According to Hofmann: Willow the Wonder Hamster
Several months ago, I wrote about the new addition to the Hofmann clan in the form of a pet-store hamster that continuously attempted – and was almost successful a few times – to chew her way out of the cardboard box on the way to her new home.
Of course, it was a memorable introduction to a new pet and was fodder for this humor column, but I thought that would be the only remarkable thing the hamster would do.
The reason for my thinking is because, while hamsters are, indeed, cute, I can’t see any personality in their expression and thereĢƵ nothing really special or unique with them.
Boy, was I somewhat kind of wrong.
At first, nothing was really remarkable about Willow. She moved around in her cage, moved through the tubes attached to the cage with one tube going to a little, plastic space that looked to me like an oxygen-deprivation chamber, and she also ate, pooped and peed like we all do, so no biggie.
Our dog, Oreo, however, was obsessed with Willow since the moment she came home while attempting to chew her way out of her delivery box.
Oreo would sit in front of WillowĢƵ cage, motionless, only his eyes moving, studying WillowĢƵ habits and routines, even if the routine was sleeping in her chamber.
I didn’t think much about it at first, only that Oreo saw Willow as a new toy for him like a tennis ball, but moving on its own.
Now thatĢƵ a game of fetch that will bring PETA protesters to your yard.
At one point while Oreo was watching Willow, he had two strings of drool hanging out of his mouth like he does when he watches us eating dinner, waiting for something to drop.
“The hamster is not going to drop, Oreo,” I said, and received a confused look in return from both Oreo and Willow.
Because hamsters are nocturnal, we really didn’t get a good chance to see all of the things Willow does before we go to bed.
However, on the nights when I lose sleep by overthinking if and why space aliens would abduct goats, I take Willow out of her cage, place her in her plastic ball and let her run around the room, which she seems to enjoy even when sheĢƵ followed around by Oreo, who occasionally swipes the ball with his paw.
When not being pursued by Oreo or even chasing a frightened Oreo while sheĢƵ in her plastic ball, Willow runs at top speed, bumping into walls, doors, my feet, the jaws of a boa constrictor and the fireplace.
I’m kidding, of course. I don’t have a fireplace.
Anyway, when Willow is inside her cage, thatĢƵ when sheĢƵ really entertaining because, well, first sheĢƵ always climbing the walls.
Activities we placed inside the cage include a hamster wheel, tubes and a fake wooden tree stump to play with, but she ignores all of that so she can climb the bars to the ceiling of the cage and then fall down to the cageĢƵ floor. And then she does the same thing like 30 times in a row.
If it weren’t for the shredded bedding material at the bottom of the cage used to absorb her urine, I think Willow would have broken something by this point in her career as a stunt rodent.
And whatever stuffing on which sheĢƵ not falling goes into her mouth.
One night, I swore she had some kind of goiter or growth on the side of her neck because I saw a big bulge there.
So I watched her walk around the cage and then stuff pieces of the bedding into her mouth, causing the goiter to swell to what I imagine was an uncomfortable size; if she would have sneezed, I was afraid she would have exploded in a puff of hamster bedding … as well as fur and bones and guts because thatĢƵ whatĢƵ inside a hamster, too.
Nope. She then went up her tube to her chamber where she – ahem – brought up the materials out of her mouth, arranged them like one would feng shui furniture and then went back down the tube to repeat the process.
I haven’t been so fascinated with the disgusting antics of an animal since I was a kid and watched my uncleĢƵ cat give birth while I was babysitting my cousins.
One final thing Willow does – and itĢƵ one of those things where I put my hands on my hips, shake my head and say, “ThatĢƵ so Willow!” – is constantly chewing the metal bars of her cage, much like she did to her delivery box during that drive home where I was introduced to the weirdness of this creature.
I have to admit, I’m rooting for the girl to break through the cage someday because then she’ll probably be inducted to the Hamster Hall of Fame, and rise to dog-antic levels, and, most importantly, I’ll have a new column idea.
According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. His books, “Good Mourning! A Guide to Biting the Big One … and Dying, Too” and “Stupid Brain,” are available on Amazon.com.