Tag Archives: guinea pig

1753. Brindle Petal

It had been a long time coming, but at last it had arrived. For over three years Melinda had pestered her parents for a pet guinea pig. Over that time she had used many ingenious arguments as to why she should get a guinea pig as a pet. The clincher came when she promised she’d let her horrible little brother chose a name for it. At last Melinda was acting kindly towards her little brother.

Melinda already had a hutch in preparation for the possibility of a guinea pig one day turning up. The hutch used to belong to her good friend Meghan, but Meghan’s pet bunny had died so she had no further use for a hutch.

It was Melinda’s birthday and, miracle of miracles, a guinea pig arrived. It was cuddled, and pulled, and pushed, and shoved and squeezed. It was fed warm milk from a bottle with a baby’s teat. It was put in its hutch, and taken out of its hutch.

And what should Melinda’s little brother name it? He said, “It shall be called Brindle”. And indeed the guinea pig was a sort of brindle. Melinda didn’t like it. “It’s a horrible name,” she said. “Pick another.”

“What about Quincy?” suggested Melinda’s horrible little brother. Melinda didn’t like it. “It’s a horrible name,” she said. “Pick another.”

“Then it should be called Penguin,” said Melinda’s horrible little brother.

“Since you can’t decide on a name,” announced Melinda, “it shall be called Petal.”

“But the guinea pig is a boy,” said Melinda’s horrible little brother. “You can’t name a boy Petal.”

“I can do what I like,” said Melinda.

Anyway, within a month Melinda had lost interest in Petal. Her horrible little brother took over its care and named it Brindle.

1646. Gail’s pets

Gail loved animals, which is why she had so many pets. She had a cat and a dog, a canary and a cockatoo, a couple of ducks, a rabbit and a guinea pig and three mice. They would all run around together, except for the canary of course. The canary couldn’t run around but Gail often let it fly freely around the house provided the windows and doors were shut. And could it sing? My word! What a diva on a sunny day!

Then one day she couldn’t hear it singing. Had it perhaps escaped? Gail checked the windows and doors. Everything was closed, but it must have found an escape route somewhere. Gail opened the house up and left the canary’s cage door wide. Hopefully it would fly back.

It was quite a while after – Gail wasn’t exactly the best of housekeepers – when she was vacuuming under the dining room table that she noticed a few yellow tail feathers and a bird’s clawed foot.

By the end of the year the dog had got the ducks, and the cat had got the cockatoo, the rabbit, the guinea pig, and the three mice.

Gail still loved animals, and continued to pamper her cat and her dog. She replaced her deceased pets with a budgerigar and a cockatiel, a couple of chickens, a hamster and a rat and three gerbils.

These days Gail has a cat and a dog, and has taken up origami as an interest.

1283. Derven’s pet guinea pig, Howard

Derven’s pet guinea pig was called Howard. He’d named it after his uncle who was a skin specialist who walked around like he owned the place. Derven thought it was a fun name.

Some people were very critical of this. It was insensitive to name a guinea pig after a renowned expert in skin. Many people suffered from skin cancer and a lot died from it. Anyway, what did Derven know about melanoma? He was a Nobel Prize Winner in Physics, not Medicine. His Ph.D. thesis on the influence of Charlotte Bronte on the writings of Dostoevsky was legend, but it hardly helped him know what was what with skin cancer. Just because he’d once read a book in Hindi on Egyptian hieroglyphics hardly turned him into a dermatologist.

A quite large group of protesters formed and marched up the street. They demanded Derven’s head.

In despair for the horror of having named a guinea pig after his famed uncle, Derven committed suicide. The guinea pig starved to death. The protesters were very happy; they had saved the planet.

1161. Dreams of being a vet

Throughout his childhood, Bonito loved Nature. He collected leaves of different plants and pressed them. He knew their names, both Common and Latin. He had pet macaws, and bred them. He even had a pet chinchilla!

Throughout his adolescence his love of Nature never wavered. His parents had a few acres, and he was allowed to have an alpaca. He called it Juan Carlos.

It was a natural step, when he left school, to begin studies to become a vet. He would become a specialist in veterinary services for farm animals. How exciting it was to begin the course in Biology at the university!

In the second week, the students had to dissect a guinea pig each. That was the end of Bonito’s dream. He walked out of class and never came back.

106. Whodunit?


“Has anyone seen Pom-Pom?” asked Margaret.

Margaret was eleven years old. Pom-Pom was her pet guinea pig. It was the daddy guinea pig. There were others. They kept making babies.


“Have you seen Pom-Pom?” Margaret asked of her father.

Her father hated Pom-Pom. “Why don’t you get rid of the thing?” he asked. “It shits everywhere.”


“Have you seen Pom-Pom?” Margaret asked of her sister, Anna-Sue.

Anna-Sue was older than Margaret. She was studying Veterinary Science at university. “Stop pestering me about your guinea pig,” she said. “I’m miles behind on my paper on animal dissection. I’m desperate to catch up.”


“Have you seen Pom-Pom?” Margaret asked of her brother, Frank.

Frank was fourteen. “I haven’t been near it,” said Frank. “You know I’m not allowed to touch your stupid pets, ever since I cut the tail off Steve’s mouse.” Steve was Margaret’s nine-year-old brother.


“Have you seen Pom-Pom?” Margaret asked of Steve.

“The thing stinks,” he said. “I agree with Dad. There are too many guinea pigs in this place. Anyway, I’ve been doing a job for Mum all morning.”


“Have you seen Pom-Pom?” Margaret asked of her mother.

Margaret’s mother was originally from Peru. “No dear,” she said. “It is nowhere to be seen. I saw it at an earlier time.”


That evening the family sat down to a delicious chicken stew. “Has anyone seen Pom-Pom?” asked Margaret at the table.

There were blood stains on the cutting board.