Every time I walked by her house, I thought I might see some new additions to the family, but was really hoping we’d get to see her actually have the babies. What a joy – we did!! This evening, as I walked by I saw her squat in a way that was different from any other time she would squat. I quickly ran to tell the boys and we all gathered around (quietly, yeah, yeah – don’t worry) to watch.

First one

Second one

The first one was born rather quick, maybe two minutes after she started pushing. The second one came within five minutes. More time passed, and we wondered if that could possibly be it. But it really (really, really) looked like she had one more in there.

She cleaned them up between each birth. They were pretty active within minutes, little legs scratching behind ears, looking around.

But… one more?

Sal said he saw a leg come out a couple times and I started to grow concerned that something was wrong.

And then out came number three.

I was excited that he was brown. Franny called him “chocolate filling” – he insists on the honor of naming, since, technically, it is his piggy who is the mother.

The piggies gathered around to nurse on the momma, and she chowed down on some lettuce. Franny wanted to hold one of the baby piggies, but I think we’ll wait until tomorrow. I’ve read that it is good to start picking them up the next day to get them acclimated to being handled. I think we’re also going to need to get a little bigger crate for them.

Are you kidding me?! What kind of kid brings their pet hamster to a birthday party?

Turns out it was a gift. Not a pet. A… gift. And it was a guinea pig, not a hamster.  And Franny, who loves animals, was delighted. Trying not to panic, I remembered our old hamster cage, and hoped that there were enough accessories to use in a pinch. I had just gotten the piggy settled, when out came piggy number Two. Apparently the kind boys brought a guinea pig for each of the twins. Two was Sal’s, Uno is Franny’s. I realized then what the McDonald boxes had contained.

Shortly after that day, Franny was hit by a car and everything seemed to be upside down. Then Two died, and Uno survived. Sal was not upset, as Sal never really took to the pig, and doesn’t exactly care for animals.

Uno became progressively fatter. We thought maybe she was depressed after losing her buddy (who was also female, we were told). But in the past week, I’ve started to think that she’s not just fat, she has a distinct… look to her.

So I googled “pregnant guinea pigs” and found this, which looks strikingly similar to Uno:

I’m not positive, but I’m getting to the point where every time I look in her cage I’m expecting to see more than just her.

She doesn’t manhandle me too much, but talks to me a lot. Pets me when I sit on her lap. Fondles the bump between my ears. Leaves my tummy alone; I hate having it touched.

Her hair makes a nice bed. When she’s sleeping I like to knead it with my paws. I purr and drool, in ecstasy. When it is fluffed to my satisfaction, I curl up on it. Sometimes she makes a loud noise when I’m kneading and pushes me away. But I’m patient. Persistent. I wait. Then I sneak back and try again. Sometimes she sleeps through it, sometimes she makes an even louder noise than the first time and pushes me away again.

She sings. A lot. Usually on key, but sometimes in weird voices, using strange words that I know aren’t her native language. Sometimes I join in. Sometimes it scares me, her singing like that.

We howl together. I throw back my head Woooooo-woooohhh. Good times.

She talks a lot, even when nobody’s there to talk with her. Her attempts at conversation intrigue me. But I’m a dog, why’s she think I’m gonna talk back?

. . .

I’m feeling lazy, so I’ll do a meme of sorts.

THREE
1.) How many links to do you have on your blogroll/link page? Do you visit all of the sites on your blogroll?
Too many. Not going to count them, either. No, I don’t visit them all. Not anymore. I just don’t have time or desire. But I keep them there for a rainy day.

2.) Does anyone you know in real life have a blog? Who?
Besides me? No. Well maybe. I’ve met Becky. She hasn’t updated in a while.

3.) What three sites do you visit every day?
Definitely Gmail (for personal and work)
my site (but sometimes skip a day or two)

. . .

