The guineapig with a GSOH

I had guineapigs as a kid, they were great, if they heard you chopping vegetables in the kitchen (which their hutch/run was right outside) they would set up with that guineapiggy sound (there's no explaining it unless you've heard it, it sounds most like they are saying 'wiiinnkwiiinnnkwiiink'). if you crouched by their hutch with your knees making contact they would run across your lap and up your chest, they would sit on your arm and give little nudges as they settled their head snugly under your chin. I loved those little guys. Unfortunately we had to give them up for adoption to my bratty cousins when we began our great quest of moving around (a lot) and so it comes as no surprise that when at sweet 16 I found myself in a semi-permanent residence I felt the longing to get me a guineapig for company and to relive those wonderful days.

It hated me.

All it did all day was sneak around its hutch, if it heard me it would pelt into its sleeping compartment and refuse to come out. I fed it, I played with it, I cleaned it's stinking cage out regularly (well...kind of), I snuck it all sorts of good things to eat from the fruit and veg store I was whoring myself out at to afford this place, din't make a damned bit of difference. Only thing it never did though was bite me, it would pretend to, and used to threaten me all the time, but it never did it.

Eventually I got bored of this game, it became blindingly obvious that the little rodent didn't care for me and frankly I was past reminiscing about his wonderful predecessors, I offered him for sale in the local paper, hutch and everything included, £10. A woman turned up and it was obvious she just wanted a cheap hutch, did I care? no. I looked for all the world like I loved the little bugger, asked her to take good care of him, gave him a little scratch behind the ear. She asked me a few uninterested questions as she dug her purse out, mostly I answered creatively, then low and behold she asked the key one 'does he bite?'

'No! never' was my first entirely truthful answer. I looked down at him, he looked at me and very purposefully he lifted his head and sunk his teeth DEEP into my hand. I put him back into his hutch, took the tenner she handed me (with the hand not hidden behind my back), waved goodbye, watched her load the hutch into her car and drive away.

Screamed like a god damned lunatic cursing that fucker with every insult I could muster. My hand hurt for weeks and I still have the scar.

No apologies for length, if you really cared you wouldn't read as far as the apology anyway :)
( Jessie © needs pirate name suggestions, Fri 3 Jun 2005, 10:08, Reply)