There’s been a running joke between my friend Zach and I that I am just like the main character from Fleabag and should therefore be the owner of a guinea pig. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, Fleabag is about a girl living in London who co-owns a guinea pig themed cafe with her dead best friend. Her life is a mess. She has a hard time making friends with people because she’s a bit of an acquired taste. Oh and the guinea pig’s name is Hillary. Personally, I think I am the main character’s older sister, who has a professional job, married an art guy (does he sell art? does he look at art? does he make art? TBD.), and has a very nice wardrobe that is mostly neutrals. Needless to say, Zach disagreed and I ended up with a guinea pig to complete the joke.
Walter is your average, run of the mill Petsmart guinea pig. He’s probably five months old. I say probably because the pet store misjudged his gender and he is actually a she but because I’ve already named him and he responds to him better than her, I am going to continue to refer to Walter as a he. And just in case anyone thinks I have offended my guinea pig by misgendering him, it’s okay. I have asked him. He is fine with it so long as I continue to feed him grapes.
Walter enjoys long naps, eating, and burrowing into my clothing so he can nose his way into my armpit and then bite me when I try and pull him out. His favorite foods are grapes, clover, hay, and his own poop. He’s a very classy guy.
He goes in for a second vet visit tomorrow, where I will be confirming his gender and getting him weighed again. So far, he is a chonker (which is perfect by guinea pig standards).