I love animals, usually. Dogs and cats always occupied our living spaces. Many hours of my childhood were spent catching and releasing snakes, horny toads, lizards and the occasional rabbit. I never understood those who abused animals. The closest I got to malicious behavior with wildlife was the occasional burning of fire ants with a magnifying glass.
For my ninth birthday I got a white lab rat. I kept it in my room and tried my best to like the rodent. It slept most of the day and made noise during the night. I could see its eyes reflect the moonlight from my window at night, which creeped me out. When I tried to feed it carrots and such it would bite me. That and the smell of the dirty cage became too much for me so Mom took it back to the pet store. That's her story, anyway.
Luckily my lab work in medical school did not involve anything more evolved than very tiny worm-like nematodes. My first post-doctoral position at the University of Virginia, however, required injecting various compounds into the abdomen of rats. This wasn't too bad as long as I was careful. I had a special chain-mail glove I wore on the hand holding the rat. This protected my fingers from any nips and gave me the chance to do my Michael Jackson impression. My other hand was bare because I needed the dexterity to handle the syringe. I would grab the rat by its back using my shiny MJ hand then insert the needle into the exposed belly of said rat. I did this many times with no problem.
Maybe I got careless, or just complacent from having injected so many rats. Or perhaps this particular rat had seen the drill too many times and wasn't going to take it anymore. In any event he timed his approach perfectly. His teeth snapped onto the finger of my hand holding the syringe.
Now, I don't know if you have ever examined rat teeth. They are basically just front teeth, upper and lower, long and scissor-like. This bite went through the nail and underside of my index finger, and the stupid animal hung on. I dropped the syringe and tried flinging the rat off my finger, scattering blood drops around the lab in the process. After several wild gyrations the rat flew off and scampered under a desk. I'm looking at the bloody hole in my fingernail yelling for someone to bring some iodine and Band-Aids. Once bandaged, I had to hunt down the offending rat. Thoughts of vengeance raced through my head. I was going to love terminating this animal!
As much as I wanted to stomp the critter to death for its treacherous actions I realized that these rats cost money and couldn't be wasted, at least not that day. I found the stupid rat gloating in a corner, grabbed it with my sequined MJ glove hand, and gave it the injection. This time I made sure its head couldn't move. Back in its cage, it happily ate some rat chow while telling the other rats of his exploit. I pondered whether I needed an injection of my own. I also had to fend off the jokes from my lab peeps. Not one of my better days.
Rat 1, Houston 0.
-- Devin Houston is the president/CEO of Houston Enzymes. Send comments or questions to [email protected]. The opinions expressed are those of the author.
Community on 07/26/2017