At 10:00 this morning, the guinea pigs started their yipping. Apparently, the Guinea Pig Council to the UN or whatever pet body that establishes guidelines for a country’s pet population does not officially recognize the time change that took place this past weekend. One might argue they are just pets. This argument does have merit, but my contention is they are just committed to trying to manipulate the human members of the household to attempt to usurp the necessary power in anticipation of the coming invasion.
Fortunately, I am either falling completely for their plan OR I am smart enough to recognize their efforts to use reverse psychology will need a more willing family. So, when their begging started at 10:00 AM, I said soothing things to them. Such as, “Not yet guys. Real soon.” or “Whose a good guinea pig? You are! Just wait a little longer.” or “Be patient. Your tummy isn’t ready for all of the carrots I am going to give you.” (It could be argued anyone who speaks to guinea pigs w/ such sincerity has already lost. I realize this as a valid point.) Due to their insistence, I was very willing to sate their appetites and quite their yipping when 11:00 arrived.
When I give them the carrots (this is almost always the little carrot nubs. If they are not available and we have the big carrots, I will snap one of those pretty much in two pieces, and attempt to get them to enjoy those, too. From Sprouts we bought some heritage carrots that had some weird colors. I believe orange is by far their preferred color to associate with the carrot “taste”. ) I usually hand feed them each of them their first carrots. They start chomping on the carrot and ignore me. Or, their near-blindness causes them to drop the carrot into their bedding and sniff out where the carrot wandered off. The remainder of the carrots are dropped on their “house” with no regard to how they will “share” the balance of the little orange nib-lets. Today, after dropping the carrots on the house, I am almost positive I saw the darker guinea pig rear up on his back legs and make a physical effort to touch each of the carrots on the house. Immediate consumption did not appear to be his goal. Whether he was taking a little nip out of each carrot or otherwise marking them in a rodent sort of way beyond human comprehension, he appeared to be declaring each of them as his own as he whispered “My carrot” in rodent-glish.