Gerbils -- for no reason

Ahhh, the joys of parenthood…

When ours were about 7 and 9 they adopted a couple of gerbils. Now, a gerbil is one of the most underendowed creatures the Lord ever made, and though Gayle and I checked, rechecked and checked again to assure ourselves that the pair had identical primary and secondary sex characteristics – we apparently missed a very small, but very potent package (I suppose this would disqualify us from careers with the TSA), which led to – in order – pregnancy, birth, maturing and exponential proliferation. By spring, our juvenile rodent population had entered three figures – and since gerbils really have very little to do but eat and make new gerbils, the situation was reaching critical – they were about to run me out of house and Habitrail … a situation even the youngsters were beginning to acknowledge, though they were resolved that none of their babies would go for a long swim down the Mississippi … my instinctive solution to the dilemma.

Fortunately, the weather was growing warmer, the grass greener and the world more inviting. A little nudging brought both kids (and their mother) around to the view that young gerbils would be much happier with their freedom – and with the help of a World Book entry documenting that the species was native to the cold, harsh environs of the Gobi Desert, they would live long and prosper in the relatively mild and lush climate of southern Minnesota.

So, on a sunny Saturday morning in May, Erin, Erick and took three ice cream pails of gerbils to a remote corner of Prairie Island and gave them their freedom.

I notice the owls were unusually fat that summer…