"How's Skippy?" I wrote to Robinson.
He called. I knew that it was a bad sign.
The day before, Boo and Skippy got into a ferocious fight. Apparently this is not uncommon for gerbils, who will often fight to the death to establish dominance. Boo had attacked Skippy, and Robinson, who thought that they were just playing, did not realize what had happened until well after the fight had occurred. He separated the gerbils, but Skippy was in rough shape.
She died that night.
I cried.
We were still in Alaska and Balin had lost his pet. How could I explain this to him?
He was most upset about not having a pet of his own anymore. I promised we would have a good-bye ceremony for her, just like we had done for Twinkleberry the squirrel a couple years back.
When we got back, we prepared the grave and gathered some pretty rocks and flowers to put on top. Balin asked to see her and despite her rumpled state, Robinson showed him his deceased pet. We each said a few words about how she was a loving pet and a sweet creature.
Although Balin rarely played with Skippy on his own initiative, he still loves her. After the ceremony, Balin stated that he would come visit Skippy's grave every time we went to the park and He created a new knock-knock joke in her honor:
"Knock-knock."
"Who's there?"
"Sad for."
"Sad for who?"
"Sad for Skippy."
So, to Skippy, my dear little gerbil: I'm sorry you had to go in such a horrendous way. I wish I could have done something to protect you and Balin from such sadness. I wish you could have died peacefully in your cage, old and fat and happy. Even though you did not live very long, you still live in Balin's heart. You taught him responsibility and love and gave him a chance to take care of you - an animal dependent upon him for your own survival. You will be missed.
Blessed be.
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