Another One Bites the Dust
Little Limpy passed away today. The only male of Pumpkin's second litter, he probably bled to death from his mortal wounds.
I was attempting to introduce him to our male tank so we could consolidate all the male gerbils. Unfortunately, I was unaware that the first rule in gerbil introductions is to NEVER introduce a lone gerbil into an already established clan. Limpy survived the first two days in the tank, seemingly unscathed. One of the gerbils kept chasing him around, but I thought it was just part of establishing the hierarchy in the tank. One of the other gerbils was already grooming him, which is a sign of acceptance, so I thought all was going well.
I should have known something was wrong though when I saw Limpy high atop the large tunnel tube in the tank two days ago. The way he was positioned, he reminded me of a lifeguard on the look out to save anyone in danger. Instead, I later realized, he was lifeguarding his own life and trying to keep trouble at bay. Still, I thought it was all part of the pecking order establishment.
It wasn't until yesterday morning that I finally understood that Limpy's life was in danger. As usual, I woke up at 6:40AM to get ready for work. I fed the gerbils and left the room for just 5 minutes to change into my scrubs. Upon my return to the room to pack my bag for the day, I saw Limpy again perched on the tube. This time, he was bleeding profusely. His tail had several bite marks, one of which was the size of a bug bite on a human, and his back and a huge gash. I immediately transferred him back to the thank with his sisters and mom, who surprisingly took to caring for him instantly upon their first sniff of him. I felt absolutely guilty for what I had done to him.
I returned from work that day and studied in the study, where the gerbils live, all afternoon and evening. I kept watch of Limpy, whose condition seemed to worsen by the hour. His wounds still looked fresh over 12 hours later. He had a slight limp and absolutely no energy, whereas he's usually jumping around and trying to squiggle out of my hands. Since I hadn't named him yet, I appropriately named him "Limpy" at that point, hoping that the name would only be a distant reminder one day of the attacked he survived. When I left the study last night to go to bed, I saw his family surround him, keeping him warm as he was sleeping. He finally looked at ease.
This morning while I was feeding the gerbils again, I noticed his limp had gotten significantly worse. He didn't want to move and wouldn't open his eyes. He was dying. When I returned home from work, I anxiously ran into the study to check on Limpy. I found his little head sticking out from under the food bowl. I petted his stiff, cold forehead. He had passed, and his family had buried him. I made a little casket for him out of a tissue box and placed him in it. Before I let him go, I examined his body to assess his fatal injuries. The gash on his back was actually a gaping hole into his body. The large bite on his tail looked infected- it was covered in a yellowish puss. And worst of all, one of his feet was split in half about halfway between his ankle and toes; it was only still attached by his fur. I can't even fathom the severity of the pain he endured this last day.
I am torn up about my hastiness to just introduce him to the male tank without having first researched the proper way to do so. I caused his death.
The only silver lining to this terrible episode is the insight I have gained into gerbil behavior and subsequently the even deeper respect I have for animal intelligence.
I have learned that gerbils are territorial. Once a clan hierarchy is established, there is no altering it by a visitor.
I have learned that gerbils have longer term memories than I first thought they had. Little Limpy was immediately welcomed back into his home tank in spite of being away for two days. I was under the impression that their most distant memory was from only a few hours prior.
I have learned that gerbils are aware of death, at least to some degree. I found the lifeless Limpy lying under the food bowl and covered, almost neatly, by bedding. And before I took him out of the tank, I watched his family members come to his head one by one and try to groom it. It was as if they were paying their respects. A few hours later, I placed a little box in their cage for them to chew on and only his 4 sisters ran out of their nest to examine it. I didn't see his mom anywhere. After a couple of minutes of waiting for her appearance, I checked their little nest to she if was hiding; she wasn't there. As I started to dig through the bedding a little bit looking for her, her head peaked up from under a large pile of bedding on the complete opposite side of the tank from the nest, almost exactly at the spot where Limpy was buried. I'm not sure how coincidental it was that her hideout was so close to where Limpy last lay. In the year that I've had Pumpkin, though, I've never seen her bury herself in solitude. Perhaps I'm crazy and reading into this too much, but it seemed like she just wanted to be alone and mourn the death of her son.
