My guinea pigs are squeaking with delight. C is leaning into his food bowl to grab pellets and hay; B is chewing vigorously on his new chew toy. They look like twins, but one is a bit smaller and lighter. The right one is C. The left one is B.

My guinea pigs are the highlight of my days. They’re quickly becoming accustomed to their surroundings and my hand. They popcorn in joy during playtime. They’re curious and playful, and slowly opening themselves up to being gently pet during veggie time. I had spent 3 hours on Saturday at the guinea pig rescue, dismayed at how skittish the majority of them were. One of them scratched my boyfriend in terror, and two of them screamed every time I passed by their cage. The only pairs I liked were unavailable, and I went home disappointed.

Come Sunday afternoon, though, and I decide to go to Starbucks. There’s a nearby Petco, so I hop in, wondering what their guinea pigs are like. There are two piggies–C and B–bonded and male, young and fluffy. At that instant, I just know. The store person seems to know, because he immediately asks if I want to hold one, grabs Butter and puts him in my arms. They offer a 20% discount on the pair, and I go home with two young guineas.

A part of me still doesn’t believe that I have guinea pigs. Real guinea pigs! Two guinea pigs! And yet here I am, a new piggy mum.


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