I love guinea pigs, always have done since I was a child. They have a special place and a special meaning in my life.
I got my first one, Dusty, a gorgeous Agouti, when I was ten. My father had died earlier in the year. No-one talked to me about it. Not my mother, not family, not friends, not school - no-one. It was a lonely and frightening time. When I felt at my saddest I used to go out to the garage and hug Dusty.
One summer day I had Dusty out in the garden. I turned my back on him for a moment and he made a bolt for the undergrowth. We searched for hours but couldn't find him. I was devastated.
A replacement, Heinz, arrived a few days later. An older but smaller pig, he settled in quickly. And then one afternoon I heard a familiar 'eek' from the garden. Dusty had returned, none the worse for wear. We put him in with Dusty and it wasn't long before we discovered Heinz was a she!
Pups arrived in short order, five of them, like miniature versions of their parents. I loved taking the little family herd out into the garden. Dusty would lead the way, Heinz, followed then a line of tiny pups all eager to explore the world.
And now here I am more than fifty years on and I'm still keeping them. I went to buy some hay and wood-shavings yesterday. That's all. Nothing else planned. Then I saw them in the pen. Thought there was just one to start, then the shop-assistant discovered another buried deep in the hay. How could I possibly separate them?
So Siouxsie-su and Mrs. Peel (don't ask!) have now joined their big sisters, Honey and Princess Harriet. There were lots of squeaks from the two boys in the pen opposite, but there's no way Henry or Gouti will be getting a look-in any time soon!
