Post by alleyj on Sept 15, 2014 18:48:04 GMT -8
I brought two healthy girls, Maisy and Daisy, home from the pet store where I worked in late January of 2014. They were the last two available in the store, and naturally I took them as they were the "leftovers" and it seemed fitting. They love each other and I wouldn't change a thing about them.
Once we got the new batch of gerbils in after them, we had to pick a new breeding pair. My manager and I put together a white female, and a beige male, who is now Red. We didn't separate them and give them time to get used to each other because our previous breeding pair, who were now too old to reproduce anymore, took to each other right away. So we left the white one and Red together and went on our merry way.
The next morning, I came in and opened the cage to feed the newest happy couple and found Red with his entire back eaten off and the white gerbil, who I christened Maneater, with blood all over her.
My manager didn't give Red much time really. She told me to stick him in another cage with food and put him in the back closet. It went without saying that he would stay there until he died.
I took pity on Red and asked if I could bring him home with me and foster him until he got better, and then bring him back to sell again. She agreed, so that day after my shift was over I moved him to a Kritter Keeper and wrapped it in a towel, bringing him home to foster him even though my parents didn't want me having any more pets and that was final.
Red stayed in the corner of his keeper, hiding in his straw hut and only coming out to eat and drink. I would watch him as closely as I could, all he did was sit in the corner and breathe heavily, eyes shut.
Two days later after trying Neosporin and Vaseline, I made the executive decision to take Red to the vet. I called up a vet in town that took exotics, and later that day (God bless them for taking him right away) played hooky at work and drove my little man to the doc's. They diagnosed him with a major infection and said I should have brought him in earlier. "He's not even mine!" I replied. "I'm just fostering him."
They cleaned up him and delivered him back to me with some antibiotics that I'd have to give him in a dropper. Once a day, I bottle fed my baby his Baytril for a month straight. And a month, two more checkups, and $200 later, all of Red's skin grew back and he became healthy again. However, the fur didn't grow back, and he was and still is left with a huge bald spot on his rear end. Like a monkey! I found as he was healing that his tail was also broken, and never healed properly. It now drags on the ground and is super kinky, but he doesn't mind as long as he has a wheel that won't trip him up.
As he wasn't fit to sell, I told my manager I'd just hold on to him. She was kind enough to give him to me for free, as well as a cage for him and a toy. I plopped his cage right next to my girls, and named him Red, after his bloody state when I first found him. The first picture above is him when he was attacked. The second is him today, 6 months later. The vet calls him Wonder Gerbil, and I couldn't agree more. He's my little tough cookie and I love him to pieces. I don't regret anything I did for him and am so proud of him for having the strength to get better. Have a happy life, my little darling. You deserve it.
Love, Mama Alley.
(Needless to say, I don't work at that pet store anymore. I've moved on to an animal shelter where we save lives instead of forgetting about them.)
