Saturday, February 05, 2005


I have owned all sorts of "pets" (aka vermin) in my youth: rats, mice, gerbils, hamsters and a family of guinea pigs that followed me around in a line. I lived in the country, which explains only in part why my parents were so tolerant. So I know first-hand what liars kids are when they swear to take care of these so-called pets and how smelly the cages get when they don't.

That's why I'm grateful that the four-year-old can sate her guinea pig lust via intermittent weekend visitation from the classroom specimen, the aptly named "Princess."

This weekend we were granted one of the visits. Princess's cage is the size of a small couch. According to the book that came home with her, guinea pigs don't like wide open spaces. I hope that's the reason Princess has spent most of her time so far hanging out inside her plastic igloo, much to the disappointment of my kids, who have been trying to coax her out with shouts of "hey guinea pig! Either that or sheer terror.


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