Romeo’s Funeral

One of our sugar gliders died today. I don’t know what happened, he was healthy, well-fed, etc. His name was Romeo.

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The kids took Romeo’s passing pretty hard, especially the 9 year old. He kept asking me if I was sure the critter was dead. “Yes,” I assured him, “he is definitely dead.” I didn’t go into details, but when I had to collect his tiny body from the cage, Romeo was most assuredly corpsified.

Also, the nine year old was particularly annoyed that the critter was being buried in a cereal box. (No shoe boxes…) He vows to never eat Kashi again.

The 5 year old asked if we could have an autopsy. Actually, his exact words were, “Maybe we better cut his belly and see what badness he ate. Plus we can make sure he won’t be a zombie.”

(Happy thoughts, indeed… Zombie sugar gliders. 5 year olds who request autopsies. Dead pets in cereal boxes… Nobody prepared me for this crap.)

The kids decided there would be a funeral. They also invited their friends.

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The 9 year old read from the book of Jeremiah and took the responsibility of shoveling the dirt.

Over the cereal box. The cereal box of doom, as the 5 year old called it.

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Maggie attended the service, too.

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So poor Juliet is alone. While she misses Romeo, she did confide that she thought he was a bit smelly and crude, always demanding Benny Hill reruns. She says she’ll date just as soon as the requisite mourning period is over. Happily, Romeo left her in fairly sweet digs and in possession of a stockpile of food pellets.

Red Puke at Night

It’s midnight. The children are asleep , the house is dark, locked up tightly, and our two new sugar gliders are making more noise than orangutans in a drum shop. Honestly, the little bastards aren’t any bigger than my hand and they could drive a zombie to eat itself.

20 minutes ago the 5 year old had a coughing fit and puked up the red (!) Popsicle I’d given him to help his sore throat. Some water, a cracker, Tylenol and Benadryl = sleeping through the tiny marsupial mosh pit going on less than 2 yards away.

The dog is stressed about the new animals. She tries to sniff them and she gets a cursing that only a sugar glider can give. I can’t even describe the sound … It’s like … It’s like … Cicadas and nails on a chalkboard. She whines, either because she wants a giant wheel of her own or because she knows how grouchy I get if I don’t rest.
“Shut up!”, she moans, “Don’t you understand?! The Woman requires rest! You’re dooming us all!”

Adaptability is an interesting thing… Why haven’t these animals adapted to a day-time life? Don’t they know that nothing good happens after midnight?

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We’re still trying to come up with names on which the whole family can agree. Their given names are Romeo and Juliett, but I don’t like that. I’m not sure a name will ever be finalized, as the cat we used to have ended up being called Panda Spider Rainbow Sparkles.

Top Contenders:
Todd and Todd
Boss Hog and Daisy Duke
Amy and Rory
Thing 1 and Thing 2
Little Bitey Meany Heads
Han and Leia

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I hand fed them some blueberries earlier… Maybe blueberries are like meth to sugar gliders and that’s why they’re in their wheels, speeding their tiny little butts off. Maybe no more blueberries…

Wikipedia says they are “gliding opossums”. Fricking gliding opossums!! In my house! On purpose and everything! If that doesn’t sounds like the stuff of disturbed dreams, man, I don’t know…

Happy midnight and may all your mosh pits be marsupial mosh pits. …’cos they are the cutest mosh pits, after all…

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Here’s an image from the web-er-net. It shows the glide-y-ness of the gliding opossum.

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There has to be some sort of superhero quote for this…

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Good Dog

…how does that quote go?… “I hope I can be as good a person as my dog thinks I am.” or something along those lines…

This is a now-widely seen photo taken at the funeral of a Navy SeAL who was killed in AFG. His dog’s name is Hawkeye (like the character from MASH) and wouldn’t leave his master’s side.

…I hope that I can be that good a person. I hope that Maggie would think enough of me to do the same. For a creature with no known vocabulary, a dog can sure say an awful lot about their master…

I love my dog.

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