A List of Things That Didn't Kill Me by Jason Schmidt

out?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” he said. “The sides of the box are too smooth. His teeth can’t get a grip.”
    I could feel something warm and soft on the bottom of the box.
    â€œI think he peed in there, Dad.”
    Dad opened the box and wrinkled his nose.
    â€œHold on,” he said. He went to the kitchen and came back a minute later with a paper bag.
    â€œWe can keep him in here while I line his shoebox with newspaper,” Dad said. We moved the whole operation out to the kitchen table and Dad tried to grab the gerbil out of the box. He seemed reluctant to touch the little brown creature, and I didn’t offer to help because I sort of enjoyed watching him squirm. Finally he gave up trying to pick it up in his hand and just hoisted it out by its tail.
    â€œThat looks like it hurts him,” I said as the gerbil gyrated around and tried to get a grip on my dad’s fingers with his little pink paws.
    â€œNo,” Dad said. “It’s fine. They—”
    Then the gerbil dropped back down into the shoebox.
    At first I thought Dad had just lost his grip on the tail, but when I looked I saw he was still clutching it in his hand like a little scrap of ragged brown string. Dad and I both looked at the tail in his hand, then at each other—then down into the box.
    The gerbil was on his back, legs flailing in the air, making little gasping movements with his mouth. There was surprisingly little blood from the stump of his tail, but it was clear the rodent was fucked.
    â€œShit,” I said.
    Dad didn’t say anything back.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with him?” I asked.
    â€œI think it’s in shock,” Dad said.
    â€œIn shock?” I asked.
    â€œYeah. I’ve heard it happens to rabbits and stuff, when they get really scared. It usually kills them. Like, from a heart attack.”
    â€œIs there anything we can do?” I asked.
    â€œNope.”
    Suddenly Dad got up and went out the back door of the house. I had no idea where he’d gone, but I didn’t want to leave the gerbil alone. Not because I had a lot of love for the animal, but because I was afraid he’d jump out of the box and start running around the kitchen, like one of Sean’s chickens with its head cut off.
    When Dad came back a few minutes later he had a shovel.
    â€œIs that so we can bury him after he dies?” I asked.
    â€œWhy wait?” he said, scooping up the box and walking toward the front door.
    I couldn’t really believe he was going to do what he said he was going to do, so I followed him out the front door. He put the box down on the stairs and used the shovel to dig a deep hole behind the iris bulbs, near the foundation of the house. It was still daylight outside and I looked around to see if anyone was watching, but, as usual, nobody was out on the street or in their yard. When Dad had a hole about the right size, he put the box in the bottom of the hole and put the lid on it. As the lid came down I could see the gerbil was still twitching, but it did seem to be winding down. I hoped that meant it was actually dying.
    â€œHold on,” Dad said, going back into the house. When he came back he dropped the gerbil’s tail on top of the box, then started shoveling dirt in on it.
    â€œIs it going to … hurt?” I asked.
    â€œNope,” Dad said. “Just like going to sleep.”
    â€œJesus,” I said, revising my opinion of sleep on the spot. “Are you gonna say something?”
    â€œWhat do you want me to say, Jason? A gerbil’s pretty much a rat. We put out mousetraps. When we catch one we just throw it in the garbage. At least this one’s getting buried.”
    â€œOkay,” I said, as he finished up.
    When he was done he paused with the tip of the shovel resting on the fresh-turned earth and looked down at what he’d done. We exchanged a look and he sighed dramatically.
    â€œDear Mr.