The One Who Caused Me Trouble - by Amber
“Can we please buy two hamsters?” I asked my mom for about the hundredth time. I looked at my mom hopefully.
“No.” Her answer was short and clear.
“Please? Please, please, please, please, please, please, please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Please?” We kept having the same conversation over and over, but I was not giving up.
“No.” She answered with a laugh. Then I proceeded to begin my pleading process again, and maybe this time she got so tired of hearing the pleases, she threw her hands up and surrendered, “Fine! You can have two hamsters, just leave me alone!” I whooped in triumph and jumped around excitedly, but had to stop because I almost fell off the stairs. I thought she got headaches every time she saw the word “please” after that day.
The next day, I dragged my family to the pet store just in case my mom changed her mind. I ran straight to the hamster section; there I stared into the hamster cages, and their tiny beady eyes stared back. I looked at rows after rows of hamster cages and felt a little dizzy, so I decided to just stay in one section and choose from there. I peered into all the cages like a dog looking for a toy, but still didn’t find what I was looking for. Then finally, one fat sleeping hamster and a running fluff ball came into view (later I realized that the running fluff ball was a hamster too). I just knew that these were the two that had been born to wait for my return! I sighed dreamily and hugged the cage, “I have found you! My friend! ” Then I danced around the aisles in little circles, to anyone who saw me that time, they might think there’s something wrong with my head.
I dragged my mom and the clerk to where the hamsters were, and I pointed out the fat one and Fluff Ball. The clerk got out a long rectangular white box with little holes in it and put the fat one and Fluff Ball in it. On the ride back home, I kept peeking in the little holes to see if they disappeared in the short time since we had purchased them.
When we got home, I prepared their tiny little wire house on a tiny little table in a tiny little area that was surrounded by tiny little fences, and tried to make them as comfortable as possible with wood shavings. I then proceeded to put them in the wire house. Because my old hamster bit me before and it hurt, I was afraid of picking them up, so I pinched the skin on its neck and lifted it up.
“DON’T DO THAT!” My dad yelled so loud I almost dropped the hamster.
“You’re supposed to hold them like this.” He gently put the hamster on his palm and let them crawl on his hands. Seriously, for a person who used to kill hamsters all the time in college (for experiments, of course), he sure loves them. “If you don’t scare them, they won’t bite you.” My dad said, shifting into professor mode.
Sensing a lecture coming towards me, I quickly said, “OK! I get it now, no scaring, no biting! Thank you for telling me, you can go now.”
My dad looked at me with distrust, like he can’t possibly imagine me inserting information into my head so fast, “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” I nodded firmly, mentally urging my dad away. Maybe he got the go-away-I-don’t-need-help vibes, because he went away mumbling about how kids think they know it all. But without my dad’s help, I had no idea how to handle a hamster without them biting me, so I tried to imitate my dad. Stern but smiling; reaching in to the box with a confident hand. I must have looked very creepy, because I could feel the straining muscles on my face, and it did not feel like a pretty expression. Before I actually scooped them up, I mentally prepared myself for about 30 minutes? I sat back and stared into the box, and the hamster’s used-to-be-cute face looked evil and scary now. Finally, I gathered up all my courage, which isn’t a lot, and slowly lowered my hand. When I scooped the fur-ball-like hamster up, he walked a few steps on my palm and poked his head over the edge of my hand, it looked like a fur ball walking on your hands, very fascinating. After a while he got used to me and started to walk around, and I meant around, so if I didn’t keep my hands moving, he would fall. After I put the fat one in his cage, I got Fluff Ball and the same process happened again, and eventually I got over my fear of hamster-carrying.
One month later, Fluff Ball, the female, got pregnant. When my dad realized this, he cleared his throat loudly and announced, “She is pregnant!” And me? I screamed and jumped around like a crazy woman. One week later, after some impatient whining (mostly by me) the six babies opened their eyes to a brand new world (a.k.a. my face). In the next year, Fluff Ball gave birth to 18 more babies, and changing their cage became a very difficult task.
Hamsters love to sleep, have a lot of babies, run around a lot, and take great delight in knowing how much trouble they gave me. But also, they value each other and get along just fine; but they get a bit too protective of what we humans called food. After caring for the hamsters all by myself, I’ve found out that no matter what your fear is, sooner or later you will get over it. It’s just a matter of whether you’re trying to face it or just avoid it, and the only obstacle standing between you and getting over the fear is yourself.
Score: 53/55
