Archive for the ‘Guinea Pigs’ Category

Darlin’ Baby Plays with Friends

October 26, 2014

We have now arrived at a difficult transitional time.

The Darlin’ Baby has been living in a crate during his babyhood.

He graduated to a guinea pig cage.

Back in the day, when I had 3 rescue guinea pigs, I bought the largest cage available.  This particular one was about $80 from  (I know, I know, how shameless that I spent that much on an animal product when there are people starving all over the world.  If they were here, I would feed them, too.)

It was a guinea pig’s dreamworld.  It was super big, maybe 2 feet by 4 feet.  That’s pretty big for a creature that doesn’t do very much.  I added plastic igloos and wooden houses, ’cause guinea pigs like to squeal and hide and hop about a bit, and that added vertical spaces.

Alas, all the piggers have gone on to piggy heaven, but I still have this fabulously large cage.  Large enough for a bed and a litter box and a water bowl and a food bowl.

Just big enough for a Darlin’ Baby to stretch his legs and get fresh air and be safe.  That would be his new night-time home.

During the day, when he wasn’t at work with me, I’d let him out to run and play in a little wooded patch.  He made friends with one of Mama Cat’s babies, who looked remarkably like his twin.



Here’s the Darlin’.


Here’s his twin.

Don’t believe me?  Here are the two of them together.







And sometimes, just like people, when animals get overstimulated, they get all cracked-out and crazy.


He ran over to a wood block, which is supposed to be used for supporting a jack stand for the RV and makes for a dandy little bonus cat stand, and clung to the top of it, and looked around like he having hallucinations.

Endorphins much?




Soon, the Darlin’ Baby is going to his new home.  We’ll miss him, but I’ll bet that another one, or six, are making their way here.

2012 in review

December 30, 2012

The stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 12,000 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 20 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

Thank you for reading my blog!

Good Night, Gladdie Gladder

March 8, 2012

It started with an apparent bladder infection in December.  If you remember, and even if you don’t, Gladys is a rescue guinea pig.  The vet prescribed a basic antibiotic, and the bloody urine went away. 

A month later, another apparent urinary tract infection.  And we tried a different antibiotic and it cleared up. 

Then, four weeks ago, Gladys and I went back to the vet.  I was prepared for the worst case scenario, but the vet suggested that she’d like to try one more high-powered antibiotic.  Was I up for it?  How could I say no?  Perhaps I was prolonging the inevitable, but I was up for the challenge.  Was Gladys? 

We started another round of antibiotic.  This time it was liquid Baytril.  Gladys was to take 0.1ml every twelve hours.  Liquid Baytril is very bitter (Don’t believe me?  Just put some on your hand and lick it.  Not that I would EVER do that.), so some kind of sweetener had to be added to it to make it palatable.  Fortunately for Gladys, Sugar had some kind of sugar-y sweetener called agave nectar.  (It’s good stuff.  It won’t cause your blood sugar to spike, if that is indeed an issue for you.)  Like most everything he eats, Sugar’s sugarstuff is organic.

Gladys’s appetite seemed to be off a bit, and she didn’t squeal or vocalize very much, and she was losing weight.  Guinea pigs are prone to get cancer, and there was a great chance that her ongoing urinary tract infection was caused by tumors.

After ten days of Baytril/Agave, her infection had not subsided, and it was time for a final car ride. 

I held Gladys while the vet put the final injection in the abdomen.  Gladdy squealed the tiniest bit, like a tiny, soft song, and then she went to sleep. 

Good night, sweet Gladys. I'll see you at the Rainbow Bridge.

The Three Little Pigs

December 3, 2011

Once upon a time there were three little pigs.  Or something like that.

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know that Sugar bought a grooming business earlier this year, and that BabyBoy is the groomer.  And you’ll know that Gladys the Guinea Pig, who used to live in a cage on my RV dashboard or on the bed compartment over the driver and passenger seats, went to live at the grooming business.  And you’ll also know that there are two cats, Errol and Car E., living there also, sharing a room with Gladdie.

Last Sunday, I noticed that there was a watery red substance in Gladys’s hiding place, a large white piece of plumbing pipe.  I supposed that Gladys had a urinary tract infection, and Sugar offered to take her to the doctor the next day.

