Life's Hard Lessons

The little guinea pig that our granddaughter wanted so badly to have for her own was found on the website for the local Humane Society. It was, they said, about one and a half years old, and it found favour with our grandchild, twelve at that time when they adopted the little animal and took it home. To join a plethora of other animals in their home; dogs ranging from pocket-sized to veritable beasts, two cats and six rabbits. The little guinea pig soon found itself located in its very own two-story set-up, next to a similar one for two rabbits.

Yes, there were quite a few animal companions in that single house, but none of them, sighed the child, was hers. She wanted a pet of her very own. Resistance was futile; rational explanations about turning a home into a zoo went absolutely nowhere. She was resolute. For her birthday she wanted a pet of her very own, and that pet would take the form of a little guinea pig. Certainly she paid great attention to the other animals, played with the dogs, tolerated the cats, and enjoyed the rabbits.

But a guinea pig was different, and that was what she wanted. She was forewarned of the responsibility that would entail. It meant she would no longer be able to go on longer than two-day visits with friends or family, sleeping away from home. Because her pet's enclosure would have to be cleaned on a daily basis. Her pet would have to be fed, its water changed constantly, and with pet ownership came pet responsibilities. She would not change her mind, and the guinea pig was acquired.

Despite her long familiarity with animals, she was fearful of picking up the tiny creature. She relied on her mother to pick it up and lay it on her lap when she wanted to brush it gently. Or when the pen had to be cleaned. It was fine when the little pig sat quietly on her lap and allowed her to smooth its white-and-black hair, but she steadfastly refused to pick it up herself, fearing she might harm it. Over time the little animal became so familiar with its surroundings and exhibited no fear at the presence of the other animals, it was permitted to roam outside its pen on occasion.

It particularly asked, through its emotive little squeals to be let out to roam around with all the others when, in the evening, after dinner was done for all of them, fresh fruits and vegetables were cut up for salads for the entire menagerie in their own bowls. The little guinea pig had a bowl of its own, and loved the salads that supplemented its usual feedings. He would position himself close to our grandchild's mother's feet at the kitchen sink, with the dogs sitting and waiting in a semi-circle around the main event.

The little pig occasionally seemed to lose its robust appetite and eat without enthusiasm, but those events were transitory, and his usual verve would soon return. A week ago, our grandchild enthused that finally, she was able to pick him up. Odie had stopped running away from her, she didn't need to quickly grasp for him, he now allowed her to raise him herself to her lap. She mentioned that he looked like a little fur ball, but he wasn't; under that pelt of hair, she said, he was actually thin-feeling.

When she arrived home from school yesterday at her usual time of four in the afternoon, her mother happened not to be home. She wandered over to Odie's pen to greet him as usual, soon as she emptied her backpack of all her school assignments. He didn't run to greet her. He lay oddly, in a peculiar manner, yet didn't seem to be asleep. His eyes were open, but they did not move. She reached over to gently ruffle the top of his head, then drew back in dismay. She had never encountered death before.

Her mother telephoned, telling her child where she was, and she was heading home, would be there in less than a half-hour. She hesitated, through her distress, to say anything to her mother until her arrival at home, but was unable to stop herself. She wept and informed her mother, knowing how fond her mother too was of the little creature. And then she telephoned her grandmother, to wail and bemoan the misery of her little guinea pig's departure.