C'est la vie.
I was attempting to introduce him to our male tank so we could consolidate all the male gerbils. Unfortunately, I was unaware that the first rule in gerbil introductions is to NEVER introduce a lone gerbil into an already established clan. Limpy survived the first two days in the tank, seemingly unscathed. One of the gerbils kept chasing him around, but I thought it was just part of establishing the hierarchy in the tank. One of the other gerbils was already grooming him, which is a sign of acceptance, so I thought all was going well.
I should have known something was wrong though when I saw Limpy high atop the large tunnel tube in the tank two days ago. The way he was positioned, he reminded me of a lifeguard on the look out to save anyone in danger. Instead, I later realized, he was lifeguarding his own life and trying to keep trouble at bay. Still, I thought it was all part of the pecking order establishment.
It wasn't until yesterday morning that I finally understood that Limpy's life was in danger. As usual, I woke up at 6:40AM to get ready for work. I fed the gerbils and left the room for just 5 minutes to change into my scrubs. Upon my return to the room to pack my bag for the day, I saw Limpy again perched on the tube. This time, he was bleeding profusely. His tail had several bite marks, one of which was the size of a bug bite on a human, and his back and a huge gash. I immediately transferred him back to the thank with his sisters and mom, who surprisingly took to caring for him instantly upon their first sniff of him. I felt absolutely guilty for what I had done to him.
I returned from work that day and studied in the study, where the gerbils live, all afternoon and evening. I kept watch of Limpy, whose condition seemed to worsen by the hour. His wounds still looked fresh over 12 hours later. He had a slight limp and absolutely no energy, whereas he's usually jumping around and trying to squiggle out of my hands. Since I hadn't named him yet, I appropriately named him "Limpy" at that point, hoping that the name would only be a distant reminder one day of the attacked he survived. When I left the study last night to go to bed, I saw his family surround him, keeping him warm as he was sleeping. He finally looked at ease.
This morning while I was feeding the gerbils again, I noticed his limp had gotten significantly worse. He didn't want to move and wouldn't open his eyes. He was dying. When I returned home from work, I anxiously ran into the study to check on Limpy. I found his little head sticking out from under the food bowl. I petted his stiff, cold forehead. He had passed, and his family had buried him. I made a little casket for him out of a tissue box and placed him in it. Before I let him go, I examined his body to assess his fatal injuries. The gash on his back was actually a gaping hole into his body. The large bite on his tail looked infected- it was covered in a yellowish puss. And worst of all, one of his feet was split in half about halfway between his ankle and toes; it was only still attached by his fur. I can't even fathom the severity of the pain he endured this last day.
I am torn up about my hastiness to just introduce him to the male tank without having first researched the proper way to do so. I caused his death.
The only silver lining to this terrible episode is the insight I have gained into gerbil behavior and subsequently the even deeper respect I have for animal intelligence.
I have learned that gerbils are territorial. Once a clan hierarchy is established, there is no altering it by a visitor.
I have learned that gerbils have longer term memories than I first thought they had. Little Limpy was immediately welcomed back into his home tank in spite of being away for two days. I was under the impression that their most distant memory was from only a few hours prior.
I have learned that gerbils are aware of death, at least to some degree. I found the lifeless Limpy lying under the food bowl and covered, almost neatly, by bedding. And before I took him out of the tank, I watched his family members come to his head one by one and try to groom it. It was as if they were paying their respects. A few hours later, I placed a little box in their cage for them to chew on and only his 4 sisters ran out of their nest to examine it. I didn't see his mom anywhere. After a couple of minutes of waiting for her appearance, I checked their little nest to she if was hiding; she wasn't there. As I started to dig through the bedding a little bit looking for her, her head peaked up from under a large pile of bedding on the complete opposite side of the tank from the nest, almost exactly at the spot where Limpy was buried. I'm not sure how coincidental it was that her hideout was so close to where Limpy last lay. In the year that I've had Pumpkin, though, I've never seen her bury herself in solitude. Perhaps I'm crazy and reading into this too much, but it seemed like she just wanted to be alone and mourn the death of her son.
C'est la vie.
posted by Christina at 5:13 PM
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