Our Venerated Piggy Laureate
(reading the works of Emily Dickenson)
copyright 1995 by John Morgan, all rights reserved
used with permission by John Morgan
This slim volume is a collection of poetry written by our guinea pig, Piggywig, as well as the autobiography of one of our gerbils, Winter. When reading the poems, it helps to know a bit about our household. In addition to the guinea pig, we have two gerbils, two russian dwarf hamsters, two golden hamsters (a recent addition) and several fishes. Our piggy is allowed long stretches of time to roam our apartment as he see fit, and he often encounters the other animals in his travels. The other animals also get to travel around, but they are mostly confined to exercise balls as a means of transportation. Mostly, the piggy an d the others ignore each other, but Tamerlane, one of the gerbils and Minsk, one of the dwarves, seem to dislike the pig. Naturally, this only encourages the pig to spend lots of time just outside their cages observing their behavior. The p ig also seems to have a special fondness for plastic bags, and will go to great lengths to find any accessible bags anywhere in the house. Unfortunately, he likes to eat the bags, which is never a good idea, so we remove the bags from him when we catch hi m chewing on them.
The poems reflect the many experiences of the pig, his correspondence on the Internet (he's a very advanced pig,) and his overall philosophy of living, which mostly consists of adopting a laid-back zenlike approach to all things. Humans could do far worse than adopting the ways of the cavy.
Finally, the last section consists of the autobiography of Winter Gerbil. Winter has a limited vocabulary (being a gerbil), so humans may have some trouble translating gerbilspeak into a human equivalent. Thoughtfully, Winter has included a glossary (which we helped him write) to assist his human readers. Although Winter was only two when the autobiography was written, he is three now and still living happily with his brother Tamerlane.
Moist, juicy berry.
I lift myself up longing
to taste your goodness.
***
Fragrant tomato
Stretching, climbing, squeaking, wheet!
Happy eating, purrrrrrr.
***
Lovely, full food dish.
Pellets scattered, dish o'erturned!
Hungry piggy grazes.
***
Summer is a season
for basil leaves to grow and
pigs to munch happily.
***
Oregano is
a fragrant herb that comple-
ments timothy hay.
***
In addition to haiku, Piggywig also enjoys writing a traditional Japanese tanka.
***
Finally, an ode to being a piggy.
Creeping past the hallway door
eating grass and wanting more
waddling along the linoleum floor
searching, searching for piggy lore.
Pellets, veggies and timothy hay
I'll be wanting more I'd say.
Let me run around to play
frightening all the hamsters away.
Piggy, happy squeaking one
basking, purring in the sun.
Soon the victory'll be won.
And the piggy rule begun.
***
***
Crinkly, plastic bag,
a satisfying morsel.
Wait! Don't go away!
***
Shakespeare on the floor.
To chew or not to chew,
that is the question.
***
A trade paperback,
Becoming Political,
has yummy covers.
***
A coupon lying
on the ground with colors bright--
tasty UPC.
***
I nibble a leaf
on a tropical fern--like
ancient pigs once did.
***
The rubber soles of
flip-flop shoes make tasty snacks
pigs often choose.
***
Plastic bag filled with seeds.
A divine combination
of foods for a pig.
What's more delicious
the bag or the seeds?
***
***
The sun strokes my back
as I lounge in the window.
Warm rays make me purr.
***
Warm spring morning.
I prance across the floor to
find a shady spot.
***
Gerbil zipping past
too fast to savor joyous smells
of plants and carpets.
***
Chatting with hamsters
on a lazy evening
makes a fine pastime.
***
THE COMFORTER
"Good morning Pig!" say chickadees
that perch outside the windowpane.
I slowly stretch, a piggy yawn,
is how I like to start my day.
Then people stride about the floor--
their clunky, slow, two-footed way.
They make no chuffing sounds to walk;
They're strangely not like pigs, I'd say.
Two hands reach in. I'm lifted up,
unhappy to be on display.
In high-pitched squeaks, she chirps to me,
"How is my widdle pig today?"
I'm quickly carried down the hall,
on something called a "bed" I'm placed.
A soft and downy comforter
is just the spot for me to play.
The bed is warm and soft and snug;
my energy is sapped away.
Perhaps I'll take a little nap.
