Happy Year of the Rat, everybody! Barak and Durnik have already celebrated by going to the vet.
See, we had company over the holidays. Guest Rat Relg needed meds while his mommy was out of town, so while her boyfriend could handle food, water, and the occasional bedding change for the other three miscreants in their mischief, I had Relg in a travel cage on the floor of my room for two weeks.
Relg was not especially happy with this arrangement, unfortunately. I was not Mommy, he was not home, and he definitely did not want his medication twice a day. Barak and Durnik were also not especially happy with this arrangement, as neither of them have any constructive way to cope with the existence of other rats. Even each other. I have to have one of them out for runarounds in the morning and one in the evening, because when I plop them on the bed one right after the other, chaos ensues. If Durnik goes first, Barak wombles around the blankets huffing for a fight, and if Barak goes first Durnik hides in my clothing and refuses to set foot outside it.
All of this to say, when the two of them started scratching themselves scabby, I thought they were stress-grooming, and would probably stop when Relg went home. Except they did not, so after a few extra days of this, I started investigating potential allergens, which is another thing that makes rats nibble their coats thin. I changed their diet, I changed their bedding, I straight-up gave them Benadryl, which they fucking love, because of course they do. Nope, nada. Durnik had it worst, with scabs all over his shoulders, but Barak had some thin spots, too.
So off I went to the local vet. One at a time, because if I put them in a box together all I'd get is one of those cartoon dust clouds of squabbling rat, which would not help the diagnostic process. Durnik was not thrilled by being walked ten minutes down the street, but the vet's office was apparently fine.
I love this vet. I can walk in and say, "I think they have mites," and she goes, "Huh, seems likely, let's go test for it." She freely admits she is Googling things the same way I do, she just has a full lab and a DVM and the legal ability to prescribe medication to furry things to help her. I wish I could find a human doctor who treated me the same way.
Durnik was not best pleased by being loaded into a box and walked ten minutes down the street, and we found him hiding under all the bedding when the vet came into the room. We had to un-velcro him from my shirt to weigh him, which wasn't difficult but clearly was not his first choice of activities for the day. Durnik, the small rat, came out to 700 g, which is 1.54 lbs imperial. The vet tech for that visit had her own rats, tiny zippy girls, whom I was told were literally half of Durnik's size.
Barak frankly could not have given a shit less. He considers himself an invulnerable diva. He was not only not hiding at any point, he kept trying to jam his face through the air holes in the box whenever we passed a restaurant on the way down. Barak is afraid of nothing, and liked the vet lady to the point where he peed all over her, just to make sure everyone knew she was his now. Durnik was weighed in a box on a letter scale, as rodents typically are, but the vet lady pulled Barak out of his box, pet him on her lap for a minute or two, and opined that we could probably just use the small animal pad for this one.
Ladies and gentlepersons, Barak is 840 g, which is 1.85 lbs imperial. Note that this is after I put him on a post-holiday diet. He is the size of your average guinea pig. We reassured the tech that no, pet rats do not normally get that big. He is Godzilla.
The fat one was so cooperative during his checkup that the vet gave him some cat kibble, which explains how he got to be the fat one in the first place.
The two of them turned out to have not mites, but rat lice. Rat lice are species-specific, which is great, because a couple days later Durnik climbed up onto my head and refused to come down for half an hour. I have no idea why he was so compelled to camp up there, but he was so comfortable he started engaging in his personal grooming routine while balanced on my skull.
I shampooed my hair after that anyway, because he is an adorable little squeezy sponge full of love and rat pee, but at least I know he can't share his bug collection.
See, we had company over the holidays. Guest Rat Relg needed meds while his mommy was out of town, so while her boyfriend could handle food, water, and the occasional bedding change for the other three miscreants in their mischief, I had Relg in a travel cage on the floor of my room for two weeks.
Relg was not especially happy with this arrangement, unfortunately. I was not Mommy, he was not home, and he definitely did not want his medication twice a day. Barak and Durnik were also not especially happy with this arrangement, as neither of them have any constructive way to cope with the existence of other rats. Even each other. I have to have one of them out for runarounds in the morning and one in the evening, because when I plop them on the bed one right after the other, chaos ensues. If Durnik goes first, Barak wombles around the blankets huffing for a fight, and if Barak goes first Durnik hides in my clothing and refuses to set foot outside it.
All of this to say, when the two of them started scratching themselves scabby, I thought they were stress-grooming, and would probably stop when Relg went home. Except they did not, so after a few extra days of this, I started investigating potential allergens, which is another thing that makes rats nibble their coats thin. I changed their diet, I changed their bedding, I straight-up gave them Benadryl, which they fucking love, because of course they do. Nope, nada. Durnik had it worst, with scabs all over his shoulders, but Barak had some thin spots, too.
So off I went to the local vet. One at a time, because if I put them in a box together all I'd get is one of those cartoon dust clouds of squabbling rat, which would not help the diagnostic process. Durnik was not thrilled by being walked ten minutes down the street, but the vet's office was apparently fine.
I love this vet. I can walk in and say, "I think they have mites," and she goes, "Huh, seems likely, let's go test for it." She freely admits she is Googling things the same way I do, she just has a full lab and a DVM and the legal ability to prescribe medication to furry things to help her. I wish I could find a human doctor who treated me the same way.
Durnik was not best pleased by being loaded into a box and walked ten minutes down the street, and we found him hiding under all the bedding when the vet came into the room. We had to un-velcro him from my shirt to weigh him, which wasn't difficult but clearly was not his first choice of activities for the day. Durnik, the small rat, came out to 700 g, which is 1.54 lbs imperial. The vet tech for that visit had her own rats, tiny zippy girls, whom I was told were literally half of Durnik's size.
Barak frankly could not have given a shit less. He considers himself an invulnerable diva. He was not only not hiding at any point, he kept trying to jam his face through the air holes in the box whenever we passed a restaurant on the way down. Barak is afraid of nothing, and liked the vet lady to the point where he peed all over her, just to make sure everyone knew she was his now. Durnik was weighed in a box on a letter scale, as rodents typically are, but the vet lady pulled Barak out of his box, pet him on her lap for a minute or two, and opined that we could probably just use the small animal pad for this one.
Ladies and gentlepersons, Barak is 840 g, which is 1.85 lbs imperial. Note that this is after I put him on a post-holiday diet. He is the size of your average guinea pig. We reassured the tech that no, pet rats do not normally get that big. He is Godzilla.
The fat one was so cooperative during his checkup that the vet gave him some cat kibble, which explains how he got to be the fat one in the first place.
The two of them turned out to have not mites, but rat lice. Rat lice are species-specific, which is great, because a couple days later Durnik climbed up onto my head and refused to come down for half an hour. I have no idea why he was so compelled to camp up there, but he was so comfortable he started engaging in his personal grooming routine while balanced on my skull.
 |
| "Is he washing his fucking face up there? Gah, he is." |
I shampooed my hair after that anyway, because he is an adorable little squeezy sponge full of love and rat pee, but at least I know he can't share his bug collection.
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