The Original Guinea Pig

My photo digitizing project continues…

Thanks to blogger Dwight Roth (a wonderful poet), I’ve learned that sometimes an iPhone photo of an old print is just as good or better than a “scan.”

Today’s discovery is Rainbow—the original guinea pig.

Rainbow was the first in a series of guinea pigs that my sister and I had as pets in the 70s. My main memories of the little fellows involve the absolute anguish we felt when they inevitably got sick and died. I can’t believe my mother spent good money taking them to see veterinarians when they stopped eating. (Maybe she lied about that and just drove around the block a few times.) I remember praying to God to save my guinea pigs. He never did.

In any case, I’ve learned that Rainbow was my class pet in kindergarten and I took him home for the summer.

I was happy to discover some good guinea pig memories in one of the old photo albums.

Good times in Kindergarten with two boys whose first and last names I still remember. (Yet, I can’t recall the name of a new person I met in church last week.)
I love how Rainbow got his own square in the class photo.
I was a wary little kindergartener. Thank goodness Rainbow didn’t die on my watch.
We hosted a neighborhood party for our guinea pig “Cookie” and another guinea pig in the summer of 1973. It looks like they had a nice little feast.
A happy memory of “Candy” roaming free in our backyard in the summer of 1974. I remember the guinea pigs loved nibbling clover and were very cute doing so. 🐹

Cats

Daily writing prompt
What animals make the best/worst pets?

I’d have to go with cats as both the best and the worst.

When they’re good, they’re oh so good.

Cricket

But when they’re bad, they’re awful.

Runner-up: dogs (same reasons)

Bunky
Random dachshund who did not care to make my acquaintance

Related post:

Cricket

Cricket

What is good about having a pet?

I’m not a big animal lover. I mean, I love the animal kingdom, especially the giraffes, but I don’t love having animals in the house.

I’ve had pets over the years. We grew up with a husky that we adopted when my mother’s tennis partner moved to Dallas, where it was deemed too hot for a cold weather breed. His name was Bunky. He was OK.

Then, when I was young and single, I agreed to take a really cute kitten from my sister’s cat’s litter. Kimba was beautiful, like Kimba the White Lion, but so so bad. I’ll never forget the time he jumped up on my refrigerator in my tiny studio apartment and nudged the antique toaster off of it. The toaster was plugged in and an arc of blue sparks flew through the air as the cord separated from the appliance.

Then, in 1993, I married a cat person. He had his own sweet little black cat named Sticky (Stick for short). He named her Sticky because she stuck to things, like curtains and pant legs. Sticky and Kimba learned to live together, but were never really friends.

Then, when my daughter was five and an only child, we got a dog. Teddy was a purebred Sheltie. He was nuts. The mailman was afraid of him. He ripped up our outdoor furniture. My daughter loved him, but then we had another child. I just did not trust this dog around the baby. One day, I accidentally stepped on Teddy’s tail while he was sleeping and he bit my foot — right through my canvas sneaker. That was it. I didn’t think it was safe to keep him any longer, so we gave him to a Sheltie rescue organization. That was rough.

This brings me to my last and best pet Cricket. Cricket was a moon-faced, greenish grey striped kitty that we adopted from a shelter in Lowell when the kids were both in grade school. They really loved her and so did my husband. She would sit in his lap at night and I could just see that stroking her was probably lowering his blood pressure. There were clear benefits for him.

It was tough when she needed to be put down during COVID after we’d spent a fortune on veterinary surgery to try to correct a problem with her back. I had to make the final decision to end her life because my husband loved her too much. She was a good pet. Our sweet Cricket.

A portrait of Cricket that hangs on our wall: a thoughtful gift from my daughter to my husband