I became a first-time pet owner on my 9th birthday. Sure, my family had a dog, a cat, and the occasional fish, but this... this was all mine. My new guinea pig was a real cutie with tufts of white and brown hair sticking up this way and that. From a young age I had heard of the glories that come with guinea pig ownership. My parents had had several and I enjoyed hearing their countless tales (especially Whitey, the not-quite-right result of a inconsiderate mother and an unfortunate lack of oxygen). Well I finally had my very own wiggie and I couldn't have been more excited. But what to name her?
Eventually it was time for presents and I was geeked. Mom had lovingly arranged all my pink-themed presents in the living room and I sat on the sofa feasting my eyes on the spread of gifts in front of me. As usual, Dad was taking his sweet time and decided it would be the perfect opportunity to refill the humidifier. And since Dad wasn't quite ready yet, Mom figured she'd get something else done too. And since none of the presents were for him, my little brother couldn't have cared less (when's cake?!).
So there I sat eyeing every present and imagining what could be inside. Eventually even that got boring and I'd had enough. WHAT IS TAKING SO LO----Ohhhh! Now, I wouldn't say our stairs are particularly tricky, but they got the better of me that day.
In my rush to get on with gifts, I had simultaneously taken a running start, skipped the first step, AND not used the railing. Down I went—like a sack of potatoes. I still remember yelling MOOOOOM as I went tumbling down nearly the entire flight of stairs. (Mom claims this is how I got my mild case of scoliosis.) To add insult to injury the door at the bottom of the stairs was closed. It busted open and there I lay, splayed out on the wood floor in a stupor.
There was only one other time when I'd really had my bells rung, and that was when a metal pole fell on me and cracked my head open (this was another possible explanation for the scoliosis, so says Mom). I lay there dazed and confused, when it came to me. The stars had aligned. The heavens opened and I saw the light. Peanut. If Mom had a guinea pig named Zuchini, clearly something in the nut family was a suitable choice. I mumbled her new name and everyone, who had come running to gather around me, just nodded, looking concerned. No objections? That settled it. Little Peanut.
We had some good times, Peanut and I, until a few years later when she caught a cold. I awoke one morning to find her stiff and lifeless in her cage. Well, that was the end of that. Dad dug as deep a grave as he could in the frozen ground, and Mom and I wrapped Peanut in a towel and placed her in a box. We held our little ceremony and when the ground was replaced and we went back inside, I thought the worst was behind me.
I was sad about losing Peanut and would occasionally look out the window in the back yard in the direction she was buried. One afternoon I saw something a little off—some brown fluffy stuff near Peanut's grave. Hmm. I squinted. Looks like... hmm, kind of like hair? What?! Noooooo.....
Not one to make a snap judgement, I knew we must investigate further. I told my brother and on went our coats and boots. Off we went. I imagine it looked much like we were stalking prey. We walked outside and just stood looking in the general direction of the grave. Slowly, we walked a few feet closer. We stopped. Looked. Walked another few feet. Stopped. Looked. REALLY looked. Strain-those-little-eyes, kind of looked. Finally I was convinced it was my poor Peanut's hair that was unceremoniously strewn about. And this was when the mild hysteria set in.
Frantic, I explained my theory to my brother who just stared at me. I was starting to freak out. Clearly I couldn't leave Peanut unearthed! But what would I find if I ventured close enough? I did NOT want to see a week-old dead animal body complete with missing patches of hair. No thank you. If I didn't want to see it, I don't know what made me think my brother would. So what possessed me to turn to said sweet, innocent 7-year-old brother and ask him to rebury Peanut, is beyond me. But did I do it? Yep. He just stared at me while my voice continued to raise in both volume and pitch as I pleaded my case. Bless his heart, off he went to do the deed.
Eventually he came back inside and we went on with our lives. And that's how it ended. Did he find a body? Or did he simply stuff the hair back in the hole? I didn't want to know, and I never asked. We once had a cat nabbed by a coyote so we all felt it was a pretty safe bet to assume some animal waddled up and well... I don't want to think about it.
A short while later it was my brother's turn to get his own guinea pig. He named it Cashew.
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