tracey - glasgow, scotland

tracey - glasgow, scotland

this darling little doodle comes to us all the way from a reader in the uk!!!  the lovely lady behind this pastel pencil drawing is tracey, and she writes a wonderful (and colourful!) craft blog with lots of pictures and links and information about all sorts of art projects and techniques, so i really think that you should go check it out at:

tracey’s email to us read as such:

Hello Gerbilize,

I thought you might appreciate my guinea pig pastel doodle.

Good luck with your rodenty-quest 😉


our response is a unanimous “YES! we *DO* appreciate your guinea pig pastel doodle, tracey!”

i mean really… could we not?

every time i look at it i’m struck by the pretty pink nose and big round bottom, which makes me think that this is one of those slow crawling, hip swaying, surveying the room before she settles on a location kinda guinea pig gals. i’ll bet that every guy in the place is just hypnotized and mesmerized by the way her hair catches the light and shines with such intensity that they are immediately blinded with desire. all those other guinea pig ladies should look out, cuz this one’s coming to snag away their man without even trying…….


we got this in our email a little while back and have been too busy to post it, so we apologize for the delay.

mr. tooty nolan wrote us a lovely little message and included another submission of his radical rodent ‘ritings! and this one includes some juicy hints of hamster humping, lol!

this piece of fiction is actually quite lengthy, so we’ve only included an excerpt here. but if you like what you read, then please scurry over to his blog and check out his other great work!

Hello again girls. I felt a bit mean about sending you a work of fact rather than a work of fiction earlier, which isn’t what you asked for originally. So to make amends please accept this little tale – entirely fictional I assure you – from the third volume of The Horatio Horseblanket Chronicles, and chosen at random, entitled Return to the Year Blob.

Chapter Twelve: Return To The Year Blob


Once outside he immediately encountered the dean , Ruggy Toadfellow, and the school nurse, Honey Bucket, as they made their way along the corridor toward, what could only be, the stationery store. It was late, and Horatio couldn’t think of one good reason why either of them should be searching out envelopes at this time of night. There were some social skills that Horatio was yet to master completely: The abrupt verbalization of his thoughts was one of them… “What are you two up to?” He enquired, stepping before them and thwarting their forward progress. For a moment Ruggy was flustered, “Why, isn’t it obvious, young fellow me lad?” He blustered. To Horatio nothing was obvious; certainly not the actions of his buck-toothed overseers. He wished that he could have responded with a witty quip: Instead he said, “No.” with a quizzical, and perhaps insolent, lilt. Then he noticed that Honey carried a huge basket of pies and bottles of lemonade. “What are they for? Are you gonna have a party?” He asked. Ruggy realized, even if Horatio didn’t, that his plan had all the opacity of The Great Hall’s stained glass window. So, with a deep sigh, he said… “I’ve just come off the phone with the weather hamsters. These inclement conditions are bound to stick around for at least another month. By then we’ll be in a mini ice age, and millions will die. Honey and I have decided to sit it out in the stationery store, then attempt to rebuild the population of Hamster Britain by combining our DNA in the most natural manner we could think of…” For a moment Horatio stood in absolute silence. He was not stunned. He wasn’t even frightened. He was simply in awe of Honey Bucket: He’d seen Ruggy in the showers entirely by accident one summer’s evening, so he knew what she was in for. He sent up a quick, silent prayer to the Saint of All Hamsters for her physical well-being and the elasticity of certain parts. “Well good luck.” he said, trying to smile, but instead grimacing so badly that Honey had second thoughts about surviving, and almost opted for euthanasia then and there, “But what are the rest of us to do? We can’t go outside – for fear of frostbite and resentment from some of the poorer villagers who have neither a roof over their head, nor a pot to piss in. Also the doors to the kitchen are locked.” Ruggy had to make a quick decision. He looked down at the vast quantity of pies, made a quick calculation, multiplied it by two, and said, “Here you are,” and handed Horatio the keys to the kitchen. Then, as he and Honey scurried away into the staccato shadows thrown by the single, stuttering oil lamp, he added, “Find the prettiest girl who’ll have you, and finagle yourself a warm hideaway. From now on it’s every hamster for himself.” This last line set Horatio to thinking: If he was to return to the Boys dorm, and inform the others, it would probably cause great friction amongst them. He’d read the literary masterpiece ‘Prince of the Woodlice’, so he knew how situations could quickly spiral out of control, and usually resulted in the biggest bullies ultimately ruling the roost. He thought of Lewd Junior and his bunch of would-be hooligans: They envied him terribly; No doubt they would shave his scrotum, pin him to the wall of The Great Hall as their prize exhibit, and throw things at him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it of such ghastly visions. No, the other boys would have to figure out how to survive the mini ice-age by themselves: Even poor Algy. What he needed was a warm hideaway and a good female with wide, pup-bearing hips, and a natural predilection to multiplying exponentially. Lys Dexia might have been the obvious candidate – except that she’d vowed never to have children, and was far too argumentative and flighty. She might be perfect for a roll in a shallow  roadside ditch; but as a permanent partner she was pure poison. Colleen Slapper would have been his natural choice, since she was perfect in every way; was betrothed to him when he came of age; and he loved her dearly. But she was probably in Chunderland right now – fighting beached prawns, and warding off ice floes. That left…Who did that leave? He hadn’t really got to know many of the female hamsters of Saint Dunces: They were all too dull and insipid; and none of them was the least interested in either go-kart racing, foldaway scooter motocross, or poo-jumping. That left only one: The strange foreign girl who nobody spoke to because she was foreign. “I wonder…” He said to himself.

