Reach out and touch Bob

I used to live with a prairie dog named Bob.

(Not a dog raised on the prairie. I've never actually seen a prairie, but I did watch the show about a little house on one every week of my entire childhood.)

Bob had to stay in his hutch during the day to prevent him from chewing through electrical cords. But as soon as I got my key halfway through the door every evening, he'd sit up straight and start barking at me to let him out to play with Ed the Himalayan cat. If I had video of the two of them chasing each other around my living room, I could rule YouTube and put Cute Overload right out of business.

One fateful day I was at work, and after bulking up on the fat food I should not have been giving him, Bob raised his little prairie dog arms over his head, lifted the screen barrier and took a four-day vacation. I knew he was in the house, because he wasn't slick enough to not bark at me when I came in, but I could not place him. Four days later, he emerged from his super-secret hideaway inside my box springs.

Here's where I say that nobody should buy or adopt a pet on impulse because they are creatures of (insert deity) just like you and require more care than you may have imagined.

The ex-boyfriend (whose wealthy English parents traveled a lot and wouldn't let him have pets) brought Bob home from an illegal exotic pets dealer and left him here when he moved out. My little Bob was Ed's exercise partner and my welcome-home chime, but I couldn't bear to keep that social creature in a cage.

I can't remember if I used AOL or Yahoo! for the ad, as it was 12 years ago and Craig's List was years away from existence. I got a lot of responses to my ad wanting to find a good home for my Bob where he could live and socialize with other prairie dogs. Most of them were from non-owners who thought having one would be cool. I blew off all those responses, as my tearful task was to find my boy a colony.

After three weeks, she found me. Her name was Oceana, she was a vet student at State, and she had a spare room set up with a safe, open space for her four prairie dogs to play. She assured me that she would take the greatest care introducing Bob to the colony and had done it with two of her other rescued chubs.

On the day she came over to take Bob to meet his new family, I couldn't help but cry. Those tears were a combination of "I'm so sorry" and "I'm so happy for you."

I e-mailed Oceana daily for the next couple of weeks to make sure Bob was okay with his new colony. She sent me responses detailed assuage each stage of my grief and guilt. Then she responded in kind when I moved through "I did the right thing" into "Yay! He's happy!"

In her last e-mail, she told me how easily he'd moved into the colony and that he had a best friend. And I let go.

That was 12 years ago, but I'll always remember Bob rocking out to Depeche Mode.