5-4-3-2-1... no blind mice
About a week ago I went to visit Gabriella in Carrollton for the day. I carpooled with her boyfriend Taylor, and during lunch we met up with Michael for quizno's. They have a pepper bar. Afterward, we headed to the pet store to look around. The giant triceratops statue was strange; the giant millipede, disgusting. A barking puppy. Fighting crabs. Walls of fish tanks. A sand-filled tank with a pink baby mouse? We asked why the baby, barely recognizable as a mouse, was wandering in the little desert. The lady said it was for the snake under the sand, and then she pulled out a whole box of them. There must have been fifty pink, blind babies crawling over each other. Gabriella bought the 5 biggest ones and all the supplies needed to keep them alive. I thought she was crazy, but I loved the little babies. Back at the dorm we fed them kitten formula with a dropper bigger than their mouths. Her dorm mates gave three of them names I can't remember. Taylor pronounced his favorite white one 'Nicodemus' and said to him, "Drink the milk of your predator! It will make you into a warrior!"
Gabriella kept them for a couple of nights until she returned to Newnan for the weekend. I was so happy to see them and asked to feed them all the time. Apparently the feeding-fun had worn off for everyone else, but I never tired of watching their little tongues lap the milk out of the dropper. I celebrated their growth as they passed The Great Milestones: growing hair, learning to wash their faces with tiny paws, and sitting up on hind legs without falling. They made me feel as fuzzy on the inside as they did on the outside. They needed me to feed them every 2 hours. I was feeding them and cleaning up, only to start the process over an hour later. I lost sleep but didn't care; I was determined to keep them alive.
But sadly, you can't make anything live. They died the day after I had a little birthday party for their one week of life. I made some milk and one little grave, a little less milk next time and one more grave. I threatened my cat with the shovel if she dared to touch one of those mounds. I threw away their box, turned off their heating pad, and washed their little towel. Thus ended my role as a mother.
Gabriella kept them for a couple of nights until she returned to Newnan for the weekend. I was so happy to see them and asked to feed them all the time. Apparently the feeding-fun had worn off for everyone else, but I never tired of watching their little tongues lap the milk out of the dropper. I celebrated their growth as they passed The Great Milestones: growing hair, learning to wash their faces with tiny paws, and sitting up on hind legs without falling. They made me feel as fuzzy on the inside as they did on the outside. They needed me to feed them every 2 hours. I was feeding them and cleaning up, only to start the process over an hour later. I lost sleep but didn't care; I was determined to keep them alive.
But sadly, you can't make anything live. They died the day after I had a little birthday party for their one week of life. I made some milk and one little grave, a little less milk next time and one more grave. I threatened my cat with the shovel if she dared to touch one of those mounds. I threw away their box, turned off their heating pad, and washed their little towel. Thus ended my role as a mother.