Guest Blogger: Daisy

I love going to the vet. Why wouldn’t I? When I go to the vet, I get to visit to my good friend Doctor Friedman and all the nice ladies at the front desk who never disappoint when it comes to admiring my devilishly good looks. Not to mention, if I’m a good boy—if I get up on the scale all by myself, if I allow the doctor to give me all my shots, and if I don’t fuss too much when he tries to give me my nose spray (which he’s yet to succeed in accomplishing through, I swear, no fault of my own)—there’s a cookie waiting for me when I leave. Not a bad deal, right?

I know, however, that there are those out there who do not like going to the vet and Daisy the hamster is one of them. You see, Daisy had her first trip to the vet yesterday; she needed her nails clipped.  Now, seeing that I can’t wrap my head around someone not thoroughly enjoying his/her trip to the vet, I’ve asked Daisy to share her experience. Perhaps, with her help, we’ll understand her aversion to it.

And just so everyone knows, Daisy refers to my Sister as Mom and my Ma as Grams.  Also, Daisy's a speedy little thing who doesn't really have time for proper grammar.  Please forgive her.

Daisy’s Trip To The Vet

By Daisy the Hamster

Yesterday I was sleeping in my habitat, tucked under my red climbing barn (you know, the one on which Mom and Grams leave me peanuts, sunflower seeds, and pumpkin seeds) and wrapped up in a couple of tissues when all of a sudden, Mom woke me up, scooped me up, and transferred me over to a smaller version of my habitat that lacked all the amenities of home (no wheel, no food bowl, no water bottle) which she then wrapped up in a scarf (she said it was to keep me warm) and carried me out of the house (it was really, really, really cold), into the car (she put the seat warmer on which was nice), and drove away from the house, but not really far, only a little far (maybe a couple of rounds on the wheel) until she reached the place we were going at which point she stopped the car, got out, got me, and carried me into a building that smelled suspiciously like cat (I've never met a cat but all us rats know what cats smell like).

After a little while, the scarf was removed from around my cage and two vet technicians looked in at me and commented how cute (and small) I was before they stuck their hands in my carrier and tried to pick me up which I really didn’t like because I didn’t know them and then they started talking about how quick I was as I tried to burrow away, but I fell for the “I Know Who You Are” trick when Mom stuck her hand in my carrier and I climbed on hoping that she would put me back in my normal house, but she didn’t, instead she handed me off to one of the technicians who tried to flip me over and hold me still while the second technician attempted to grab my feet and trim my nails with a nail clipper that was bigger than me.

I might be small, but I’m feisty and I was not going to have any of what was happening so I sunk my teeth in the finger of the technician who was holding me and she screeched and I jumped out of her hand (spewing pee all over the place) and onto the table where the second technician corralled me and the first one went to wash the blood off her hands after which the second technician picked me up and the first tried trimming my nails, but I turned around and bit the second technician who decided that the vet, AKA “The Muscle” needed to be called and put me back in my carrier to wait for her arrival.

Next the vet, AKA “The Muscle” came in and she and the technicians discussed how they were going to proceed and they decided that the second technician would trim my nails as the vet, AKA “The Muscle” held onto me which was really annoying because the vet, AKA “The Muscle,” had a good grip on me and despite trying to bite her, and showing my teeth, and pooping all over her, and hissing ferociously (bet you didn’t know hamster could hiss like a snake) she continued to hold onto me and prevented me from struggling as the technician trimmed each and every one of my nails muttering something about how she doesn’t break a sweat when she deals with Rottweilers, but that little things like me always cause her trouble.

Once all my nails were trimmed, the vet put me back in my carrier case and Sister wrapped me back up in her scarf and carried me back through the waiting room which still smelled like cat then we got back in the car, turned the seat warmers on, and drove home at which point Mom cautiously scooped me up and put me back in my normal habitat with an apology peanut on my red climbing barn (you know, the one on which Mom and Grams leave me peanuts, sunflower seeds, and pumpkin seeds).