Contemplations over the loss of a pet

One of our guinea pigs died today. I raced home from work but missed her last breath by a few minutes. She was about 6 1/2, which is a little longer than the expected lifespan of a guinea pig.

I remember when she joined our family.

My Dad was visiting over the summer of 2004 and while he was here, he got my son (7 at the time) his birthday gift from Grandma and Grandpa: two guinea pigs.

My Dad had grown up in the country, so he was comfortable with rodents. He told many stories about his mother warily opening dresser drawers, fearful of what rodent (or other creature) he might have stashed in there for safekeeping. He set up the cage and bedding with my son and helped him get acquainted with the new little guinea pigs who would become part of our family.

Eventually Allison provided my son with what he describes as the best day of his life. He came home from school to find three baby guinea pigs in her cage. (We had noticed she had been getting rather fat.)

Lately we noticed she had been getting rather frail. My son came home from school today to find her unable to stand. By telephone, he described her limpness, and her legs that were shaking. "Hold her," I coached him. "Let her feel you touching her. Pet her, and love on her."

I arrived home to find him in tears. She was gone. And he felt awful about how she had gone: right there, with him holding her.

I thought about how lucky she was. "Actually," I told my son, "of all the ways there are to die, the way she went is probably the best."

And then I wondered if--prayed that--his Grandpa would be so lucky.