came in to check on him, but each time he got braver and braver. After a few weeks we began to let him out in the room, making a large enclosure for him. He escaped once and I had a great time trying to corral him back. I loved him deeply, and he brought us both a lot of joy.
Life moves on though, and when she and I split, it was just me and Ben. He was in my office, and I’d watch him from my desk. I had a strong metal wire cage that I’d use so that he could run around a larger area, leaving trails of pee and poop all over my floor. He’d often try to climb over the edge, so I’d nudge him back down with my finger. Sometimes I could carry him gently from floor to cage, other times he would run into a tube which I’d block off and carry. I had to do this same routine to clean his cage too, putting him in a smaller travel case for a while. Then I decided to upgrade his cage to the XXL version, and ordered some great things for him like his hemp bedding and fancy natural matting for the floor.
The biggest change came when I decided that the XXL wasn’t big enough for my tiny little single gerbil, so I ordered a giant and way too expensive IKEA display unit, turned it on its side, and crafted a palace. I made a custom roof for it, and I ordered all the bits and pieces from Germany (small animal laws are stricter there, and they take good care of their small pets). Pure wooden everything, including his amazing running wheel and house with different compartments and a slate roof. He had loads of bedding, loads to climb on and burrow in. It was unnecessary, it was expensive, it was overkill, but it was for my Ben. I changed his bedding every so often, cleaning out the mass amounts of poop (like seriously, it’s insane how much poop there was) and I’d leave him in his travel cage on my bed – his travel cage had its own little house and setup too.
Funny story – before I made the custom roof, it was covered with these small panels with gaps in between, and one morning I came in to see pee and poop all over the top of the panels; Ben had climbed out! I panicked, and opened them up and found him in his house. He had escaped in the night, run around like mad over these panels, worked out there was nowhere for him to go, and climbed back inside.
Oh, I almost forgot, I also got a giant ex-racing greyhound too. Early on when Smithy first learned to climb upstairs, he approached Ben’s enclosure and Ben ran out to face him head on. There’s a great photo of the two of them, Smithy looking confused and Ben in a fierce fighting stance. They were good together though; Smithy never made a fuss when Ben ran around his IKEA housing unit and Ben didn’t seem to mind the giant terrifying dog that wandered around.
Here’s the thing though; gerbils don’t live long, especially when on their own. I was worried about our insane baking hot summer heatwaves, and I was terrified of the freezing cold winters. One time, a half a year ago, he was sitting out in the open barely breathing and I thought it was the end for him. Until the next day when the bastard was up and running like normal. I told him off for giving me a fright. That reminds me of the time I went to change his food and he bit my hand, so I lifted it up and he was still holding on! He let go when I poked him gently, but he had drawn blood! The fucker literally drew blood from me.
When he wasn’t being vicious, he would climb on my hand and pee on me to mark me. He would nibble on my fingers, and sometimes I’d put my nose near the cage and he’d boop me with his nose. We may even have kissed a few times…
And now my Ben is gone. I held his frozen body for a few moments this morning. It was the only time I’ve been able to hold him for more than 10 seconds. He seemed to be at peace, and I am trying to find some solace in that. I regret things, I wish I’d paid him more attention, all the usual stuff we go through after a loss. It’s not important. I loved him, he was strong and healthy till the end. I set out to rescue an animal and I achieved my goal. Does it make the loss any easier to go through? Not at all. I miss him so much already, and the thought of him no longer making a noise running around like mad while I’m trying to work makes my chest hurt. I look over at Smithy and he’s staring back at me, half asleep, and he reminds me that it’s okay. I’m glad he’s with me.
*
It’s now the end of the day. Earlier this morning I wrapped Ben up in muslin cloth and took him to the same vet that we took my guinea pig to around 16 years ago.
It was a difficult journey, but I’m glad I was able to send him off with dignity. He will be cremated, and I will keep him in my bedside table with my childhood guinea pig Henry. It may seem silly to some, but I truly loved Ben. He was not merely a pet, and I never sought to even have a pet when we got him. I wanted to save an animal, and take him as far as he could go. I have done that, he had a good life, I enjoyed every single moment with him, and now it comes to an end. The memories persist, the photos and videos, the stories, and of course, the love I feel for him. Though he has moved on, I will still stare at his corner of the room, once dominated by his giant IKEA unit, and remember how he annoyed me while I worked, scratching away at the wood making an awful racket. I wish I could hear that horrendous noise one more time.