Saga of a woman old enough to know better who lets her life be governed by the ridiculous hobby of breeding and showing dogs, musing on life, the twenty first century, Cameron and his mini-me, and the occasional sheep.

Monday, October 11, 2010


Yet another show this weekend. With a difference.

A guinea pig show.

Really very different. The little creatures are kept in pens until their big moment arrives - then they are carried off out of sight to be examined carefully and privately by the judges. The others wait their turn in varied states of enthusiasm, ranging from those who greet you eagerly whistling for food, to those who are sitting very still wearing a huge "hat" of hay on their heads, the traditional guinea pig symbol for being Seriously Not At Home to whatever is going on.

I wondered what the others were thinking as they saw their neighbours being carried off. Let`s face it, you find guinea pigs (which are not pigs and do not come from Guinea) at the very bottom of the food chain. They are fully within their rights to be just a tad suspicious.

In fact, most of the ones I have met are gentle and quite confiding little things, with the most appealing expressions, and those little bright eyes can give the impression of thinking very Deep Thoughts, (although those who keep them assure me that said thoughts are usually revolving around broccolli or carrot.)

If you are getting the impression that I rather like guinea pigs (or cavies, as their Sunday name is), you are right. But I will not be keeping any.

Papillons have a word for guinea pig. That word is "snack". Their word for a collection of guinea pigs is "lunch".

Somehow I don`t think this would ever be a des res for cavies.
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