Poor Grouchy

Well, we've lost one of our gerbils. Grouchy, whose name fit his personality, had to be euthanized on Friday. He had some kind of a tumor or infection that looked like it wasn't getting better. I cried for most of the wee hours of Friday morning, convinced that he'd have to be put to sleep. Actually, I cried a little on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. When I took him to the vet, he still had energy, making me wonder if euthanasia was the way to go. One option was to give him an antibiotic and then, if that treatment didn't work, bring him back to the office in about a week to make the final decision. The other option was to go for euthanasia right away. I kept watching him hop around his plastic carrier, proud that he was still, at times, grouchy. But the vet and I got the picture when he didn't take a cookie he was offered. I signed the "put-to-sleep" paperwork and he was taken to the back of the office, quietly led to the Wild Blue Yonder. Grouchy was a great guy and, during our vet visit, he laid his head down on his bedding a few times and let me pet him. This was unusual for him because he wasn't a touchy-feely kind of gerbil. I guess this was just a strange day.