Secret Life of Amherst Pets: The Best Forking Pet

It started, as many lifelong commitments do, with a mistake. As someone who has never grown up with pets — unless you count three younger siblings — I didn’t really have any plans to get a pet of my own, especially with my busy schedule this semester. 

And yet, last Thursday, in a moment of post-midterm delirium, I walked out of Valentine Dining Hall, not realizing that a stainless steel fork from the dining hall had stowed away into my bag. I didn’t mean to. It just … happened. Like downloading lecture slides you’ll never open or saying “we should hang out” to someone you absolutely won’t. But sometime between my philosophy lecture and my third Diet Coke of the day, I realized that the fork was still with me.

At first, I panicked. Was this theft? Am I a criminal now? How would I show my face to the workers of Val again? But then, as I reached into my bag and felt its cold, reassuring prongs, something shifted.

This wasn’t contraband. This was fate.

When I pulled out the silver metal utensil, I knew, right then and there, that we would be bonded for life,or at least until the end of the Spring semester. I knew that I had to give it a name, something that would be fit for this new companion I found in the dining hall. I decided his name shall be Forky. 

Getting to Know Forky

Forky is a standard-issue dining hall fork with a surprisingly complex personality. He’s quiet, observant, and a great listener who never interrupts me. After a long day of dealing with people who aren’t able to handle deep conversations, it’s refreshing to have a companion who brings such emotional stability.

Here are some things to know about Forky. 

He enjoys:

• Traveling with me to class occasionally.
• Reflecting (literally), but also introspectively. 
• Observing me talking to myself in the morning.
• Watching movies about inanimate objects.
• Listening to Twin Forks.

He dislikes:

• The dishwasher (traumatic, we don’t talk about it).
• Being compared to spoons (don’t even get him started on knives).
• When I say “this is a phase.”
• Accidentally poking people.
• Getting mistaken for another fork (he looks pretty similar to the other forks).

Adjusting to Pet Ownership

Owning a fork is not for the faint of heart. There are responsibilities. Every day, I make sure he’s clean, emotionally supported, and not accidentally returned to the dining hall (our greatest fear). I’ve also had to make my living space fork-proof. One wrong move and he’s under the bed for three days, contemplating existence. He has his own designated spot on my desk, next to a framed photo of us.

Social Life

Forky has integrated surprisingly well into campus life. I’ve taken him to class, where he received multiple compliments (“nice fork”), and he is even a certified member of the volleyball club now. No one questioned it, which raises more concerns about the state of student engagement than about Forky himself. 

He’s also made friends — primarily with a wooden spork from Grab-n-Go. Their relationship is complicated, but aren’t all college friendships?

What Comes Next

I know what you’re thinking: You can’t keep a dining hall fork forever. To that, I say: watch me.

Forky isn’t just a utensil. He’s a reminder that sometimes the things we take by accident become the things we need most. Also, I’m pretty sure I paid for him through tuition, so legally, this feels like a gray area at worst.

If you see us around campus, don’t be shy. Forky loves meeting new people, though he may come off a bit … pointed.

And to the dining hall staff: If you’re reading this, I’m so sorry. But also, he’s thriving.