The Crazy Guinea Pig Lady

 

I’ve never been what one would call an animal lover. That is, I didn’t love them, but I certainly didn’t hate them either. I was somewhat of an animal ambivalent. They were nice to pet, but I didn't want them jumping on me, no slobbering please, and definitely no poop patrol. I knew my kids would love to have a pet, but I also knew that a pet took a great commitment, which I just wasn’t willing to give. Then something happened…..something that was a pretty big deal. My younger son was diagnosed with autism. One of the doctors we saw said that a pet would do him a world of good by being there to give unconditional love and attention, so I gave in and said we could get one, but that it had to fall within certain parameters. I wanted a somewhat “non committal” pet. Something smaller than a cat….bigger than a hamster…..cuddlier than a fish. I browsed the local SPCA website and that’s where I saw Baby the guinea pig.



Baby and Flipper the fish

Over the next couple of days the kids and I found a cage for her and bought the proper food and supplies after doing some Googling and also getting advice from a friend who is an animal enthusiast. We excitedly went to the SPCA and asked for Baby. They seemed puzzled that we just wanted her without going in to see her first. I didn’t realize that was a prerequisite, I just knew that we would love to have her in our home. They told us they weren’t sure that she was what we were looking for, and that she wasn’t very social. I said it was ok; we would work with her and socialize her. After we took her home, a funny thing happened. I fell in love with this little creature who squeaked when she heard my voice after I came home from work, and stood up on her hind legs in her cage for me to pet her.

I eventually bought a pet carrier. Not the kind that you carry around by the handle (although we have one of those too), but the kind that you strap onto yourself like a front ways backpack so you can carry your pet around with you. I would walk up to the school with my guinea pig to pick up the kids after classes, even though I got some rather peculiar glances from people. I say glances because it seemed that no one actually wanted to look me straight in the eye. Regardless, I displayed Baby proudly for all to see. My oldest son, who is 13, asked me to please, please, PLEASE not bring the guinea pig to school again. I was EMBARRASSING him. I simply told him that guinea pigs need fresh air too, and there was no way she could walk the 1km round trip on her leash….oh yeah, she has a leash….so she had to be carried. I continued to further tell him that I didn’t think it made a difference if I carried our little pet to the school as he generally pretended not to know me when I was there picking up his younger sister anyway, to which he replied, “Exactly. Because you do shit like carry a guinea pig around with you.” And you know, I couldn’t really argue with that. He said that people would start calling me “That Crazy Guinea Pig Lady”. I told him that would be cool, but if that were the case I should wear a tiara with my new name on it, and also something about being Ty’s mom….perhaps on a shirt….just so everyone would know we were related. He mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out and walked away.

In the beginning my mother, who called Baby “That Rodent”, wouldn’t even come in the house if she was out of her cage having some floor time. But just the other day I caught her going right over to the cage and asking Baby how she was. She is a fully integrated part of our family now, and tomorrow I am driving 200km round trip to rescue another guinea pig from another SPCA branch. This girl has been there for almost two months and is four years old, which is late middle age in guinea pig years, so I’m worried that she might not find a home as easily as some of the younger guinea pigs. I just know the two of them will be best friends!

**UPDATE** I got Cordelia from the animal shelter yesterday, where they were fascinated that I would drive so far for a guinea pig. We were introduced to her and she was calm and sweet, and thinking they would be a perfect match, I took Cordelia home so that she and Baby could be lifelong friends. When I first introduced them I put them in a large open space in the living room, and there was a distinct air of female indifference. Then Cordelia hightailed it directly into Baby’s favourite little cubby in the living room and the indifference faded. There was a lot of bum sniffing which progressed to pushing each other out of the cubby. Eventually poor little Cordelia was attacked, and it appeared that Baby was going directly for the jugular. My mother likened it to two women in one kitchen--it just doesn't work. *Sigh* so much for the lifelong friendship.  They are currently sharing a large cage with a barrier down the middle so they can’t get into a girl fight. I’m still holding out for the bonding to develop…….

Let’s Get This Show on the Road

I finally did it, my first blog post! This is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time! When I say I finally did it, I mean I’ve been wanting and thinking about this for at least a year with absolutely no action behind my words. Why would I not pursue something that I REALLY want to do? For no other reason than because I was afraid. Most people that know me would not believe the things I wanted to do in high school, but was too afraid to try out for. The things that stand out the most in my memory are volleyball, flag football and cheerleading. What…? Yes, I wanted to be a cheerleader. Granted, I wasn’t a very cheerleadery type. And by that I mean I wore a lot of black for a lot of years and had a bit of a dark and brooding attitude, dyed my hair burgundy, wrote terrible poetry, and wore too much makeup. I might have resisted wearing the tiny cheerleader skirt, but I think I could have added a little grit to that squad. I could have made those cheers hardcore, and I would have been a hell of a pyramid base. When I watch those high school type movies, I still think about the stellar cheerleader I know I would have been if I’d had the confidence to try out.  And thus I have continued throughout my life with that fear factor firmly attached to my persona. I think for the most part it’s actually more of a habit than the actual fear of anything. You just get used to not doing things because you might fail at them, and after a while you find yourself stuck in that same old pattern. I know I learned from a young age that if you weren’t good at something you just didn’t do it.  You’re not good at volleyball, or you’ve just never tried it before? Well, you won’t get on the team so don’t bother trying out because those kids that are really good at volleyball….they’ve already got it covered, and there’s no time to teach you to catch up! That’s a really shitty mindset to have, and it’s so widespread it’s practically an epidemic.

Earlier this year I made a public proclamation that I was going to do the Spartan Beast. Yes, I was planning on doing all 20+ kilometers, sprinkled with about a zillion obstacles, which is exactly the reason for it’s daunting name. At first I was very gung ho about it all. I had a friend who was coaching me, and he was crazy supportive and had all the confidence in the world in me. My training was on track, and my nutrition was great. Unfortunately I couldn’t wrangle any of my friends into doing it with me so I signed up to do it alone. Somewhere along the way a little voice in the back of my head said to me, “Who do YOU think you are? You’ve never done this before. I bet you won’t be good at it either. Oh, and just as an aside, your running sucks.” And I listened to it. And I didn’t do The Beast. Of course, looking back I wish I had done the race. I have no illusions that I would have won, but just to finish it within five or six hours, or even to try it and DNF, at least I would have gone out and tried. Everyone has to start somewhere and that could have been my start. The voice that continually says, “Who do you think you are? There are real racers out there” has been my biggest stumbling block. I mean, realistically, why the fuck does it always have to be someone else’s success? It’s that fear of the unknown that holds us back. Fear of succeeding, fear of failing, fear of being judged, fear that people won’t like our words or actions. The panic of succeeding at the thing we really want to do because it’s so comfortable where we are, regardless of whether the “where we are” makes us miserable or not, because that success is pushing us to continue onto other things and we may never find that real comfort again. Comfort draws us back time and time again, at least I know it does that to me, and I know I let it. Comfort feels like my friend, but it’s really my enemy. The lure of comfort should be likened to a stranger with candy. Driving a van with no windows. It’s just bad news.

So what am I going to do about it now that I’ve screwed around and lost my momentum? I’m going to stop the negative thinking, ramp up the self confidence, and start doing all those things I want to do, that make me happy, and that I might not even be good at. I’m going to stop making half assed attempts at things, so that if I fail at them I can just say, “Whatever, I didn’t do well because I wasn’t trying that hard anyway.” I’m going to pour myself into the things I love even if I totally suck at them, because at the end of the day I want to be counting my triumphs instead of my regrets. And maybe I’ll even crash the local high school and try out for the cheerleading squad.