When a Chinese Hooded Rat Won My Heart

I rescued a rat. There was a time I had wanted a snake as a pet. I went out and found a young Boa Constrictor at a pet store. I brought him home and took the advice of the pet shop employee on how to care for the snake. That was a mistake. Had I purchased a care guide, I would have known it was better and safer for the animal and myself to use frozen rodents to feed the snake. Obviously, not while still frozen, but the best way was to avoid using live rodents. I did not realize this and believed the teen aged pet shop employee that feeding the snake live mice was best.

I fed live mice to the snake for the first month or so I had him. He went through a molt and I thought it might be time to feed him something a bit bigger. I went with baby rats. The first one I purchased, I placed in the tank and watched. The snake was uninterested in the rat. I figured it was because he wasn’t hungry, so I kept the rat in his own cage. It wasn’t long before I gave the rat a name, Chunk. Yes, I wasn’t much for thinking ahead in my early 20s. He was a Chinese hooded rat and he liked me to get him out and hang out with him. Needless to say, I could no longer think of feeding him to the snake. So, off I went to the pet store to get another rat for feeding time. This one attacked the snake. I had to get it out of the cage. At that point I realized live feeding was a bad idea and I decided to… make this particular rat not alive anymore. I did not anticipate how queasy that would make me nor how much I would hate myself. What made it worse, was that now the snake was traumatized and aggressive. He would not eat the rat at all. I spoke to the pet shop, this time to their actual reptile expert, and she agreed I could bring him back and she could work with the snake to get it back to its normal behavior to get it eating again. She said I could come get him when she was done, but by this time, I had already been bitten in the face by the snake and realized that I am not the right person to care for a snake. I had had lizards before and did fine with them, but the snake was something different. I asked if they would take the snake back and they agreed.

Now I was down a snake, but apparently I had “rescued” this growing, sweet rat named Chunk from becoming snake food. I was living with my mom at the time as I had just returned home from the USAF. Chunk was one of my favorite animal companions. I held him and talked to him and pet him often. He got the name Chunk because his testicles were much larger than he was when he was younger. I called him Chunky Nuts, which later became just Chunk. When I moved from home for a job, Chunk followed. It was later that same year that I welcomed my cat Turkey to the family. I’ve written about her before. She was meant for my girlfriend at the time, but the cat did not like the girlfriend so when we split up, the cat stayed with me. Turkey and Chunk actually got along fine. I could take Chunk out with Turkey around and she didn’t seem to have an interest in him at all. She never sat and watched him in his cage either. She just didn’t care. Chunk was curious about her, but after some time, I’m guessing he decided she was just something that didn’t bother him so he didn’t care much about it.

Chunk was the first and only rat I had as a pet. I had a hamster when I was kid, who was also pretty great because he would get out of his cage and he would come out of hiding when I whistled for him. I could blow air between my front teeth pressed against my bottom lip and it made a soft, but high pitched, whistling sound. I tried it with Chunk and found the he also responded to the sound. I don’t know if I was saying anything in rodent language, but he seemed to like when I “talked” to him so I did it all the time. I was amazed by how quickly he grew. Within the first year he was longer than my hand and that wasn’t counting his tail.

My attachment to Chunk surprised me. I talked to him, whistled for him, and got him out to play all the time. He showed affection, often crawling up under my chin and snuggling against me. Since Turkey had no interest in hunting him, I was able to let him run around the floor on his own. I never let him out of my sight and still kept an eye on Turkey, but most of the time she would go off into another room when she saw me put him on the floor. I knew rats were intelligent, but I never knew they could bond with humans. I thought that was the stuff of cartoons and kids stories. Chunk showed me what amazing pets rats can be.

When the lease was up for the apartment I once shared with my girlfriend (and where I had moved when I left my mom’s), I moved again. It was the second move for both Chunk and Turkey w/in a year’s time. Neither seemed particularly bothered by it. I expected Chunk to be good with it, but Turkey had a rough time when she first came home with me so I wasn’t sure how stressed she might be with moving again so soon. Since I wasn’t like her previous owner who duct taped her in a box, instead I used a carrier, she did great. She didn’t even complain on the trip to the new place. Of course, Chunk was in his cage the whole time so I imagine for him it was just the curiosity of why his home was moving around.

It wasn’t long after Chunk reached his third year of life that I noticed he was acting strange. He was paying too much attention to his privates. I picked up and turned him on his back. The first thing I noticed was that his penis was sticking out. I had never seen this and assumed maybe it was in response to a female that was within scent range. I didn’t know much about rat behavior when it came to mating. I left him alone and decided I would check on him every so often for at least a day. The next morning he was lethargic and his little weenie was still sticking out. It was time for a vet visit.

The vet was able to get me in the same day. When I arrived I didn’t have to spend any time in the waiting room, they took me right back to the exam room. It was roughly 15 minutes later when the vet came and I explained what was going on with Chunk. The vet did an exam and drew some blood. He explained that this could be a sign of dehydration, but needed to test before he could confirm. He left for a few minutes, during which time I began fretting that I was a terrible rat daddy and thought of how poorly I cared for the snake. I was worried the vet would return and scold me for not taking good care of Chunk. When he returned, it was bittersweet news. It wasn’t my fault, but Chunk had pneumonia. Because of this, he was a bit dehydrated and when he went to use the bathroom, the natural lubrication that allows the penis to return inside wasn’t abundant enough and the penis was stuck. The vet pulled out a tube of ointment and showed me that I would need to apply it directly to the penis. As he did this, I was glad to see it took a dab on his finger and the little thing went back where it belonged. They sent me home with the ointment and some liquid medicine to treat Chunk’s pneumonia.

This gave me four more days with Chunk. During those days, I would check on him and when I saw his penis was stuck out again, I did as the vet had done and it was able to retract inside. Chunk remained lethargic and I could see his breathing was labored. I had called the vet and he said give it another couple of days for the meds to work. The fourth day, however, I woke up and found Chunk not moving. I didn’t need to pick him up to know he was gone. I didn’t want to pick him up. I was too busy trying not to cry over a rat. I knew he was more than that, though. I reached in and his lifeless body was limp in my hand. I broke. I was sobbing as I held him and talked to him and told him I was so sorry. It had been three years and I had already known that this was a long lifespan for a rat. In captivity 2 to 3 years was the average. This knowledge did little to comfort my guilt. I knew he was old by rat standards and it was his time, but I still felt like I could have done something.

I lived in an apartment so I wasn’t sure what to do with him. I figured the property managers would not be happy if they found me digging a hole on their grounds. I took him back to the vet who said they could take care of his disposal. I didn’t want to know what they were going to do with him. I had an option of getting him cremated and put in an urn or container, but the cost and the idea of doing that made me decide it wasn’t an option. I still think of him and that was over 20 years ago. I often consider having another rat as a pet. I remember their life span is only 3 years, but that’s how it is for most smaller mammals. I may still get another one. I always look when I go to pet stores. I like to check the cages where they keep the “feeders”. If I get one, it makes me feel as if I’m rescuing another rat friend.