This week Bob (the guinea pig) died. I’ve not always been a big Bob fan as I felt he was a bit of a sex pest, but I was actually quite sad.
You see what I didn’t realise in my ‘oh yes lets put all our pigs together and have baby pigs’ moment was that as soon as the sow has given birth the male pig will get her again (when I say get her, you know I mean impregnate her). Honestly, I don’t even have any words for this.
So me in my, oh the piggies can live happily every after altogether left Bob with Tabby (who became known as the Wonderpig) when the baby pigs had arrived, not knowing what he was doing. Tabby then went on to have another two litters and Bob was banished to ‘Camp Boy’ and we had separate hutches. Poor Tabby could be left alone. Bob fathered 13 pigs! Every time I looked at him I felt cross, which is totally ridiculous I know.
Slowly over the last few months our pigs have been moving on (dying) until Bob was the last pig standing. Clearly he wasn’t very well as he’d lost a lot of weight and he looked lonely, even though he had two rabbits for company. So I took pity on him and he moved indoors and he became King Pig. He was four, which in pig terms is pretty good.
Last week when Spring appeared I decided that Bob should have some fresh air and moved him back outside. That and he was incredibly smelly! Mr H laughed and said that I had sent Bob outside to die and every morning I was so relieved to hear his squeak when I went outside.
However, on Monday there was no squeak and he was lying on the grass dying, but not dead. What do you do?? I wrapped him in a towel and brought him indoors. There was nothing I could do as I had to get the children to school so I put him in a shoe box snuggled up. I’d always found the pigs dead, so this was unknown territory for me. I kind of hoped by the time I got home, he would be dead.
I’m a complete sucker for animals, let’s not forget that Bob was an impulse buy along with the rabbit on the way home from my brother’s house. On school run I’ve come home with a baby pheasant and a kitten, I’m sure they see me as a soft touch.
Thankfully when I got back from school run, Bob had moved to the hotel in the sky. He had pushed his nose through the hole in the side of the shoe box and was holding on with his teeth. Poor Bob!
In true child fashion, the children said “oh no poor Bob” and then asked what was for tea. Clearly I’m more traumatised by having pets than them.