Self discovery...

While pondering the complexities of life post Grey's Anatomy viewage, I made an important discovery about myself that I thought I would share with you all. You may or may not be aware of my disdain for domesticated animals. I just thought it was coincidence. A random personality flaw. A chance preference. A meaningless detail.

But I was wrong...

I don't exactly know how the topic came up, but my friend and I started sharing pet stories. As I shared mine, I started to notice a theme. Let me tell them to you and I think you'll see what I mean.

Tragic Story #1
My first pet was a cute little hamster named Chowhound. My best friend Julie and I got hamsters at the same time. She named her hamster Skipper because he went straight for the little hamster wheel. I named my hamster Chowhound (Chowie for short) because he went straight for the food. Chowie grew into a chubby little fellow, but he was the perfect companion until one fateful, scorching-hot, summer afternoon. Our family was engaging in our weekly housecleaning ritual. My dad put Chowhound out on the porch IN THE SUN in his little oven, I mean, plastic cage. Needless to say, when I went to bring Chowie in a few hours later, he wasn't moving. I was too young to put all the clues together and thought he just suffered an untimely death. I found out the real cause of death years later. (As an aside, Skipper escaped from his cage when he was in the garage. I think he's still roaming the field behind our house to this day.)

Tragic Story #2
After that incident, I decided to take a pet hiatus. Since Skipper just disappeared into Hamster Heaven, Julie was not dissuaded from taking another chance on a pet. She got a rabbit named Willy. We loved Willy. We decided that it was cruel to keep Willy solely in his small wire cage, so we built an enclosed fence on the grass so he could roam around and eat grass. The next day, while we were at church, Willy got out of his fence. Julie also had a dog. The dog didn't eat Willy, but he did corner Willy in the yard. Willy was so frightened that he had a heart attack and died.

Tragic Story #3
I was ready for another pet by this point, and so was Julie. This time it was rabbits for both of us. I picked out the cutest one. She was black and white with a black patch over one eye like a pirate. I named her Samantha. Samantha the Pirate. The only problem was that she was the meanest rabbit ever. She bit me. She ran away every time I tried to pet her. She scratched me whenever I tried to hold her. She was banished to a life in her cage until we gave her away. (The part about Samantha the Pirate is a lie. I really named her Samantha after the American Girl. Remember those books/dolls?)

Tragic Story #4
When I was in eighth grade we got the cutest black lab puppy ever. She was the runt of the litter and we named her Sadie. I spent the first few nights sleeping with her out on our deck so she wouldn't be lonely. Sadie hit a few rough patches, like when she chewed up all of our sprinklers, but overall she was a great dog. When we moved into our new house Sadie started getting out of the yard to go on adventures with other neighborhood dogs. One day she was missing when we came home. Later, I was driving to the store with my mom when we saw her lying on the side of the road. I was sad, but I knew my brother Luke, who was nine years old at the time, would be even more sad. He didn't want to go see her lying on the side of the road, but he didn't want to miss the opportunity to say goodbye, either. His classic comment, which we still quote to this day: "I guess this is just a lose-lose situation!"

So, as you can see, I haven't had the best of luck with pets. These are just a few of the highlights, too. I didn't tell you about our cat that had a nasty tumor and got her tail slammed in the door, my kitten who ran away after I tried to give it a bath, or Julie's bunny who got sick and died after two days.

No wonder I don't like pets!