My Guinea Pig Story

By Anna B.

When I was two, I had a pet guinea pig that I loved. To really pamper my guinea pig, I put "cream" and "baby powder" on its furry bottom which was actually flour from the kitchen as much butter as I dared to steal from the fridge. But he didn't like it at all, no matter how much I put on him. He ran out of his nest and through every room. I followed with more powder; I must have been out of control by the time my mother yelled.

She could not have been happy with the flour that followed the guinea pig trail, along every wall and through every room. Although I remember the unusual sight of white dust on the floor, the thing that struck me most was that I had done something bad. My mother told me I was a monster to powder a defenseless pet and run the animal through the apartment. She picked up the guinea pig. I saw its beautiful eyes, realizing they too were full of flour, before my mother forcefully washed him in the kitchen sink. The pet protested. It seemed to scream. I didn't dare stay and see what was happening and went and hid myself.

I think my mother took the pet away after that. I never asked. As a young child I often though of the guinea pig and made up that I was a monster compared to my small friend with the beautiful black eyes. Today, some fifty years later, I remind myself that its a story. Like the many stories I made up, this one only served to prove my guilt and create the theme of my life, that of separations.

As we remind each other that love is all there ever was, and all there is, the story ends. With it ends all stories that only look on the surface, rather than the innocence and peace that is our true nature.

With love from,
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