I have four experiences with rodents from my childhood, and none of them are good.

My second experience occurred when I was eight. My parents caved in to my begging and bought me a hamster. I named him Fred. He was a cute little hamster as long as I admired him from afar. When I tried to pick him up, he took his oversized hamster teeth and planted them in multiple places into my hands. Apparently, Fred needed his space, and after my hands were covered in hamster teeth marks, I was perfectly willing to give it to him.

The problems started when Fred became the furry, miniature Houdini, which leads me to my first and second experience with rodents. About the same time Fred entered our lives, so did a lot of other rodents. Our house was in a once heavily wooded area that was populated by plenty of forest creatures like mice and flying squirrels. The latter decided to play in our A- frame house one day sending my mom running for cover and my dad running for a broom and a net. He swatted and cussed until the squirrels returned to the trees.

The second experience involved one unfortunate mouse that had fallen into our kitchen sink. The sink was full of water and dirty dishes. One day, while I was quietly eating a grilled- cheese sandwich at the bar that looked into our kitchen, my mom started cleaning those dishes. Eventually she reached into the sink and grabbed the mouse. She did not scream once, but more like three or four times. Each scream got progressively louder and was followed by a stunned, silent pause. The first scream did not get me, but the second and third sent me into hysterics, and I never finished my grilled- cheese. Consequently, my mom never reached into a sink full of water again, and my dad sat out oodles of mousetraps, which brings us back to Fred.

Fred escaped from his cage and very quickly discovered that mousetraps work just as well on hamsters as they do on mice. I was devastated, but a little hopeful my next hamster would not be so adventurous and a little nicer…no such luck.

Fred Jr. escaped the first night in our house. He avoided the traps for a week, but one night, as I lay in my bed half asleep, something ran across my face. I could not move and lay in my bed terrified, but I did manage to cover my face with my hands. Several minutes later something ran across my hands, but this time I flung the creature through the air not thinking it might be Fred, but rather a giant, man- eating Tasmanian devil. It hit my wall with a thud, and then hit the floor. When I turned on the light, there was a small stain on my baseball wallpaper and Fred Jr. on the floor. That was the end of Fred Jr. and my hamster owning days.

My eight- year- old daughter got a Guinea pig the other day. His name is Sniffy Doug. The name Doug comes from my father, and Sniffy comes from the fact my ten- year- old daughter thinks he sniffs a lot. Hey, it's better than Fred!

Anyway, Sniffy Doug and I don't spend too much time together, but that's probably a good thing. I just hope this rodent experience goes a little better than my previous ones. If not, my daughter will have something to write about when she gets older.