Monday, March 28, 2011

Rip Adams









  • It's a sign.




Adams when he was a baby. 





It's with heavy heart that I write of the death of my poor little Adams.
He was a lovable, if somewhat goofy little guy.
He was afraid of everything. He loved peas, chocolate chips, bananas,
getting his head scratched and his brother Calhoun, even if Calhoun
bullied him all the time, especially around the food dish.
He suffered his whole life with terrible respiratory infections, but had



seemed to make some real progress in the last month or so, which

made his death all that more shocking. I'm still not exactly sure what
happened. He was little under the weather for less than a day, I left
him sleeping in the hammock and gave him a few peas to eat.
He had just been at the vets a few days before that, because I noticed



his fur was starting to thin. It was Calhoun's health that I was worried
about, because he seemed seriously sick. Now Calhoun is making a 
comeback, and poor little Adams is gone, buried in the rodent grave

yard next to Mr. Rat. They never could get along in life, maybe
they can in death.
I'll miss the sweet little thing.