Hamster (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

I've always loved animals and they've all...most...many...some have loved me. This is a story about the other ones.

photo by ldyck

Hamster

Was it our second date? Or our third? We were heading for the movie theatre in the mall, but we were early. So we roamed from shop to shop. I spotted a pet shop and made a B-line straight for it. "I love animals." A glass box stood by the door. I looked inside at the chubby, fur-ball hamsters. "Oh, they're so cute."

"Be careful." Byron warrened.

"Don't worry. Animals love me."

"Don't touch them," Byron said firmly.

So I waited until his back was turned to shower love on the adorable creatures.

One of them stood up on his hind legs. Clearly, he was enjoying my attention. I gently stroked him and he... And he bit me. He. Bit. Me. "Ouch." I quickly pulled my hand away. My finger stung so I shook it--like that would help.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," I told Byron. "I'm fine." I lead him away from the shop. My finger began to throb. Blobs of crimson blood trickled down my palm. I didn't have a band-aide or even a tissue so I thrust my hand into the pocket of my white blazer.

Byron stared at me. "What's that?" He looked down at my pocket.

"What?" I'm not sure why I thought acting dumb would help.

"All that red--. Is that blood? Did one of those hamsters bite you?"

"No. No! Okay, yes."

"Well, now I must take you to a walk-in clinic."

"What? Why?"

"Because you could have rabies."

"Ra-bies?" I gulped.

"Yes, rabies. I told you not to touch them. When was the last time you had a tenuous shot?"

A needle. I can't... "I don't know." I feel lightheaded. Is that how you feel when you have rabies?

"And we're going to miss the movie. Why couldn't you just leave them alone?"

My vision was fuzzy and it was a little hard to walk. "I'm fine. I'm fine. We don't have to--."

"Yes, we do. Look at your pocket. You're still bleeding."

Byron silently led me back to his car. 

I eased into the bucket seat, but I didn't feel comfortable. "I won't really have to have a--."

"Yes, you will. And the needle is as long as my arm and as thick as my finger. Maybe next time you'll listen to me."

It didn't take him long to find a walk-in clinic. I followed him into the building. He spoke to the receptionist while I found a seat. I tried not to think about a sword-like needle embedded in my arm.

"Leanne Willetts," The receptionist called. "Doctor McDonald will see you now."

"Leanne. Leanne Willetts."

Finally, I woke from my nightmare to face a cold hard reality. As bravely as I could, I walked into Doctor McDonald's office. 

The white-haired Scottish gentleman greeted me with a wide smile. I think he noticed that I wasn't doing well because his expression quickly changed to one of concern. "Here, lass. Sit here." He offered me a padded chair. "What happened, lass?" His soothing voice helped to calm my nerves--a little.

I bite my lip and help out of my finger. "A hamster bit me and my boyfriend told me I need a tenuous shot."

"A hamster, you say?"

"Yes, he was so cute. I saw him at the pet shop."

"Pet shop, ah? Well, I don't think a needle will be necessary, dear." That sentence quickly transformed him from a simple doctor into my hero. He wrapped my finger and gently ushered me out the door.

Byron and I returned to the mall and didn't miss the movie; in fact, we arrived early. 

"Oh, look, the pet shop."

"What? Haven't you--."

written on Wednesday, January 29, 2025.

Photo by Byron

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On this blog in March...

Sunday, March 30

April Fool(ishness) collection

a collection of silly writing to make you chuckle.

Sharing my author journey...

Sam (short memoir) by Leanne Dyck

Do you remember your first pet? Was it a bunny, a goldfish, a hamster, a cat, or maybe a dog? This is a tribute to my first pet.

Sam and Me

Sam

When I was approximately two years old, my parents gave me an adorable German Shepherd puppy. I named her Samantha—Sam for short—after the lead character in one of my favourite TV shows, Bewitched.

Like Terriers, German Shepherds require a gentle but firm hand. When I was two, all I could offer my puppy was love. That was perfectly fine with Sam. She was born to be an alpha, and we quickly formed a strong bond. We were inseparable until bedtime. Sam had no desire to go inside, which was fine with me—I thought I could fit into her doghouse. My parents worked overtime to convince me this wasn't a feasible plan.

At an early age, Sam took a solemn oath to defend me against all dangers. 

What dangers did I face at two? Well...

It may be hard to believe, but I wasn't always a well-behaved angel. For example, I hated having my hair washed. My mom was willing to try anything to make this task easier. She decided to wash my hair outside. I refused to cooperate and sought a hasty retreat. Mom grabbed me. Sam grabbed Mom. She wrapped her jaw around Mom's wrist. She didn't bare down. No skin was punctured. No bloodshed. Still, the jaw around her wrist was enough for Mom. From then on all hair washing was done inside.

Sam's dedication to my safety continued. She bit the paperboy because he dared hand me the newspaper. She bit--. Well, she bit too many people. It was clear to my parents that something had to be done. 

Dad explained that someone was stealing a farmer's diesel, and said, "I told him about Sam, and he wants her."

But--! But--! Wow, but! "Sam is my dog!"

"Leanne, it's either this or we'll have to put Sam down. She's bit too many people."

Life on a farm or death? What a choice. I chose the farm. Saying goodbye to Sam was like having my heart torn out of my chest. 

When Sam was settled on the farm, the farmer invited us to visit. I was worried. Would Sam remember me? As we reached the farm, I saw a happy dog running free. When she recognized our tan Pontiac, she raced over to greet us. I climbed out of the car, and Sam nearly knocked me over with excitement. We were all so happy to see each other again. She ran back and forth between the farmer and me, unsure of where her heart truly belonged.

"Have you had any more trouble with your diesel?" My dad asked the farmer.

The farmer laughed. "Are you kidding me? They won't dare. Not with Sam on the job." He gave her an affectionate pat.

Too soon, our visit was over, and we climbed into the car—"we" included Sam. She may have believed the farmer was genuinely a nice guy, but deep down, she knew it was time to head home. After some convincing, Sam finally agreed to stay with the farmer, and we decided we wouldn’t revisit her. Our presence was too confusing. 

Sam had a lasting effect on my life. She transformed me into a special kind of person--a dog person. 

written on Wednesday, January 29, 2025.

Photo by Byron

Without a reader,

a writer's words mean

Nothing

Dogs that I was blessed to share my life with...

 Kelly--a mostly golden lab--and me

Trixie--a mostly Beagle

Nugent--a blue heeler, terrier cross

Bim--a malti-poo (Maltese/Minature Poodle cross)

Foster puppies--Shakespeare and Snorri--a mix of small dog breeds

Abby

The animal rescue told us she was a chihuahua mix.

Abby tells us she's a terrier. 

Who's right?

One thing is certain she's a wonderful dog and we love her.

  My dogs didn’t care if I stumbled over my words. They didn’t whisper to other dogs about how strange I was, nor did they laugh at me behind my back. All they offered was love—unconditional love. Through their eyes, I saw myself differently, and my self-esteem received a much-needed boost.

On this blog in March...

Sunday, March 23

Hamster (short memoir)

I've always loved animals and they've all...most...many...some have loved me. This is a story about the other ones.

Sunday, March 30

April Fool(ishness) collection

a collection of silly writing to make you chuckle.

What am I listening to?

Canada Reads 2025

Sharing my author journey...

Well, how did my week go?