Before I go on with Ellen’s story, let me discuss my favourite creature on earth aside from humans – the guinea pig. I love guinea pigs because they are the only mammal in the world besides humans who require an external source of Vitamin C. Go ahead, look it up.
Not only that, but they are versatile. They can be loved and petted, or eaten. The wild ones roam South American mountain ranges, but North American strains are happy inside a wire cage. They can snuggle and bite, live in groups or alone. They eat every kind of green scrap, along with seeds, nuts, roots and corn. Easy-peazy!
Little Ellen decided she wanted a hamster at some point. She didn’t do much research on it; if she had, she’d have found out that hamsters are solitary, affectionless, nocturnal beings, as fuzzy as a pair of polyester socks but way less useful. I created hamsters to look cute and to feed predators. Guinea pigs, on the other hand, I created to know love. If you have ever held one in your lap and heard its satisfied chirping and purring, you will understand.
Marisol drove two hours down to Dryden on a hamster mission. Upon the good advice of the local veterinarian, she ended up in the back yard of the guinea pig breeder. The breeder had a good heart, but the cavy operation had gotten the best of her, business-wise. She spent too much time drinking tequila and not enough time checking the genitals of guinea pig pups. Boys mated with girls, and girls produced an average of three pups per litter every couple of months. Within eight months, there were two plastic kiddie pools filled with shiny-eyed, whistling rodents. Going cheap.
Of course, Marisol didn’t know which one among them was Leander.
He made himself known by lifting up his front paws and making a desperate attempt to jump out of the pool of cavies. He fell back inside, grunting in frustration.
Marisol picked him up.
He was clean, shiny-eyed, black.
For thousands of years, South American tribes have used the guinea pig for food and worship. At first I thought they were crazy. I couldn’t help chuckling whenever they placed a roasted guinea pig in front of my altar; it just looked so funny, the short little legs sticking out all stiff and crispy. And they always left the head on. How could they eat those things, I wondered. Not much meat on them, though they did smell good. Jesus says they taste like chicken; he had the chance to eat a few when he entered the body of a shaman during an Easter ritual a few years back.
Anyway, eventually I began to notice the relationship that Andean tribal households took on with their cavies – one of practicality, respect, and holiness. The animals are part of the household, running around the kitchen and being fed table scraps. Children play with them. Couples receive them as wedding gifts. Sometimes families trade them as currency. Many rituals and healings feature guinea pigs, especially black ones, sometimes rubbing the animal on an invalid’s body to determine the source and location of sickness.
All this – even though most guinea pigs end up as food in the end.
Now, what kind of a person feeds and uses their beloved pet to such a degree before inevitably killing and consuming it?
A person after my own heart, of course.
So I got Marisol to take Leander home for Ellen. He would be a real friend, with no designs. And heck, if she got hungry she could even gobble him up.