I'm playing Bex's photo meme again this week, Funky Foto Flashback. Even though I take slight issue with the spelling, you should head over there anyway and play. It's fun! And you get to dig through your old embarassing pics, and then make yourself feel better by laughing at other people's embarassing pics.
Or by consuming an entire tray of cupcakes. Whatever blows your skirt up.
Anyway, this is from 87? 88? Somewhere in there, when my family decided to pick up and move to New Zealand for a few years. To smooth the transition, my parents bought both my brother and I guinea pigs.
I was obviously feeling the social pain of that bad hairdo and unfortunate choice of boyish jacket, and lashed out by inflicting the name "Meepsie" on my guinea pig. My brother followed up by naming his "Hiffy".
Hiffy promptly died of distemper. Or something twitchy and gross, anyway. Here I think I'm checking to see if I can finish digging the tiny cemetary plot.
Hiffy was never replaced, because, as it turns out, ONE guinea pig is quite enough for any family. Those little fuckers are loud and obnoxious and produce an obscene amount of shit for such a small rodent, and they suffer from the same problem beavers do: their teeth never stop growing, so they have to chew on something to wear them down. Lacking any miniature trees, they gnaw constantly on their cage.
Or on the buttons on a remote control, or on the door frame, or on their owners.
Anyway, Meepsie lived an inordinately long time for a critter with a death wish - almost two years. I was pretty lazy about cleaning it's cage, and, like I said - lots of poop. So my Dad eventually insisted the beast and it's pungent cage stay outside, which is easy to do in New Zealand, except for - oops! - that one night where it gets a little TOO cold. Cold enough for a rodent that was past it's expiry date to, well, expire.
I think my Dad felt a little bad about that one.
You know what, Dad? DON'T.