“Vouz wondare what?” Came a strangely accented feminine voice from the darkness.

Tooty Nolan’s ‘The Horatio Horseblanket Chronicles’ ©

Created & Written by Paul Trevor Nolan

so i found this in our email today and just had a huge giggle upon first viewing, and then proceeded to watch it at least five more times. it was sent to us by our friend liz (in burlington), and she wrote:

Unfortunately I can’t take the credit for creating this, but I thought it fit the criteria for your website

love it!

and it totally does fit our criteria liz, so thanks for sending it in! 🙂

PLUS you just earned yourself the honour of creating a new category for chipmunk submissions!

so our good friend, cath (in bermuda) informed us of this new movie coming out about a gang of guinea pigs acting as government spies – wowzah! naturally we had to hunt down some info on this, and here’s what we found:

it’s a disney movie

it’s in 3D

the official website has games that you can play online

on the main page if you click on each character you get a little profile and i think that my favourite so far is agent mooch, the literal fly on the wall.

hopefully this will inspire some of our gerbilicious readers to send us some guinea pig inspired work, as we don’t yet have any submissions featuring that particular rodent.

while surfing though the blog realm the other day, i happened across this *amazing* blog that features stories about a world where rodents rule all.


naturally, i was compelled to comment immediately, and just received a very gracious contribution to our site from mr. tooty nolan himself! neato!

this fantastic work of fiction made me giggle and gasp all at once, and i do hope that all you gerbilize lovers take the time to stop by tooty’s blog and let him know what you thought of his submission:

so sit back, take a deep breath, and dive into this wonderful little tale of hamster horror……

Hello girls – thanks for your comment on The Bucktooth Times. In response please accept this tale of horror. Hope you can use it – and that it’s not too ghastly. Tooty

When Good Hamsters Go Bad!
Regard the picture below if you will. Now doesn’t that look like a happy day out in the family powerboat? Look how eager they are to clamber down the ladder in the stern, and take a quick dip in a sparkling summer sea. And the little guy on the prow hauling in a Great White or what-not: What an excellent day it’s obviously been for him. All in all it is a scene of familial bliss. Or is it?

