Pig Out

Tea: Blood Orange (herbal) with honey.

Music: Bill Withers, "Lean on Me"

Time: Night.

The guinea pig went home tonight, after a two-week visit while his owners were in Florida.

No more being squeaked at every time I walk into the living room from the kitchen (which contains the fridge, which contained the baby carrots, which of course were due as tribute to Pig-Pig, or Max, or Peaches, or whatever his name is.)

No more trying to corral a squirming furball, then keep him from darting under the furniture while his bedding's being changed.

And no more "I'll let you rub me under the chin right now, but I'm probably going to dash off to the other side of the cage in five seconds" fickleness.

You know what?

I miss him already.

Pigsitting

Tea: White Grapefruit.

Music: King Crimson, "The Devil's Triangle"

Time: Night.

We have no permanent pets here. Too many allergies. But for the third time since we moved in more than ten years ago, we have temporary custody of a guinea pig (not the same one).

The first two times, we kept school guinea pigs over the summer. Both survived. (The prayer of the pet sitter runs thusly: "Please, dear God, don't let this thing die on my watch.")

This latest charge is named Max, or maybe Pig-Pig, or perhaps Peaches. More on that later. He (at least I think it's a he; I'm not turning it over to find out) belongs to some friends from church. They're in Florida for two weeks.

Max arrived today, a bit freaked out from the car ride but otherwise fine. He's a mellow little sort, doesn't mind being petted, definitely loves lettuce and carrots. With several small children at his permanent home, he's probably finding it quieter here.

Why so many names? Apparently, Max has had several owners and wound up with our friends when a petsitting gig became something more long-term.

Hey, wait a minute ...