It's interesting to see which traits my brother, my sister, and I have in common with our parents.  I think as the three of us become adults, traits from Mom and Dad become obivious.  For example, my sister and my dad are clones.  They have the same personality, the same reactions, they stand the same way.  My brother has a very neat, tidy house.  He is also able to find creative solutions to problems - he is a problem solver.  In addition to Mom's blue eyes he has her neatness and her problem solving skills.

When we were growing up word got out that if you had a pet that you no longer could care for - or no longer wanted to care for - if it found its way to the Davidson home it was going to be allowed to stay.  My mom took in dogs, a very large rabbit, several birds, a pet rat, a nice collection of guinea pigs - if it needed a good home my mom was going to provide that, no questions asked.

This is the trait I got.  Let me tell you now I would have rather had the clean house or the ability to fix things.  But seeing how I keep taking in animals who need a home it is very unlikely that I will have a clean home and too many things get broken or eaten or ruined here that I could never fix them all.

Through some miracle for a dwarf hamster that was otherwize going to be released into an open field where it would have lived for about two minutes before becoming part of the food chain, it instead wound up at my home.  Chris said "No way."  A plan was devised to allow the hamster temporary santuary until a permanent home and family could be located for it. 

That was a while ago.

We spoke for months about getting Reagan a fish.  Wilson has a goldfish, Sushi, and an algae-eater named Springroll.  He's had a fish since he was Reagan's age.  She loves Will's fish.  She loves the fishtank at school.  She loves to go to the pet store (we're there a lot) and view all of the fish.  She likes to look in each tank and wave.  It's like a trip to an aquarium for her, a very special treat.

The only thing Reagan loves more than the fish is the "mouse" area.

Reagan's term for anything smaller than a rabbit - be it chinchilla, guinea pig, rat, or hamster - is "Mouse!"  She sees them, she jumps up and down, she laughs, she claps her hands, she squeals with great delight, "Mouse!"  It's very cute.  It's touching to see her delight in the little creatures.

The same night we devised the halfway house plan for the dwarf hamster we learned that Reagan inherited something from my mother too - the ability to zoom in on new details to her enviroment with across the house accuracy.  She saw it.  She clapped, she laughed, she squealed.  "Mouse!"

And because she is the child of her father's great joy, he said nothing about the reasons we could not keep the animal as he had done earlier.  He said nothing but handed me his wallet and sent the boy, the girl, and me to the pet store to buy "supplies". 

The goal was to put "Mouse!" in her room.  We did.  The second night Reagan started crying at 11 pm.  I went in to check on her.  I asked her what was wrong.  She stood up and pointed in the direction of "Mouse!".  She said "Mouse noisey."  And "Mouse!" is.  All rodents are.  "Mouse!" gets on the little excersize wheel and runs a hamster marathon every night.  The noise bothered Reagan.  I moved "Mouse!" to a new location. 

Location #2 doesn't work either.  I had to move "Mouse!" to the kitchen where "Mouse!" is a part of the family.  This centralized location means that all of us share in the marathon "Mouse!" runs every night.  "Mouse!" has become my responsibility - cleaning "Mouse!"'s cage, changing "Mouse!"'s water - all mine.  It's not too bad, until the 20 month old owner of "Mouse!" gets involved.

She understands that "Mouse!" is her pet,  She also understands I am the one caring for the needs of "Mouse!".  Somehow she has concluded that if "Mouse!" is hers and if I am responsible for the maintainence of "Mouse!", I must be her employee.  For the second time I have become the victim of my toddler offsprings' advanced deductive reasoning skills.

I cannot cook dinner without also serving something to "Mouse!"  Basically it comes down to making sure "Mouse!" gets plenty of fresh food.  I chop up vegetables for a salad.  She says "Mouse lettuce."  I chop broccoli she says "Mouse broc-ee."  I make chili.  She says "Mouse chili."  I explain "Mouse!" cannot have chili.  She walks to the refrigerator and points "Mouse carrot."  Not only do I need to get dinner on the table for four people, I am now the personal chef for "Mouse!"

I feel very confident in Gigi's ability to love and care for things.  Some day I pray she will treat her father and I as well and love us as much as "Mouse!"