It all started when I received a phone call from my BFF.
“Hester is prego,” she said. “Stupid Brady made her pregnant.”
“But isn’t that what they’re *supposed* to do?” I asked. “They *are* boyfriend/girlfriend.”
“Yes, but still! I didn’t think it would happen this quickly,” she replied.
Ok, that probably isn’t verbatim, but I’m going from memory here.
“Point is, I don’t think we can keep the babies AND parents. Think you might want one?”
I was secretly jumping with glee, but wanted to sound aloof about the whole thing.
“Why would I want a guinea pig?”
“Why wouldn't you want one?”
“Touché. I suppose I could, but try to find other homes first, ok?”
I had mostly forgotten about the possibility of getting a guinea pig. Mostly because I was thinking the worst and didn’t want to get my hopes up.
Then, one fateful Saturday afternoon (August 20), I got a text. “Hesserann had her babies! They’re so cute! I hope the giraffe-looking one is a girl because that’s the one I’d most like to keep.” There was a picture attached and, indeed, one looked suspiciously like a giraffe. Color-wise, anyway; it was obviously shaped differently. No long neck and I couldn’t tell if it had legs or not. I was told all the boys would need to find new homes by week 3 so there wouldn’t be any additional litters.
Then, on a fateful Wednesday, I was told to come pick up my guinea pig ASAP. I said “I will be there on Saturday.” I rushed to Petsmart to pick up the essentials: super-big cage (ha!), alfalfa hay, pellet food, food dish (which I actually got from Walmart because I didn’t like the weird colors at the pet store), bedding, and a water bottle. I spent more than $100 on that first trip, mostly because I opted for the neat-looking water bottle with a floating duck, Carefresh Ultra (or whatever the white stuff is--because I couldn’t remember what kind of wood chips are best), and a cute little wooden hut. I was up very late that night setting everything up. Oh, I also had to buy a coffee table to put the thing on. And a little (VERY little) play pen.
Then, Saturday September 10, I loaded up my niece and headed to the friend’s house. On the way she called and said, “Oh, surprise! You get two of them. There are two boys left and, really, they should have a friend.”
And that’s how I was suckered into taking in two pigs.
All that was left were names. I decided the giraffe-looking one (yay! I secretly liked his coat the most, too) would be Apollo and his brother was Zeus. It just seemed to fit for some reason. (Note: I had originally wanted to find twin-god names or at least sibling names, but didn’t really care for the others. So let’s just pretend that the mythology lists them as brothers instead of father and son.)
The first night was rough. I wanted to hold them so badly! I was able to resist the urge, though I did terrorize them with a picture that night.
That is Zeus and Apollo's bum. They were so small!
And, for some reason I don’t recall, their cage was beyond gross the very next day, so I needed to spot clean. Which meant agonizing floor time. I feel horrible looking back :/
They were so sweet and innocent!
The next amount of time passed without many interesting things. As the initial new home shock wore off, I began handling them more. Apollo more so than Zeus. Zeus was (and still is) a butt when he sees The Hand. I spent a lot of time trying to convince them that I’m not an eagle, but I don’t think they quite understand.
Another thing: one night while I was browsing GL, I decided that the food I had bought for them was no longer acceptable. I had read about food and planned to switch to Oxbow after this package was gone, but I really panicked for some reason and decided to spend some time sifting out the seeds, colored bits, etc. I was up until about 2 am and hadn’t even finished the bag. I think it was the next day that I finally gave up and just bought a bag of Oxbow.
Also wanted to note that my parents were not entirely on-board with the idea of adding guinea pigs to our home. Yes, I'm a 26-year-old woman living with her parents. I told them it was too bad and I'll do what I want. My dad went "that's fine" and so it was. They still didn't want anything to do with them, though, until they came home. My mom refuses to admit that she loves them to death, but she does sneak upstairs to check on them almost every day. And my dad always cracks-wise about grilling them this summer ("They'll make some good bacon come Spring!"), which is his special way of saying that he likes things a lot.
Up next: the hazards of building a C&C and some veggie experiments.
