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A Grand Day Out Saturday 21st October 2000 Dak the Hamster reports on a day trip to somewhere  It was going to be a special trip, Lee said. A chance to experience the sights and sounds of a totally different area and a uniquely strange building. If I'd've known that by such a description he'd meant he was taking me to the vets, I wouldn't have groomed myself with such abandon that morning as I did. I love car journeys and the unpredictable swerve and gyrations that roundabouts give to the hamster who's stuck in some soft bedding and, in my own way, I guess I must have experienced the delights of some of the greatest rides of human Adventure Parks available. But, when we arrived, my heart naturally sank when, outside the door, the words 'Springfield Veterinary Hospital' loomed large. 'Hey! What's with the trickery?!' I objected through the bars, only to be met with the assurance: 'You're not well - you need...er...seeing to' 'Do you think I could make that decision in future?' I squeaked indignantly 'Just because I have a growth on the side of my face the size of a walnut doesn't mean I'm ill, you know!' The waiting room was half full of nervous animals and calm owners. Across from me a cat shuddered in a small box, mewing occasionally whenever it began to think of the opening door and the prying hands which were soon to be thrust within its compartment. 'How long it take you to put him in there?' I heard Lee ask 'You should have bought a hamster - they come ready packaged!' and he pointed to my cage. But I like vets - I may be unique in that, but I really do. Especially when what they suspect to be a frequently handled and petted rodent suddenly takes on the guise of a rabid and fighting beast from the Pit as Lee casually remarks 'Dak's wild, by the way' as they extend a hand to try and pick me up, recoiling quickly and reaching for the thick rubber gloves. As vets go, this one was okay and he needed to lift me up only the once - apparently, it was likely to be an infection and all that was needed was some antibiotic treatment over the next week in my water bottle. But when he took a syringe and attached a needle that was fully six inches long into a medicine bottle to extract the fluid, I squealed with horror and asked candidly: 'Where's he intending to put that?' But my fears were soon allayed when the contents were sealed and placed into a small plastic bag which we received at the reception area after Lee had handed over a piece of blue paper. Lee suffers from not knowing the meaning to receptionists' questions and it was none more apparent than this morning. Whenever they ask him what's the name, he panics and usually opts for the wrong response. So, his answer 'Dak' is normally met by 'Is that Mr Dak or is Dak your first name?' and to 'Lee Smith' they usually respond 'Oh, you've given your hamster a surname as well!' Poor Lee - he always gets it wrong. We arrived home safely a few minutes later by which time I was soundly asleep in my nest despite the bumpy ride and the shouts which emanated from the driver seat somewhere far above me. That first taste of fresh water, though, was a real shock. Yeuck! Can't they make that sort of medicine taste like cucumber or chicken sauce or something? Dak the Hamster writes for
the Rodent Weekly. |
