The True Story of Ben the Rat

I told part of the story of Ben the rat in the entry entitled "The Wild Bird Police..." (Posted below).
There is a bit more to the story...


This is the story about when I found out that a rat is not less than a bunny or parakeet. When I found out how cold I could be toward a poor little helpless creature, I was shocked at my cruelty because I am, after all, "an animal lover."



I had always thought of rats as poor candidates for pets. I would never have bought a guinea pig or any such rodent-like creature to keep as a pet, and I couldn't understand why anyone else would want such a creature living in their house. After all, don't people pay a lot of money to rid their dwellings of such vermin?



As I related in the story of the rescued hawk, I bought a young rat for the hawk to eat and the rat ended up living at my house for three years. But I feel I must "fess-up" and tell the rest of the story. This is not easy to tell.



As it happened, I made the mistake of buying a white rat, not knowing that wild hawks will not eat white rats because white rats are not found in the wild and the hawks will not recognize them as food.



So when the hawk refused to eat the rat I had offered, I decided I would have to get rid of the rat. The pet store sold rats to feed to snakes, so I was not about to waste my time driving back to the pet store to return this $1.25 item.

I put it back into the little box from the pet store. I got a bucket and filled it with water and dropped the box, with the rat inside, into the bucket. I pushed on the box until it filled with water and slowly sank in the water. Off I went to tend other matters.



An hour or so later, I returned to dispose of the rat and was shocked to find it swimming in circles in the bucket. I was absolutely horrified! The poor little thing had been swimming for an hour.



What had I done? How could I have been so heartless? The horror I felt was directed toward my shameful actions. What had I been thinking? I would find it very difficult, if not impossible, to forgive myself.



I was afraid to pick it up, having been bitten by a mouse which I rescued from the mouth of a cat years earlier. I thought biting might be the natural reaction of any frightened rodent. So I grabbed the bucket and took it outside and dumped it out on the ground.



The poor little rat stood swaying from side to side and shivered. Forgetting about bites, I scooped it up in my hands and took it into the house. I wrapped it in a hand towel and gently tried to dry it off. It continued to shiver so I got my hair dryer and blew warm air onto the rat, to warm and dry it. After a while it stopped shivering and I continued with the dryer until it was dry from nose to tail.



I petted the little guy and told it how sorry I was for having tried to kill it.



I got a large cage and hung it about two feet off the floor against the wall. It had a wire bottom so I put newspaper under the cage. Then I put some little bowls and a waterer in it. I added some scrap pine and an empty oatmeal box. Then I went to the kitchen and got some cheese and fresh veggies for the rat. I filled one of the bowls with birdseed. It was now ready for the rat.



He seemed very interested in everything in the cage and spent a great deal of time checking out each item. Then he grabbed the cheese and went inside of the oatmeal box.



I said to my little friend, "I think you need a name. How about Ben? I'll call you Ben. So, Ben, enjoy your new home. I'll see you later." I left him alone.



Later that day I went in and picked up Ben. I stroked the soft fur on his back and said, "It is time you met your roommates." I took him and held him in front of each of the six bird cages in the bird room. I let the birds get a look at the rat and gave Ben a chance to see all the birds and the rest of the room. Then I put him back in his cage.



Over the next few weeks I would visit Ben and hold him and pet him. If Ben was in his oatmeal box asleep when I visited him, I would tap on his cage and he would come out to see me.


Whatever I had for dinner I would bring Ben a small rat-sized portion. He grew into a large rat pretty fast and he got kind of chubby.



I brought him new toys to examine and chew on. Every time I emptied an oatmeal box, I would swap it out for the one in Ben's cage so he always had a clean one.



One day when I reached into his cage to pick him up he clamped his little teeth onto my finger. YOW! That hurt. The cut bled. I was rather upset, but after what he had been through, or rather after what I had put him through, I couldn't blame Ben for turning on me.



I never again tried to pick him up with my bare hands. I did pick him up while wearing heavy leather gloves and he bit the gloves.


To avoid future bites, I attached another small cage onto the side of the large one. I would lure Ben into the small cage and drop a door down to lock him in there while I cleaned the larger one or added toys or a new oatmeal box or food. Then I would raise the little door, which allowed free travel between the two cages.


I love watching critters and Ben was no exception. He was one of the most interesting creatures I had ever observed.


Ben spent hours re-arranging his two-room cage. He would move his food dishes around to suit himself, without tipping them or spilling them.


Ben used the extra bowls in his home to sort out various items I placed in there. For example, he put all of the little chicken bones into one bowl and all the sunflower seeds in another. But he put any bits of cloth into his oatmeal box.



There was a cup that caught the water that dripped from the waterer. Ben would use the water in the cup to bathe. He would dip his tiny hands in the water and wipe it onto his face and Ben even carefully cleaned his ears. He only did this to the parts he couldn't reach to lick.



I never tired of watching him, and my dog Chippy also liked to watch Ben. Chippy would put his nose right against Ben's cage. Well, right about the time that Ben bit me, he must have decided that Chippy would get no better treatment.

Ben actually bit a little chunk out of Chippy's nose. Chippy yelped and jumped back. But even before the blood came to the surface, Chippy had his nose back against the cage. I had to pull him away. I put some Neosporin on the wound as I had done with my own rat-bite, but Chippy licked it off pretty quick.
I had to remind Chippy to keep back after that, but he still managed to get two more bites over the next several weeks.



After the last bite, Chippy would bring one of his rubber balls into the room and poke the cage with the ball, as if he was trying to get Ben to bite the ball. Ben would come right over to where Chippy was jabbing the ball against the cage. It certainly didn't frighten Ben.


I always maintained a respectful distance between us. Ben and I had an understanding about boundaries and we got along just fine for next few years. He seemed content. He got the best food in great variety, plenty of new things to investigate, and lots of one-way conversation.



One day when I came to feed Ben, he was in his oatmeal box and I tapped on his cage.
But he didn't move.
He was dead.



I picked him up and stroked his fur and told him how much I had enjoyed his company for the three years and I was sorry that we would have no more visits.
I wrapped him in a clean cloth and put him in his oatmeal box, taping the ends shut.
I buried him in the little pet cemetery in my back yard.
I had tears in my eyes as I said goodbye to my remarkable little friend, Ben.