My daughter had a hamster called Lola. In its short life it suffered around four strokes before eventually it died. That is too much information for a young child to have. Now instead of it just quietly scuttling off to the big hamster wheel in the sky, we are crowded around its hospital bed, holding a candle lit vigil for days on end, as we struggle to get all its affairs in order. The tiny pet lying there in a backless white hospital gown, occasionally spluttering out a little cough and a groan. Now that we have seemingly limitless options to record every single moment of our waking life, the grieving process for our children’s pets have changed. Growing up we had some minnows or something which quickly and inevitably swam up to the big fishbowl in the sky. One goldfish suffered what I can only imagine is the equivalent of a fish drowning when my brother decided it would be a good idea to let it out of the tank for a bit for some fresh air. Off it went, to the big fish bowl in the sky. That corner of heaven seemed to be only accessible via the toilet cistern, and to be honest, like most things that leave us that way, it was no doubt almost immediately forgotten about. For all I know its spirit could still be down there, trying to Andy Dufrane its way through the sewage system. Why is the pet heaven always described as big? The big farm in the sky. The big halogen lamp in the sky. That’s lizard heaven. I think its because of an inherent guilt we feel about keeping them cooped up all their life. Obviously discounting my brothers free range goldfish. His fish that lived the miniature marine equivalent of the life of James Dean. Live wet, die dry. But my point is, when our pets died we had no reminders apart from maybe like a twig in the ground as a headstone that would last just until a slight breeze ravaged the garden and now our children have endless reels of videos and photos of a six month old OAP rodent on their phones. And don’t get me wrong, im not necessarily talking about pets like the tortoise that’s been in the family for generations and shared a pipe down the mine with your great grandad, I mean the disposable pets. Your hamsters, your gerbils, your guinea pigs even your stick insects, I imagine. I mean, how long can you possibly go on for when your whole thing is impersonating a stick like some kind of entomological am-dram.
It seems to me that the number one reason parents give for getting perishable pets for their children is not just to teach them responsibility but to teach them about death, nice and early, a couple of hamsters deaths to soften the blow when its time for grandma. But what I’ve learnt in my life is that the effect of death is much more potent when you are old enough to frame it within the realms of your own mortality. If my parents were to die tomorrow, touch wood, a few guinea pig deaths from the mid 90s isn’t really going to soften the blow very much, and between you and me, I think they would be slightly put out if it did. Their eulogy is being delivered and you are relating the feeling back to being nine and burying nibbles the Russian dwarf rabbit in the garden.
Maybe I’m just cold. Maybe my childhood friends were quietly grieving for years with just the memories of their beloved Guinea Pig, wailing ‘this is where we first met’ every year on its birthday down aisle three of Pets at Home.
Now that we live in an age where we are no longer allowed to forget anything we should rethink the pets we choose for our children. Something long lasting but time consuming to look after. Like a baby elephant. And I don’t just mean adopting an elephant that you only hear from once every Christmas when you receive a letter supposedly written with its trunk. I mean a full on ive-left-home-to-join-the -circus elephant in the backyard, jumping through hoops at family barbecues and performing manual labour in the summer as a very effective sprinkler system.
Actually, I think maybe just ban perishable pets altogether and release the ones we have back out on to the streets and just deal with the sudden and devastating influx of wild snakes in our recycling bins. Then the kids will really get to experience death early, just like you always wanted. To be completely honest I wouldn’t be against paving over the natural world. It sounds insane to hear for the first time and I don’t envy you having to listen to this right now, but just think for a second how many of the worlds problems would be solved if everything was on a sweepable surface. Plus the raw materials needed alone would force us into relying solely on renewable energy and would go some way in invalidating the need for oil wars though someone will no doubt find a way to fight over the power of the sun.
In conclusion, I guess what I came here to say is ban all perishable pets and encase the word in concrete.