What you don’t know is that once upon a time there were fifteen members of this toothy gang. Then, of course, all was well – and not a harsh word could be heard to pass between them. Until that fateful day. But let’s step back a few months… Like most people, these little fella’s owner thought that Russian hamsters were cute furry blobs that enjoyed eating seeds and stuff. And by and large he was right. They WERE furry: They WERE blobs – with stick-like legs poking out of them: And they DID enjoy eating seeds and other vegetable-based ‘stuff’. All was sweetness and light in the home of Mr and Mrs Popyourcorkalov and their brood. Sure there was the problem of over-crowding – but the clever owner took care of that by installing a wire cage above the glass tank that they called home, which could be accessed by a nifty ladder that hung down from the cage like a scaling net. And the subsequent passing of the elderly parents eased pressures too. And even then all would have been well for the excitable little rodents – had not the same owner decided to ‘have a laugh’. Cue extreme lack of wisdom and the inevitable tragedy that was bound to follow. He wondered how they would react to the presence of a cooked chicken leg being hung from the cage. Well they didn’t react well at all. They poured from their sleeping quarters like a furry Mongol horde, and attacked it with a ferocity that would have put a shoal of piranha to shame, with the efficiency of a band of starving hyena. In short they tore it to pieces, then fought over the bones. This came as a surprise to their owner; but he thought little of it until the next day. Come the morning – and he discovered that he no longer owned thirteen Russian hamsters: Instead he owned only twelve. Well twelve and a half actually. The skin and teeth of Number Thirteen were buried in the sawdust beside the latrine. Worse still the previously unified twelve were now ensconced within two different sleeping-quarters. Six up stairs: Six below. And woe betide any of the ‘below’ gang if they ventured ‘upstairs’. And vice versa of course. So a social experiment was begun: Those below stairs received their food first. The others – slumbering through the daylight hours – dipped out. So the ‘below’ gang became big and tough, whilst the ‘upstairs’ boys and girls became trim and feeble. Well before long the situation was reversed. ‘Upstairs’ was repopulated, and the newly-dispossessed ‘below’ gang began to get well fed. This situation continued for several cycles before an escalation of hostilities. One morning the ‘upstairs’ group were found to number only five – and with no apparent escape route found it was pretty obvious what had happened to the poor unfortunate who must have risen early and tried to help himself to some nibbles. A week later and the balance of power was resumed. Now they numbered only ten. It became obvious that something would have to be done – so with fewer inhabitants to cater for – the cage could be safely removed, and unity returned. Oh dear – not so. They merely moved to opposite ends of the tank and glared myopically at each other over the intervening distance. Then the fighting began in earnest. Ten quickly became eight – became six – became…personalities. With only six – three in each gang – the tiny gladiators became distinct from one another. One of them also became blind – which meant that he was easy meat, and could be attacked during the daytime as well as the night. Well the owner wasn’t going to put up with that – so he placed a partition between them. But one night the gang that possessed six good eyes raided the other camp by scaling the partition, and carried off one of the other three. This left ‘Blindy’ and his best ‘Chum’ to face an inevitable defeat together. But amazingly the others turned on each other first, until only one rabid-looking individual remained alive on ‘the other side’. Then he started raiding – and ‘Chum’ spent most of his waking hours protecting ‘Blindy’ from attack by ‘Rabid’. This continued for perhaps a week – until ‘Chum’ grew sick and tired of the incessant war – and promptly made an attack of his own – and, much to the surprise of their hatefully callous owner, carried the corpse back for ‘Blindy’ to eat – which he did, of course. A sorry tale or what? But, you’ll be glad to know, it does have a happy ending. Well two actually. Chum and Blindy lived happily ever after – intil they died of old age – about two months later: And the owner vowed never to keep Russian hamsters again. And who was that evil bastard? Tooty Nolan – that’s who!

© Paul Trevor Nolan
This article first appeared in The Bucktooth Times.

there seems to be a definite lull in our recent submission history. we *TOTALLY* appreciate how many of our friends have contributed, but we’d love to get some more random submissions too! 🙂

so…..after hearing soSOso much about this whole twitter thing, i decided to check it out and see if we could use it to help direct some more traffic to the blog (and hopefully more submissions along with it!). i’m not sure how i feel about it yet, so i’m gonna consider this a “trial run”.

if you are already on twitter, please find us at:

and please let use know your opinions on using it as a strategy to get more people checking gerbilize out.

perhaps it will inspire some artistic renderings of a little gerbil using twitter???? 😉

so the other day we got an email from a friend that read as follows:

“not my own personal art but i thought you ladies may enjoy this! from my favourite new blog.”

– amy, toronto

thanks amy! we especially enjoyed trying to figure out whether or not that really *IS* a real gerbil! maybe it’s stuffed? maybe it’s a little figurine? maybe it’s the most fabulous marzipan manipulation ever????

either way, it’s creepy yet captivating…..

we also LOVE this comment that was made in the post: “That cake would also work for a pet snake’s birthday!” soooo true! did anyone see breakfast television this morning when jen fed a rat to a snake at reptilia? it was pretty intense…..

please keep sending in those fabulous gerbil (and rodent) related posts!