Good Night, Gladdie Gladder

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.

Alice Makes a Friend

When you live in an RV, you become very creative when resolving space issues.  No, I’m not talking about NASA and the space program, I’m talking about ruthrawls and the spaciness program.  Now that I’m a certified spacy planner, I am on call to solve your spacy issues.

The dashboard makes a wonderful place for a litter box, a feeding station, or for the cage of a pocket pet.  Although Gladys is probabaly too large to fit into my pocket, she is a bona-fide pocket pet.  Her cage fits perfectly on the dashboard.

Alice the cat and Gladys the Guinea Pig have been rehearsing the Nativity scene.  Alice is practicing her part for the Angel we have heard on high, and Gladys is… well, of course, Gladys is playing the part of the pig. 

We’re a few characters short of a Nativity scene here at the Swamped! Plantation and Carol-Singing Service.

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LawtonFest, Part 8, Combahee River, SC

We return to our exciting action from Labor Day weekend, yet you might say if it’s so exciting, why is it taking you so long to post it, huh, ruthrawls, huh??

On the way home, we stopped at the boat landing.

 Clearly, I have issues.  Anyway…

Some folks were crabbing off the end of the dock.  Sugar suggested to me, under his breath, that they would have better luck if they crabbed closer to the shore.  It’s all the same to me, not being a crabber aficionado type, but seeing how Sugar is usually right, I suppose he had a point.  At least he didn’t stride up to the people and take the crab lines out of their hands and show them how to do it.

Crabby people not catching any crabs

Some frightful information was kindly supplied by the local authorities.

This doesn't bode well.

I have just lost my appetite for fish.

The new bridge over the Combahee

We headed once again in the direction of home, but made yet another stop at the Piggly Wiggly for spaghetti for me and Romaine lettuce for Gladys Guinea Pig.  (Honestly, who named this store?)  I managed to embarrass the other shoppers by whipping out the camera and recording for posterity the display of South Carolina tomatoes that came from Canada.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Proof positive below.  Click on the picture to enlarge and enjoy the tomatoey goodness.

In the background, Sugar pats the tomatoes to help relieve them of the stress of finding out that they are bastard Carolinadians.

The sign says it all.

There. Is that a better angle? Can you read it now? That's right, the Canada part.

Carolinadian tomatoes

Sometimes, I embarrass myself.  What kind of person takes photos in the grocery store?  Investigative reporting at its lowest.

The new plumber

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.

Gladys the Guinea Pig

Gladys the Guinea Pig

Gladys the the shyest guinea pig that I’ve ever met.  She has adorable cowlicks from her forehead to her rump.  I’ve had her since she was a young girl. 

She has an enormous enclosure where she can skitter about.  She prefers fresh grasses as opposed to hay so it’s a good thing there is a meadow here with tall meadow grasses.  I don’t use any pesticides so I know that all grasses here are safe for guinea pig consumption.  And speaking of the meadow, I did see a goat today and now am wondering how hard it is to keep a goat…

In her cage enclosure, Gladys has her own little wooden house and also a section of very large plumbing pipe to sit in.  She’s a shy girl and needs her privacy. 

I give her lots of fresh veggies and fruit, and today I discovered that her cage has an infestation of fruit flies.  Very disgusting indeed.  I dumped all the bedding, after removing her first, and had a swat-fest.  I believe that the fruit flies are mostly eliminated, and I hope that the spider spinning her web in the window will take care of the rest. 

I am Gladys and I approve this message

Pig? Who You Calling a Pig?

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

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