Mickie and Winnie – a tale of two guinea pigs

This is a tale of two guinea pigs, part joy, part sad. And I don’t know exactly where to start telling this tale. To cut a long story short, my 12-year old daughter, a girl on the autism spectrum, had always wanted a pet. She had her heart set on having a hamster or a guinea pig, and did endless research on how to take care of these pets, actually believing that we would one day get her one. I, however, had no such plans, and made elaborate reward charts that ended up not working. Finally, a difficult phase in her autism journey meant we had to end up in hospital this March 11. I call the hospital visit part trauma, part healing. Healing because of the large garden where we were allowed to walk in during the day, and also because of these tiny creatures – the guinea pigs – she herself discovered the hospital kept, which meant daily visits to their enclosure and endless waits for the caretaker to open the gate and feed them. The girl would not budge till the caretaker appeared with food and hay. The animals would squeak loudly each time we went near their enclosure, and seeing her joy, we finally agreed to carry back not one, but three of them, when she was discharged. She had her heart set upon this little brown one which looked different from the others – she and her brother named him Rusty. So in went Rusty, along with Chip and Plag.

Part 1 of the tale is simply that we kept these three for only a few days. Being autistic, she felt stressed that she was not able to look after them. We too felt worried that we had made a mistake to bring in these animals at the time of coronavirus, however misplaced the logic of their being carriers. When we saw a window of willingness to give them away, I got my husband to pack them up, put ribbons around their heads, and take them to the deer park, which has a huge enclosure for rabbits and guinea pigs. The caretaker put up a valiant fight about not accepting them, but gave in to my husband’s persistence. He however said firmly that he would not, under any circumstances give them back, else he loses his job.

But sure enough, things are never linear with an autistic child. Within days she regretted giving the guinea pigs (and especially Rusty who she had wanted to keep back) away and wanted them back. We did try to do the impossible, climbing over the deer park gate (by then a partial lock down was in place) on 23 March, almost begging to get those three, or any, back. The caretaker flatly refused, and since his job was at stake, we left it at that. We were left with no choice but to go to the hospital and try and get more. With the partial lock down on, the hospital too refused to give any more guinea pigs. That sounded like a death knell, what would we do? How would we make her understand? I told my husband to stay on and not return too early so I had time to prepare her and myself. He finally called that he had been successful, and came home armed with these two guinea pigs my kids called Mickie and Winnie. They came just a day before my daughter’s birthday on 24 March, and they were really her best birthday present ever. They even made it to her little birthday celebration, in a basket. I always joked that she had to finally go to hospital to get her pet. 24 March was also the day the PM announced a complete shutdown. We were just in time.

Part 2 of the tale is that we slowly got used to having these pets at home. There were huge tantrums as their cage, which had been ordered before the lock down, had never reached us. It was at the warehouse, and couldn’t be delivered. I made at least ten frantic calls to Amazon requesting them to mark this “essential” and get it delivered. They too may have wondered how a rabbit cage had become an emergency. For us, it certainly was.

Finally, my daughter agreed to have them in her balcony, which has grills with very small holes. I convinced her that they were perfectly safe there, and had enough sunshine and air, and space to run. For three weeks they remained well. While she initially found them boring, she slowly grew to love these gentle and docile creatures, and spent entire afternoons playing, building tunnels and hideouts out of empty boxes and cans. Mickie was the bigger one, the extrovert, foodie, who would squeak loudly when we came, and definitely each morning when he saw anyone near the balcony, as he would be hungry. Winnie, the small one, shy, would eat when no one was watching. My daughter would love to pick her up and play with her as she was also the cuter one. “Winnie, you’re so cute,” was her favourite sentence. I too, while initially grudging the presence of these animals which had increased our work at a time when there is very little help at home, and also because I always got hyper about hands not being washed after touching them, slowly got fond of these pets. I took to wishing them good night every night. “Good night Mickie, good night Winnie.” They would just stare. I would feel bad to leave them, but there was always the morning to play more, when they would squeak and welcome us. Last night I didn’t know it would be the last time I wished both of them good night.

This morning, April 12, eerily exactly a month after her hospital admission, I noticed just one guinea pig staring out of the mud house (a bird house from my mom’s terrace). It also didn’t squeak when I went in. In my hurry to get my chores done, I left it at that, thinking the other one must be around somewhere. However, soon, our house help who cleans out the balcony every morning, announced that there was only one guinea pig. Winnie was missing.

We initially didn’t believe her, searched the balcony as well as the house, only to not find her. There was still hope until my husband went down to investigate and found Winnie lying lifeless on the ground floor balcony. I don’t know how it happened and how it was possible for her to fall through the small grills or maybe the drainage pipe which too was small. But she was small and may have tried to squeeze her way through some crack. I don’t think we will ever know, and I do not want to. But I feel guilty about being so confident that the place was completely safe. Later, we noticed an extra space just under the grills.

For the first time also, I do understand why pet owners feel sad when they lose a pet. Things didn’t seem quite the same without Winnie. I used to joke to my son every morning, come let’s at least see if your guinea pigs are alive or dead, he would joke back, why would they be dead?? I feel bad about that joke now.

I also debated whether to tell my daughter the truth. I first thought I would lie, saying we really don’t know where Winnie went. She is a sensitive kid, and may not be able to take it. But I underestimate the girl’s sixth sense. She instinctively knew Winnie was gone. She asked me, just tell me if Winnie is alive or dead. Out tumbled the truth, hard to deal with, but I think it is important she faces it and finds her own ways of coping with it. It is heartening to see her play with Mickie again, who had gone silent today, and to see the children trying to keep him amused with their soft toys so he doesn’t feel alone. She told me that she wants to look after Mickie till he is alive. At least we still have him.

We are still dealing with the loss of Winnie the guinea pig. Just an experimental animal? Just a rodent? Not really. These little things brought a lot of joy to us, a lot of healing for my daughter, and taught me about the transience of life. One minute there, the other minute gone. I have promised her more if she still wants them (she wanted to build a guinea pig farm but now feels bad thinking about it). Meanwhile, all I want to say is RIP Winnie, you cutie pie. Thanks for bringing us joy and showing us what it means to love a pet.