His name is Lincoln and he’s lying in a Reeboks box in our freezer because he had the audacity to die in the dead of winter. And the last time Mark tried burying an animal in the dead of winter, Sox, the ferret, came back to life in the form of a skull that showed up in the spring while we were trying to enjoy a nice soak in our hot tub. So we’re awaiting a thaw to bury our beloved Lincoln.
Lincoln came to us eight years ago when Holly and Mark were shopping at a department store that had two adult guinea pigs crammed together in a small aquarium. Mark and Holly are both softies, rescued the two pigs and announced their arrival as Holly’s 13th birthday presents. The two pigs were named Pinky and Lincoln and they took up residence in a large rectangular cage inside our front door. Within hours of their arrival, they greeted me with this high-pitch “weenk, weenk!” sound. In fact, every time I walked by their cage, I was “weenk”ed at and soon found myself responding to their calls by giving them fresh carrots, lettuce, grapes, or pretty much any other veggie we had in the fridge. In fact, I soon found myself shopping the veggie aisles at the store with the guinea pigs in mind.
By the time Holly went off to college, I knew what the pigs liked and didn’t like in the way of veggies, and that short pieces of celery were preferable to trying to maneuver a long, skinny piece of celery into the narrow opening of their plastic hut. I also discovered that I could extend my finger and bring it closer and closer to the pigs and they wouldn’t budge, until, upon touching them, they’d jump back as if I’d electrocuted them. I came to the conclusion that they were blind.
Pinky died after a brief illness in 2009, leaving only Lincoln to greet me every time I walked by. But about six months ago as I walked by to let the dogs out, I heard no “weenk” from the cage. When I checked on Lincoln and saw he was still alive, I attributed his lack of calling to the fact that I was so trained to feed him every time I walked by, he had no need to call any more. Still, it bothered me. And I missed his call. He was eating like a pig, so I didn’t think much more about it.
Then, a month ago he stopped eating the fresh grapes he used to inhale, and began merely nibbling on the celery pieces. Some days, he left the fresh dandelion greens from Meijers to rot on the bottom of the cage. A few days ago, as I removed the uneaten greens, I noted only a few nibbles out of a fresh strawberry. And he hadn’t eaten much dry food. In a last ditch effort to get him to eat, I added hot water to his Mardi Gras guinea pig food. Such a trick had worked well for my elderly ferrets, but had no effect on Lincoln at all.
Last night, after I let the dogs out, I stopped by to check on Lincoln. For reasons I can’t explain, I found myself reaching out to him, and this time, when I touched him on the head, he did not move away. I stroked his head, told him he’d been a good pig, and hoped I’d done well by him. This morning, when I found him lying on his side, it appeared as if he’d been about to tug at a piece of timothy from the side of his cage and simply laid down to rest.
So God bless Lincoln. And let’s hope for an early thaw. Because while I came to love the little fuzzy, I’m really not keen on him being in my freezer with food that I plan to eat. And the other thing is—he’s been at our front door for so long now, we don’t know what to put in his place. I’m leaning towards this stuffed animal, which I got for Christmas.
I mean, people expect to see an animal when they first walk in our front door. And I like this one because it’s not going to die any time soon. I just wish it’d go “weenk, weenk” when I walk by.