Dumpy, Lumpy, Tubby, and Squeaky

Dumpy, Lumpy, Tubby, and Squeaky,

Ate each others vomit weekly.

Dumpy was white and hairy and small,

And took hourly dumps that were ten feet tall.

Lumpy was smallest, yet pudgiest too,

And filled her cage with guinea pig poo.

Tubby was large, and by large I mean fat,

He slept all day, a lethargic cat.

Squeaky was thin with a feminine voice,

He liked fashion and ballet and boys of his choice.

New Daddy liked cats, he didn't like dogs,

Dumpy was one he wished to flog.

But Dumpy filled Mommy's heart with joy,

Despite Dumpy's dumps and the toys she destroyed.

Lumpy lived in a large wooden cage,

She was feminist, wise, and remarkably sage.

Tubby disappeared for days upon days,

He was too fat to run and too awkward to play.

Squeaky impressed with his elegant swag,

Mommy and Daddy both joined PFLAG.

All of these animals were encouraged and loved,

Petted and cuddled and snuggled and hugged.

Because they were Dumpy, Lumpy, Tubby, and Squeaky,

And they ate each others vomit weekly.

Harvey the Killer

Ian: "Winnie needs to be careful. Harvey's a killer."

Laura: "No he's not."

Ian: "Yes he is. He has a Kill Word."

Laura: "No he doesn't."

Ian: "Yes he does."

Laura: "What's his Kill Word?"

Ian: "I can't tell you. I don't want Harvey to kill Winnie."

Laura: "Now I know you're lying. What's his Kill Word?"

Ian: "Well, first I have to connect with Harvey. We have to make eye contact. We have to make a connection."

Laura: "So do it."

Ian: <Stares sternly at Harvey>

Harvey: <Scratches ear>

Ian: <Moves closer to Harvey; stares intensely>

Harvey: <Yawns>

Laura: "Now say his Kill Word."

Ian: "It's Oreo."

Laura: "OREO!!"

Ian: "Stop! Don't scream the Kill Word! He's going to murder Winnie!"

Harvey: <Sighs> <Yawns> <Breathes laboriously>

Laura: "You know, Harvey used to just breathe heavily after walking. Now he breathes heavily while sitting. You might want to get that checked out."

Also, I'm sad to report CDR passed away (from natural causes, not from Harvey's Kill Word).

Rest in peace, CDR. We love you, buddy.

How CDR Got His Groove Back

In December 2010, Ian and I adopted Guinifred. Shortly afterwards, our old buddy CDR came to visit. CDR stands for Christopher Douglas-Roberts. He was named after the University of Memphis basketball player.

CDR moved in expressly to sweep Guinifred off her feet with his amorous abilities. Ian hoped the union would lead to baby guinea pigs.

Laura: "Most people try to guard against rodent pregnancy. But you encourage it."

Ian: "Guinea pigs are a culinary delicacy in South America. If Guinifred and CDR mate, I could sell the babies for a nice profit. And we could fry us up some good eatin'."

Laura: "I bet they taste like chicken."

Ian: "Guinea pigs are supposedly some of the best meat you can eat."

Laura: "I'd dunk them in ketchup."

Truthfully, Ian wanted to sell the babies as pets. After CDR moved in, Ian and I would periodically place Guinifred in CDR's cage and wait for guinea pig magic.

However, CDR's a roly poly pig, perfectly content to sit idly, nibbling on carrots and throwing poop. He was as awkward as a sweaty-palmed 13 year old wearing a Pokemon t-shirt, asking a cheerleader out to see the latest X-Men flick.

Guinifred, by contrast, was a lithe, delicate creature. CDR would plod in circles, attemtping to get his groove on, while Guinifred sprinted elegantly away from his awkward clutches. They produced zero babies.

Laura: "He's defective."

Ian: "No he's not. Come on CDR! You can do it, buddy!"

Laura: "Guinifred's an intelligent guinea pig. She doesn't consent to casual sex. CDR needs to build a committed, healthy relationship with her first."

Ian: "Eh, you're probably right."

Guinifred sets high standards and believes in eating a wholesome diet full of fruits and vegetables.

We began leaving Guinifred in CDR's cage for longer lengths of time. We would leave the two pigs in the living room, under dim, romantic lights and slip out the back door.

Ian: "We should give them tiny wine glasses and play Barry White records."

Upon returning, we would try to size up the situation, desperate to see any signs of romantic shenanigans.

Ian: "I bet they did it. CDR looks really awkward."

Laura: "CDR always looks awkward. He's the guinea pig equivalent of Louie Anderson."

CDR tried mightily to get his groove on, but the poor boy could never figure it out.

In fact, the title of the post is misnomer. CDR never lost his groove, nor did he ever regain it. CDR has never had groove in his whole entire life.

Ian and I overlooked CDR's social and biological failures and emphatically embraced him into the family fold. Last week, CDR returned to his original home.

We miss him very much.

Long live His Majesty, King Christopher Douglas-Roberts, Lord of Love Making and Duke of Doo Doo Throwing.

Guinea Pig Redux

Yesterday, when I posted Guinifred's Great Escape, I forgot to include pictures Ian drew directly following that harrowing event.

I also learned to stop advertising the number of times I will post in one week. Now I look ridiculous for posting thrice instead of twice.

But, I choose to flaunt my circumscriptions and restrictions. For I would like my readers to see Guinifred dressed as Batman and Winifred dressed as the Joker. All ten of you (Hi, Ian!).

