Life of Scott

Imagination unleashed.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

My Stupid Hedgehog

I used to have a hedgehog when I was in college. I guess I needed a friend during a difficult time. What I didn't need was a half-pound friend covered in spikes who shits all over my room and hurts to touch.

To sum it all up in one sentence, I should not have kept a pet in college. My apartment was much too cold for anything to comfortably live, and as it turns out, it was too cold for a hedgehog to live at all!

I remember rolling my desk chair over his tiny paw and breaking every one of its tiny bones. I gave him a special meal of ham and raisins from the cafeteria that day, which gave him diarrhea. That was a bad week for him. But he still managed to leave strategically placed spines on my floor and in my shoes. Hedgehogs don't wear shoes! Even if he wanted to, he is not a size 12. Now, he is more like size dead.

During the winter, my bedroom got extremely cold. Dr. Nick went a week with neither food nor warmth, after which he developed a cough and refused to eat. I went to all the trouble of stealing cat food from my mother for my starving and freezing little friend and he was rude enough to refuse! I tried to force feed him, but he made this little coughing noise and he might have been crying. I don't even know if hedgehogs can cry.

His mouth eventually started to bleed and he couldn't really stand up on his own. So I made him a little wheel chair out of a cut-up 12-pack box. It didn't really roll anywhere, but where the hell does a rodent have to be that is so important anyway? I figured he was lucky I didn't just throw him in the garbage, what with his messy bleeding mouth and all.

I thought maybe his mouth was bleeding from eating a staple or something, but I didn't have a staple remover. After not eating for two weeks and being on my frigid floor, he wouldn't get better on his own, so I assumed it was cancer. This is what he would look like today if he only had the flu.

Dr. Nick, cancer-free and dressed like a homo

But instead of making apple pies with his daughter, he is dead from cancer. When he finally died, I thought he deserved a proper burial. I lived in an apartment, however, and my landlord would not let me bury Dr. Nick. So I put the cover on his cage with him still inside and threw the little fucker in the dumpster.

Here is the gist of the eulogy I said at the dumpster.
Dr. Nick led a good life. Except for when I
crushed his foot under my chair and forgot to feed him on my frigid floor, which
gave him cancer I wish he wouldn't have left so many spikes for me to step
on and I wish he didn't smell so much. I also wish he could talk.
But what I wish most is that he wasn't dead right now. Please treat him
well, God. And if he asks how he died, don't tell him about the sandwich



Anonymous Amanda said...

I like this story - however, I think it is time you write a story about farting at business banquets.

11:00 AM  

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