Like most children, my boys have been begging for a pet for years. “Please, get us a dog! We swear we’ll feed it and walk it and pick up its poop! Please get us a cat! We’ll play with it every day! Pleeeeeeease!” Quite a while back, we bought them betta fish. One, Tandoori Chicken (named for its distinct red/orange color), died only weeks ago. Though it survived a trip down the garbage disposal six months ago (long story: it jumped out of the net when I was changing its water, the disposal wasn’t running at the time, and I swear after I got it back in its bowl, it glared at me for days), so I believe it lived a long and full life for a betta. The other betta, Lightening, named for it’s stormy blue hue, is still alive and kicking. Or swimming. You get my drift.

My mother, being the cliched grandmother who was super strict to my sister and me but now lets my kids run around like crazies, giving them every sugary concoction or cheaply made toy their hearts desire, began taking them to the local humane society. Just to look, of course. (insert eyeroll here) Every time they went, which was more often than I’d like, the boys would come home and beg for a dog. “Barkley is a nice dog. I think he liked me!” “Samson looked so sad when I left. We should go back and get him.” “Queenie is the cutest dog EVER! Please, please, please!”

Being the meanie I am, I pointed out that our yard is small; we travel a lot; they don’t even like playing in the rain, much less walking a dog in it; and they’ll have to pick up steaming, hot poop and carry it around in bags. “Noooooooo! We’ll take care of it. We will!” And, of course, the classic, “We’ll never ask for anything else as long as we live!”

One day, they came home and told me about all of the cats and dogs they played with. Then they mentioned rabbits and guinea pigs. I love guinea pigs. I’ve owned quite a few in my life. They are sweet animals that interact with people but don’t need to be walked. Certain sounds (the crinkle of a bag, the fridge door opening) can set off a series of squeaks and chirps. Even M, the pet-resistant curmudgeon, agreed that perhaps a guinea pig would help the boys learn a bit of responsibility. We decided two would be better: one for each boy and the piggies would have a buddy to keep them company.

The following Sunday morning, we bought the supplies at Petco and headed to the humane society as soon as it opened.  We handed in our paperwork and, after a short wait, the piggies were boxed up for travel.

We are not their first family. They are still skittish around people. The woman at the humane society’s front desk told us that she didn’t think their previous family socialized them. Not to mention, one of them was dropped by a humane society visitor the day before we adopted them.  However, we’re gaining their trust, day by day, treat by treat. The children are learning patience and tenderness, kindness and responsibility.

I still end up cleaning the cage.