More posts containing actual structure and/or plot are coming up next week. Please feel free to comment on the blog or to repost on Facebook or elsewhere if a post strikes your fancy. I will love you forever and ever and ever times infinity if you do.

Love (forever and ever and ever times infinity),
Laura

Guinifred's Great Escape

Ian: "I'm going to buy a guinea pig."

Laura: "We already have a hyperactive dog and a cat that eats us out of house and home. Plus Spottswood. Why should we add another animal to the mix?"

Ian: "I'm going to mate her and sell the babies."

Laura: "Makes sense."

Ian: "We can start a guinea pig farm, and they can live in the backyard. Winnie can herd the guinea pigs."

Laura: "She'll burn lots of energy that way."

In late December 2010, Ian bought a guinea pig, a beautiful chocolate brown one with caramel colored swirls on her back.

Laura: "Have you thought of a name yet?"

Ian: "No. It usually takes a while."

Laura: "What about Hazel? I like Hazel."

Ian: "I worked with a Hazel."

Laura: "What about Clementine? Pearl? Adele? Margot? Elizabeth? Charlotte? Do any of those strike you?"

Ian: "I like G. Money. Or The Situation. Or Snookie."

Laura: "Those are a bit... avant-garde.

Ian: "I was kidding."

Since the guinea pig remained nameless, I began calling her Guinifred, a play on Winifred. The name stuck.

I also called her Hamster, but not to be funny. I'd never had a guinea pig, so she was all hamster to me.

Laura: "Aww. The hamster looks cute."

Ian: "Guinea pig."

Laura: "The guinea pig looks cute. Aww, she's eating her carrot. Are you hungry, little hamster?"

Ian: "Guinea pig."

Laura: "Are you hungry, little guinea pig?"

Having spent months raising a puppy with distinct psychological and social needs, I felt concerned about the guinea pig's emotional state.

Laura: "Is she bored? Is she lonely? Is she happy?"

Ian: "Guinea pigs are simple creatures. They only want food, water, and a cage."

Laura: "Guinifred seems bright. She looks really alert."

Ian: "I agree. I guess I bought an intellectual guinea pig."

As Christmas drew near, Ian asked me to look after his cats and guinea pig while he visited his mother in Alabama for the holidays: "Just feed them once a day."

I was cool with looking after the cats. Cats are easy. I've had cats. But I felt nervous caring for the guinea pig.

Laura: "If something happens to Guinifred, I'll buy you a new one. I promise."

Ian: "I'm sure everything will be fine."

Laura: "But, like, if anything happens, I'll find another pretty one and I'll buy her for you."

Ian: "Why are you so nervous about it?"

Laura: "I don't know."

The day before he left, Ian gave me simple instructions.

Ian: "You probably won't have to refill Guinifred's water bottle. Just give her food in the evening. And a carrot from the fridge."

Laura: "Wait. Aren't you going to cover her cage? You're just going to leave it open?"

Ian: "Yeah. The cover's too hard to take on and off. Like I said, guinea pigs are simple creatures. She'll just eat, drink, and sit in her cage."

Laura: "..... okay."

Attention readers: By this point you should have noticed some foreshadowing.

On Christmas day, I headed to Ian's to feed the pets. I dialed Ian after I entered his house.

We talked as I filled the cat's bowls. I walked into the guinea pig room and looked at the cage, eager to see Guinifred alive.

She was gone.

Laura: "EEEE-an! EEEE-an! The hamster's gone! OH MY GOD!"

Ian: "You mean the guinea pig?"

Laura: "GUINIFRED'S NOT IN HER CAGE!"

Ian: "Uh oh. I wonder if the cats got her."

Laura: "OH MY GOD."

Ian: "Look for her."

Laura: "YOU MEAN LOOK FOR HER CARCASS? OH MY GOD."

Ian: "She's probably alive and just hiding. Look in the desk area below the cage."

Laura: "OH MY GOD. OKAY. I'M LOOKING."

Ian: "See her?"

Laura: Wait...wait... I think I see her. She's not moving. WHAT IF SHE'S DEAD?"

Ian: "Pick her up and see."

Dear readers, I felt one hundred percent positive that poor Guinifred would look like this:

I was certain of it: Guinifred, left in my care for one day, had already deteriorated into a rotting, bloody corpse. I felt too terrified to fish her poor bloodied body out with my own hands.

Ian: "Did you pick her up?"

Laura: "No. I can't. She's probably lying in a pool of her own blood. And dead."

Ian: "Just pick her up."

Laura: "I can't."

Ian: "What's the big deal? I don't understand."

Laura: "I'm going to get my dad. Don't worry. Everything will be all right."

Ian: "Wait! What? You're going to get your dad? I don't understand..."

I hung up, hopped in my car, and fetched my dad. At Ian's, Dad carefully scooped up Guinifred from her hiding place, blood-free, breathing, and beautifully alive.

Dad: "She's just a little guinea pig. Why were you so scared?"

Laura: "Oh, just...corpse and... blood... and... snuff."

Dad: "Huh?"

Laura: "Oh, nothing."

I called Ian again.

Laura: "Guinifred's alive! She's alive!"

Ian: "Yeah, I figured she'd be alive. She must have escaped and gone on an adventure. Most guinea pigs just sit in their cages and eat."

Laura: "Trust you to buy the smartest damn hamster in the entire store. You couldn't choose a normal sloth one. You got the feminist one who decries cages and captivity and plots elaborate schemes for freedom."

We now keep the cover on Guinifred's cage. We have to keep a careful eye on both Freds.