In Memoriam

Ginge came into my life on September 15, 1998, a few weeks before I closed my home business and returned to the workaday world. He left on October 5, 2001, when I had to put him to sleep. Words cannot express the difficulty and pain of this decision, so I won't try. I'll just give you an idea of how wonderful Ginge was.

He was a constant source of joy, a sometime source of mirth, and an occasional source of irritation. He had his little quirks, funny habits, and one extremely bad habit: plucking at the bars of his cage with his teeth. If your guinea pig does this, do whatever it takes to stop him!

His real name was Gingembre, in honor of the beautiful color of his fur, but he was Ginge most of the time. He had many nicknames.

Geegee, Geeger, or Geeg, when he was being exceptionally cute, which was most of the time.

Ginger Beer, when he was being himself squared.

Puddle Jumper, or Pud, when he was doing something goofy, like falling off the top of Howeg's cage, or tipping his own cage over, or freaking out at the sound of the vacuum.

Sweetie, or Sugar Bun, when he was being exceptionally sweet, or I was trying to persuade him to do something he didn't want to do. Used most often when trying to clip his toenails.

Biscuit Colored Pantaloons, because his pigmentation made him look like he was wearing beige pants.

GPGP, because he is a GP, after all.

Rotten Child, whenever he nipped me. "Rotten Child," I'd say. "You're a rotten, rotten child." He'd just give me that bug-eyed stare as if he couldn't understand a word I was saying. As if!

BoHiss. He earned this nickname the time he hissed at me. To that point, I'd had no idea guinea pigs could hiss!

Bug Eyes, or Goggle Eyes, because his eyes definitely bugged out. They reminded me of Marty Feldman's eyes in the Last Remake of Beau Geste, when he falls face-first into a mud puddle. Ginge frequently had gunk sticking to his bug eyes.

Paper Horta. If you remember the old Star Trek episode with the Horta, you'll know what I'm talking about. Ginge loved to ball up the shredded newspaper in his cage and hide under it. Whenever he moved around, he'd carry this big, lumbering ball of paper around with him. Looked just like a cheap paper Horta.

Some stories:

Last night Ginge amazed my by cuddling into my lap and going to sleep. I kept waiting for him to start bouncing around as he usually does, but no. He just slept. It's a Plot to lull me into a false sense of security. I'm just sure of it.

Ginge showed his true colors last night when he went CHOMP on my arm. Vicious little furball. We said Bad Words to each other as I dumped him back in his cage. And he wonders why Howeg doesn't want to live with him!

Actually, for a guinea pig Ginge is quite a leaper. He'll put his forepaws up on the edge of his cage (about 4" high) and jump over. I think he was as surprised as I the first time he did it.

Last night Ginge went completely wacko. He started banging away at the bars on his cage, and no amount of yelling or clapping stopped him. Finally I got up and walked over. Bang-bang-look-up-at-looming-shadow-ooops. I picked him up and put him on top of Howeg's cage for a while to chill out.

When I went upstairs to go to bed, he started in again. So I went downstairs and put his whole cage on top of Howeg's. Blessed silence.

Now explain this to me. Why is it that Ginge will whale away at the bars of his cage when he's on the floor next to Howeg, but stop the minute he's put up top? Is it the altitude? Is it that he can no longer see Howeg? What? That pig is INSANE.

Ginge has mellowed out. I think he went demented because I vacuumed. He's absolutely terrified of the vacuum cleaner. Hm, delayed dementia? Well, you never know. He's so weird, anything is possible.

Ginge did a funny this morning. He's used to getting his food for the day as I leave. Well, today I had about a 10 minute wait before I left for the bus, so I sat down on the couch for a bit.

When I got up 10 minutes later, Ginge totally freaked. He'd forgotten I was home! "Aiiieeee! Who's this invader! Help! Must run away!" I was laughing so hard, it was hard to calm him down.

Ginge has gone psycho again. I have no idea what cycle he follows. It's not lunar, nor solar, nor calendar. Nevertheless he goes psycho periodically. He'll be fine for weeks and weeks, then suddenly he starts freaking out at every little sound, banging on the bars of his cage, weeping and sobbing and raging when I pet Howeg for a nanosecond longer than I petted him... I think the neutering gave him PMS. Or something.

At some point during a guinea pig's life, they begin to smell like a Port-A-Potty. The only solution is to wash them. So I plopped Ginge in the water. He whimpered and looked up at me with those big "But Mommy!" eyes while I scrubbed diligently. He squealed in protest as I toweled him off. Then I put him on the hearth and he settled down and said "Ahhh, warmth." Then came the Attack Of The Killer Comb! "Aieee!" he cried, and tried to flee. Now he's bang-banging on his cage to let me know he really doesn't appreciate being squeaky clean and combed.

Ginge earned an Irritating Gnat award for leaping into his cage before I'd laid fresh newspaper. Although watching him skitter and slither over the smooth plastic bottom was rather amusing...

And there's Ginge to keep things from getting Too Serious. Last night I put him on top of Howeg's cage for a moment. In the process of hopping around in indignant protest, he fell off Howeg's cage, landed on the floor, and ran around in circles trying to figure out what had happened. "What? What? Where am I? This isn't where I was! Where is this?" He is such a dork!

Ginge keeps trying to get his head inside the paper towel core. Apparently he thinks he's an ostrich. He pushes it up against the side of his cage, sticks his nose in, and shoves away until, defeated, he gives up in disgust. A while later, he comes across the core again and -- yep, tries again. "Maybe it grew while I was away."

Then last night Mom scared Ginge into getting his head stuck in his bit of core. She'd brought home leftovers in one of those plastic containers. After dinner, she tore it in half before throwing it away: CRACK!

"AIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!" Ginge shrieked, and shoved his head into his paper towel core, where it stuck. He scrabbled at it with his forepaws while I tried to stop laughing enough to help him. Once I got him out, I cut it lengthwise, so that it's easier to get off. What a dunderhead. Wish he'd chew on it like he's supposed to.

Ginge did a silly yesterday. I put him on top of Howeg's cage when I'm in the kitchen, since he will chew and chew at the bars of his cage if I don't. So I put him "up top" and went into the kitchen to start dinner.

As I was in the kitchen slicing cucumber, I heard scrabblescrabblethump from the other side of the wall. Dashed around the corner, thinking Ginge had fallen into Howeg's cage (the cover only goes halfway across).

Looked at a very calm Howeg in his cage. No Ginge. Looked around the living room. No Ginge. Looked again at Howeg's cage. No Ginge.

Blinked, sure I was missing something, and looked one more time. Ah-ha!

Ginge was in the narrow space between Howeg's cage and the wall, huddled under his towel (which had been on top of Howeg's cage), and looking completely freaked out.

After I finished rolling on the floor laughing, I pulled out Howeg's cage. Ginge galloped into my lap and climbed up to wrap himself around my neck. Poor baby. I calmed him down (still snickering) and put him back up top.

How he managed to get himself and a towel to fall into that narrow space, I'll never know. He is amazing.