RUBY THE CHINCHILLA

$1300 and counting. Most families probably would have given up by now and let Ruby the sick chinchilla find a second life as a hat or scarf. However, we are a resolute animal-loving family, and Ruby has been an adorable addition to the menagerie for five years. So for my daughter’s sake, we are doggedly persisting in emergency room visits, hospital overnights, and four-times-a day critical care feedings via tiny little syringes of healthy green goo mixed with infant Gas-X – really. Picture a smallish furry bowling ball with big ears wrapped in a towel and wriggling like mad as you try to precisely squirt four tubes of mash into her teeny little mouth. And with a diagnosis of GI stasis, we’ve also become hypervigilant, mostly about poop – size (not too tiny), quantity (hopefully, lots) water content (mushy is good, too dry is bad). Has anyone heard her drinking? Has she touched her hay? And how many times has she run on the wheel?

My daughter fell in love with chinchillas, and this one in particular, rather by accident, but who ever came up with the bright idea to have rodents as pets is high on my black list. My friend Helen told me with utmost sincerity, “You’re being a good mum doing all this. It’s really important to your daughter.” Thanks, Helen. $1300 and two weeks of tears and anxiety later, I needed to hear that.