(no subject)
Guildenstern Rattington, aged 4 mos. R.I.P.
She is survived by her sister, Rosencrantz, who is currently exploring my lap and the area under my keyboard tray.
Oh, Guil. You were always so friendly and so curious, and the only thing that made it worth seeing you suffer was the reasonable certainty that you'd be better soon. But now you're gone. I guess it is possible to be too sweet and too cute for this world.
I'll miss the way she stood on my shoulder or crawled in my shirt. And the way everyone who saw her wanted to hold her, the good rat.
I'm hurt by all this. I should be furious with the vet who charged me $400 and left me with a dead rat, but I just can't seem to find fury in my character. Just sadness and hurt. I can't believe that she sent us this rat home with the instruction to make our own collar. I can't believe she subsequently charged us to replace the stitches. I can't believe she didn't acknowledge that the hole in the rat's side needed to be fixed. I can't believe she told us not to fill the antibiotic prescription, when she said four days later that it was so important we do so. I can't believe that she treated our baby so carelessly.
And I don't believe that she just spontaneously died while being irrigated. She was certainly infected and not in good shape, and she'd certainly lost weight. But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have just up and died unless they gave her too heavy a dose of anaesthetic.
Not that there's a practical way to tell now. I don't really think it's a good idea to have the body autopsied.
At the same time, I know there were things I could've done too. I should've taken her to an emergency clinic over the weekend when the hole kept getting bigger. I should've given her the antibiotic earlier (even though the vet's instructions didn't say I should until last Tuesday). I should've... I don't know what, but I shouldn't've let her die.
Funny how much a little creature can influence you over just a few months. I'll miss that little monster.
She is survived by her sister, Rosencrantz, who is currently exploring my lap and the area under my keyboard tray.
Oh, Guil. You were always so friendly and so curious, and the only thing that made it worth seeing you suffer was the reasonable certainty that you'd be better soon. But now you're gone. I guess it is possible to be too sweet and too cute for this world.
I'll miss the way she stood on my shoulder or crawled in my shirt. And the way everyone who saw her wanted to hold her, the good rat.
I'm hurt by all this. I should be furious with the vet who charged me $400 and left me with a dead rat, but I just can't seem to find fury in my character. Just sadness and hurt. I can't believe that she sent us this rat home with the instruction to make our own collar. I can't believe she subsequently charged us to replace the stitches. I can't believe she didn't acknowledge that the hole in the rat's side needed to be fixed. I can't believe she told us not to fill the antibiotic prescription, when she said four days later that it was so important we do so. I can't believe that she treated our baby so carelessly.
And I don't believe that she just spontaneously died while being irrigated. She was certainly infected and not in good shape, and she'd certainly lost weight. But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have just up and died unless they gave her too heavy a dose of anaesthetic.
Not that there's a practical way to tell now. I don't really think it's a good idea to have the body autopsied.
At the same time, I know there were things I could've done too. I should've taken her to an emergency clinic over the weekend when the hole kept getting bigger. I should've given her the antibiotic earlier (even though the vet's instructions didn't say I should until last Tuesday). I should've... I don't know what, but I shouldn't've let her die.
Funny how much a little creature can influence you over just a few months. I'll miss that little monster.