So on Monday he went to the grooming business, let the cats out of their room to stretch their legs, got a cat crate to put Gladys in for transport, set the crate on the floor with the crate door open (this is your first hint), and attempted to corral Gladys in her cage.  She never wants to be corralled, and she skitters about, slinging wood shavings and sometimes squealing her adorable high-pitched squeal.

Sugar finally trapped her in his hands and popped her into the crate and closed the crate door.  He looked around and saw Car E. still in the room, but didn’t see Errol, so he went through the entire business looking for him.  That’s about 2000 square feet and 13 rooms to search, so it was a quick hunt with no luck.  He was anxious to get on his way, and he went back into the cat room, and there was Errol (this is your second hint).

He was in the crate with Gladys the Guinea Pig, side by side, both looking out at Sugar.

I attempted to recreate the scene for photo opportunities, but the kids would not cooperate.

So, here goes nothing.  You can hover your mouse over any image on the slideshow, and the controls will appear to stop, go back, or go forward.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The new plumber

September 14, 2009
I found the problem

Gladys: "I found the problem! There's a guinea pig in your pipes!"

I hired a new plumber.  She does an awesome job.  She is very thorough and tidy.  And she works for peanuts!  Her phone number is 843-GLADYS1.

Pig? Who You Calling a Pig?

August 5, 2009

Once upon a time about 3 years ago, I got a little rescue guinea pig named Greg.  He had been left in a crate on a friend’s front porch with a note:  “I need a home.  My name is Greg.”  My friend already had two guinea pigs and, although they are social animals, three was a little much.  So Greg came to live with me, and I got him some stylish digs in the laundry room.  He was a happy little pig, and he made those happy, whistling little sounds. 

Then a woman I worked for got another guinea pig, a female, to go in with her other pigs.  (She has unresolved pig issues.)  One of the other pigs tried to accost little female piggie and that scared little piggie a lot.  So said co-worker asked me if I would take her.  Scoot over, Greg.

Greg and Gladys lived happily together in unwed cohabitation, until one day another pig arrived.  No, not a baby, but a grown piggie whose parents were getting evicted, and could I please take him?  So Chew-chew made a happy little trio.  I bought an even bigger enclosure for them.  They got along well, even at feeding time, and being pigs, they liked to pig out.  I bought dry chow from time to time, but mostly I fed them fresh veggies, even organic ones when I could get them, and I filtered their water.  Don’t want little piggies drinking anything but the best.  I didn’t even filter my children’s water.  But I digress.

One morning, I approached the habitat with fresh lettuces, like usual, and Greg raced Chew-chew to the food bowl.  And Greg had a stroke.  I swear, he stroked at the buffet.  He fell over on his little piggie side and spun around in a circle.  We promptly went to the vet, who kept him for observation, and Greg slipped onward to piggie heaven later that day.  On a personal note, if I can choose where to stroke, I’ll take “Buffet” for a thousand, Alex.

Guinea pigs don’t live very long, which might be part of the attraction to an adult buying one for a child.  However, a SEVEN year life span is still a very long time.  That kid could be out of high school and finished with college with Mom still taking care of the pig.  So, needless to say, there’s a lot of guinea pigs out there to  be rescued.

So, there’s Gladys and Chewy, still co-habiting.  I had decided that the boys were gay because we should have had babies by now.  I had gone back to college, taking Saturday classes, and I arrived home one Saturday after about three weeks of classes.  Chew-chew had a habit of ringing a bell to greet me, and then chewing on the bars of the cage in anticipation of food.  (With pigs, it’s all about the food.)  He hadn’t been going thru that routine for a few days, and he seemed lethargic.  I looked into the guinea pig habitat, and I shrieked.  Someone had apparently come thru the front gate, braved their way thru 4 dogs, and dropped a handful of colorful mice babies into the guinea pig habitat.  

Wrong.  Not mice, but baby guinea pigs.  And Chew-chew looked exhausted, like he had done all the work (typical).  He rested, slumped into the corner.  On Sunday, I got home from work, and Gladys and the babies were fine.  But Chew-chew had gone to meet Greg in piggie heaven. 

I still have Gladys.  I found homes for the babies.  And Chew-chew and Greg rest peacefully, the first residents in what will probably come to be the final resting place for other foster animals, here at the Swamped Plantation.

Butterscotch, Chew Jr., Slick, and CrazyHair

Butterscotch, Chew Jr., Slick, and CrazyHair

Doesn’t that make you want a pig?(Thank you credit goes to Sugar for allowing his full-of-pig hands to be photographed.)