Rare is the person who has kept house with critters & not, at some point, felt the close of teeth on skin. It’s a rite of passage. Sharing life with beings whose sole means of defense is the power of their jaws, it just happens. I may be antisocial, but no people have resorted to biting me… at least not literally. Frankly, that would be refreshingly honest, rather than the figurative form of biting that humans engage in. That lacks the immediacy & suspense of cohabiting with other species. Humans do everything boring.

My first clear memory of being chomped was perpetrated by my sister’s mean gerbil. My gerbil had a sweet disposition, liked being held & petted. Hers was nasty-tempered, & would clamp onto a finger with those prodigious incisors til you had to shake it off. Sadly, mine died first. It came with my introduction to rigor mortis, finding her face-down one morning & nudging her tail. Her whole body moved as if taxidermied. I was devastated… & intrigued. Does that make me morbid?

So many bites along the way. My sister Du’s cat Wildebeest was notorious for purring as you scratched his head, then turning & sinking his teeth into your hand. My dwarf hamster Smidgen loved running in his rolly ball, but when I picked him up to put him inside it he bit me. Never hard, but still. Every. Freakin’. Time. Another sister’s cat, Pyewacket, was a neurotic individual, prone to mood swings. One day I was merrily playing my harmonica when Pyewacket lunged, planted her claws on either side of my face & bit my head. One person’s music is another’s noise, apparently.

At eleven yrs old I had to get a tetanus shot, delivered via one of those gun-looking apparatuses (apparati?). Immediately I fainted & had to be brought round with the era-equivalent of smelling salts. All because I was an ass & teased the family dog until she left 4 punctures & a huge black bruise on my thigh. I totally deserved it, but I hadn’t meant to annoy Minx to that end. I wanted her to dance & jump like a trained dog I’d seen on tv. I found Minx would only jump so many times for the treat I kept just out of her reach. Then she’d take her pound of flesh.

A teddy bear hamster (I named Willik) was left at my door like an orphan babe. He was the most affectionate rodent I ever roomed with. He’d follow me around the apartment, tap on my leg when I was at the sink (he loved his baths), & make nests in various places– once in one of my shoes. I finally made him a proper nest box, & it was the only time he ever bit me. He loved his new nest box in my pan cupboard so much that he’d tolerate no fingers to defile it. I learned a lesson about personal space that day.

The many budgies I’ve lived with instructed me that administering to their grooming needs (nail trims) or medical needs (giving medications) would result in blood-shed if the patient wasn’t wrapped in a washcloth & secured with velcro first. Like a bird straight-jacket. No matter how much they enjoyed a head-scritch or cuddle or hanging out on your shoulder, birds really don’t like being fucked with for unpleasant activities. & beaks are sharper than teeth.

The most famous biting experiences I’ve had all came one summer at a Zoological Wildlife & Conservation Center. It’s one thing to be chomped by those you know & love; it’s quite another to be singled out for biting by perfect strangers.

I went mostly for the sloths, those smiley slowpokes who live their lives upside-down. The ceiling of their house was all branches & large mesh, so they could get around anywhere. Us humans were ushered in & instructed to observe but not interfere (no touching). Our numbers were kept to a minimum to avoid stressing the shy creatures; because we were few, we were all invited to be ‘hugged’ by the younger sloths whilst offering them snacks. With one long furry arm draped over my shoulder & holding the sloth’s body to my side, I held up zucchini sticks as the youngster gingerly plucked them from my fingers between two hook-like claws. Then proceeded to chew, which gave me the opportunity to see their teeth: a set of rounded pegs, nary a pointy bit anywhere.

This would explain why earlier, when backing up to get a photo, I felt a mild pinch on my shoulder. I turned my head & was face-to-face with a sloth hanging behind me that I’d bumped into. Oops. Sorry.

Next came the ring-tailed lemurs. It was slightly unnerving to be surrounded in their enclosure armed with nothing but a handful of Froot Loops. An odd snack that their tiny hands darted out to snatch one at a time. These wee people had some sharp canines, & those huge buggy eyes that were hard to read. Luckily they were happy to munch on unhealthy breakfast cereal only.

Our group was then introduced to a timber wolf. On a leash. He was young, yet gigantic. Gangly still, but impressively horror-movie iconic. As we sat in a semicircle he made a circuit with his handler so we could each pet him. When he got to me he had a sudden burst of playfulness & nipped me on the forearm. It didn’t really hurt, but broke the skin. I’m still waiting to see if I turn come a full moon.

The wallaby, armadillo, & fennec fox were all docile. I was excited to meet the little blue fairy penguins, the world’s tiniest. We were sitting on the grass as the penguins wandered over. One waddled a B-line to me with seeming purpose, adorable in her blue-tinged tux. It was like a living cartoon was approaching. I was eager to feel the texture of her feathers. I have a thing for birds. She marched right up to me, her flipper-wings held out to the sides, & bit me really hard on the bicep. Left a mark that stayed for days. But then she let me pet her & even snuggled up against me. That’s what I get for thinking penguins are comical birds of the sea. Joke’s on me.