Wednesday, March 7, 2012
About three years ago, our daughter Helen convinced us to acquire two exotic pets—the first a chameleon, and the second a hedgehog. The chameleon preceded the hedgehog by about six months.
Helen spent weeks browsing the Internet researching chameleons and reputable chameleon breeders. She identified a breeder in California. We placed the order. Shortly thereafter, a baby Chameleon arrived in a package via FedEx overnight. Helen named her tiny pet Cha Cha. The baby reptile rocked rhythmically back and forth ala cha-cha-cha when we held out mealworms for her to snag with her long, long tongue—hence she became known as Cha Cha. Friends and family found the baby reptile charming and adorable. Helen's determination to find a perfect chameleon pet paid off.
Six months later Helen got onto a new kick. She became enamored of hedgehogs. I knew about hedgehogs only through a vague recollection of a video game character named "Sonic." Helen embarked on a month-long mission to convince my wife, Sara, and me that true happiness would forever be elusive until we welcomed a hedgehog into our home. We did not buy into her logic. Still Helen persisted. One evening, after dinner, she invited us to watch a PowerPoint presentation that she had put together on hedgehogs. The PowerPoint presentation was impressive. It looked polished and professional—better than most that I have seen in corporate conference rooms. The illustrations, charts, graphs, and talking points were informative and seemingly accurate—kudos to Helen. We consented to letting her spend $250 to buy a hedgehog. We kicked in another hundred for all of the necessary life-support accessories.
Helen had again succeeded in identifying a worthy breeder of exotic pets. She picked out her future hedgehog from a photo that the breeder emailed her. Soon, Sara and Helen drove a few towns over to pick up the new pet. Helen named the prickly ball Quentin. Just like Cha Cha, friends and family found Quentin charming and adorable.
Cha Cha and Quentin
Both pets endeared themselves to us. Cha Cha amazed us with her ability to morph her skin into beautiful colors and intricate patterns. Chameleons have separately mobile eyes, super long fast tongues for snapping up crickets and mealworms, and prehensile tails. Fun to observe, they do not like humans touching them. Cha Cha hissed and morphed from green to black to alert us to stay away whenever we crossed her comfort zone.
Unlike Cha Cha, Quentin was often willing to interact with humans. He often seemed to enjoy Helen's company. He let her pick him up. Sometimes he would crawl up into the crook of Helen's arm and nest there for as long as forty-five minutes while she studied or surfed the web. They offered each other companionship.
What I found most amusing about Quentin was his prickly nature. This hedgehog allowed me to break the rules of animal behaviorists by anthropomorphizing his tendencies. He acted the grouch if he was roused from a nap or intruded upon whilst he preferred to be left alone. He signaled his displeasures by making funny noises and closing up into a very tight ball.
Chameleons are reptiles and hedgehogs are mammals. Cha Cha appealed to us more as an object of beauty and intrigue than as a companion. Quentin on the other hand, displayed a range of behaviors, and we often let him roam around the carpeted living room. Our dog, Jazz, found Quentin interesting, although she kept her distance. I suspect she perceived his quills as potential for trouble.
Both exotic pets flourished in our household for about three years. Helen and Sara made sure that the creatures received nutritious foods, water, and whatever sundries these pets required. As a family, we were proud of our fine and healthy animal friends. Then, about three weeks ago, Quentin unexpectedly died. A couple days ago, Cha Cha passed. I found her in her cage, lying peacefully atop the dirt in the potted hibiscus plant inside her cage.
My next blog will address the impact of losing two pets within a short span of time.