I think I may turn down both job offers that I have right now. They are both in semi-regret. Money, I need more of. Time-hogs, I don’t. It is a balance. I will keep my ear to the ground, though, and will continue to try to be more thrifty. Frugal. Frank, on overtime, makes 4x my hourly salary. The smartest bet is for him to work overtime when possible.

. . .

Who says cats don’t have personality? As much as Fred is void of oodles of brain cells, he’s a sweet cat. Who loves boxes. And dog cages.

Click any for largerWho says the dog house is just for dogs? – Picasa

Food. Box. I need nothing else – Picasa

- Picasa

I removed my eggs from the pan, putting them on my ready plate. Poured the water in my French press, stirred the grounds. Inhaled the lovely aroma of coffee, hot eggs and waffles. Mmm. The waffles had a little more time on them, so I went back to the window to see if Lootie was still there. He was gone. A guilty twinge ran through my body, imagining him sulking to the bus stop for lack of getting his message to me. I figured I had a minute, so I’d pop my head out the door and call down to the stop to see if what he needed to tell me was still pressing on his mind. And that’s when it happened.

I knew Nacho was hot on my heels, but I thought he’d obey me, as we have this loving relationship and all. But he’s a little *Rotten Evil and no sooner was the door open was his rotten little rat terrier body was sprinting out the door. It all happened so fast, I say. I heard the jangle of his ID tags, but with no coffee in my system, I didn’t register that he was attempting escape.

The world stopped as I threw my head back and rolled my eyes big enough for stage theatrics. If there was room enough around me I may have just flopped on my back, arms out, woe is me. There are two stops by both corners at our house. The kids go to one (the one farther away) and then there’s the one right next door to our house. I just KNEW Rotten Evil was heading over the one next door. Every morning he watches, tail wagging, as the kids congregate on the corner. Wag, wag, wag, desperately wanting to play with them. I really did not want to be responsible for one of those kids laying a chocolate brick in their pants and missing the bus because they had to run back home to get a change of drawers, you know?

I stomp, stomp, stomped up the stairs with visions of kids screaming as he tried to lick them to death, kicked off my cozy slippers (thank goodness I was dressed already), put on my clogs, grabbed the stoopid doggie treats and headed out the door. Sure enough, he was down where I thought he’d be, the kids in a tight circle, giggling in the excitement of it all. Although he wasn’t by the kids. He was just off the corner in the street, munching on the carcass of some furry beast, flattened on the road. Rotten carcass trumps kids any day. It isn’t the first time he’s bolted to get to roadkill.

Once again I’m dealing with a traffic-stopping dog emergency. I glance up at a car waiting to make a turn and see my daughter’s friend behind the wheel, with my daughter and another friend. They’re laughing. Nacho’s snipping off bites of carcass (probably a squirrel trying to get one of the peanuts). I shake the treat box. He flutters over, but evades me. I tell him to SIT and his whole body fights against his tiny brain as he tries to obey the command. His tail is wagging, his eyes on the road kill… but he sits. And I grab him with the reflex of a cobra. Disbelief, really, that I caught him on that first try.

I thought that would be the end of it, but the bus stop kids had to ooh and aww and ask questions. Pet him. I figured it was worth it, ’cause if it happens again maybe one of them can grab his evil butt for me, since they’d be acquainted now and all. As I carried him in, Lootie came down from the opposite bus stop. “Bad dog Nacho!!” He said. Oh good, now is my chance to hear his important message. And then the recycle truck came. Lootie yelled something to me, inaudible again. Huh? He yelled again. Oh goodness, here we go — this is what started it all, the inaudible conversation and my guilt for being a negligent listener mommy. Or was it the waffles? Anyway, I think he was concerned about that squirrel trap and the recycle/garbage man knocking it over. I don’t know. But he retreated to his bus stop and I went inside with the ball of evil hitched on my hip. My lovely pink sweater had muddy Rotten Evil dog prints all over it. The waffles had popped up long ago. A brief re-heating saved them. I topped them with blueberries and Aguave syrup, and ate them as I wrote this entry.

*One of my “pet” names for our lovely mutt.