It's really been a busy day.
***
Order Rodentia,
a magnificent house,
from the long-toothed beaver
to the tiniest mouse!
Intelligent creatures,
clever and savvy.
Yet none as insightful
as the sagacious cavy!
Skillful in speaking
in a manner nonverbal:
the kazoo of a hamster,
the squeak of a gerbil.
Magical creatures
proud of their status,
a friend to the witches
is Muridae Rattus.
Noble of countenance
(let's give them their due)
like the handsome proboscis
of the long-snouted shrew.
Trumpets shall sound
and flags soon unfurl
for our often seen neighbors
the chipmunk and squirrel.
Order Rodentia,
a magnificent house,
from the butterball groundhog
to the tiniest mouse!
***
***
Newspaper bedding
makes a lovely sound when torn
but leaves a gray pig.
***
PIGGY PLACES
I.
A hot and sticky summer day
is no time for a pig to play.
Instead I'll nap inside my hutch
and dream of dewdrops, hay, and such.
II.
I have a place beyond compare,
a place I call my Piggy Lair.
A cool and shady wicker space
to rest, reflect, and contemplate.
I say to piggies far and wide
to have a lair is piggy pride!
III.
There is a spot I know to be
a dark and cozy ecstasy!
'neath kitchen cart on cool tile floor
with plastic bags and crumbs galore!
No other spots can be like this
a happy, soothing piggy bliss.
***
Flipped over my house.
Worried wheeps of despair bring
help from my humans.
***
Sometimes I feel a longing in my heart
that neither hay nor seeds can help redress.
That both of us fore'er be kept apart
leaves whiskers damp with tears of piggy sadness.
Imprisoned in this cage, I long to flee
and frolic in a field still moist with dew.
But still I'd tremble, still I'd not be free
for life is death if life be without you.
I sing for you, an ancient mating call
that echoes through the stars and skies above
and joins the voice of lonely piggies all
whose song is for their one true piggylove.
Yet even if my days shall pass alone,
in love our souls will always be as one.
***
LONELY LILY
I.
O Lonely Lily,
Abyssinian princess,
Wheet! I squeak for thee.
II.
Alas my heart pines
for you are oceans away--
beyond the sunset.
III.
Lily, a flower,
your delicate petals float
toward me in silence.
IV.
Sweet piggylove, your
Eastern song echoes sadly
through golden hayfields.
V.
Oriental maiden
your tiny feet prance lightly
through ancient gardens.
VI.
No dandelion
flower can ever compare
to Lonely Lily.
***
Piggy Wedding Hymn
In grassy glade near scarlet flowers,
two pigs about to wed.
They nestle 'neath the fragrant bower,
a garden and a bed.
The young pigs run with childlike grace
while old rest in the shade
of a tallish oak that marks the place
for the piggy wedding day.
The abby Max, now eight years old,
toasts bride and groom to be,
"May life, like petals, well unfold
and piglets comfort thee."
Now stands the groom, now stands the bride
in the glade beneath the tree.
"My love forever by thy side
and piglets comfort thee."
"My love forever by thy side
and piglets comfort thee."
***
Who are these gerbils with their funny smells
that cast their eyes suspiciously on me?
Their bodies yet as long as furry tails;
they thump and chatter on so fitfully.
I circle slowly, dare not get too close
to sparkling eyes and sharp incisor teeth.
Why fear a pig? Why be so bellicose?
Or are my squeaks to you a shibboleth?
Come sniff and nibble, tiny rodent chaps.
We'll pass the time, chew on baseboards too!
We'll munch on grass and take a languid nap;
I'll teach you soon to live as piggies do!
At this the gerbils paused and sat and thought,
"No thanks dear pig, that's not the life we've sought."
***
Higgledy piggledy
Winter and Tamerlane
spent Christmas morning
asleep in the stove.
When a fruitcake was baked,
found the fridge to be pleasant.
If the going gets hot
gerbils head for the cold.
***
Broilers and sofas
house a gerbil quite nicely.
Humans disagree.
***
***
Mr. Gerbil is coming today
with movements so agile and quick.
Mr. Gerbil is coming, hooray!
He's one gerbil never to trick.
He's searching in cupboards
and everyday places
with cunning that's rarely surpassed.
And finally he'll snuff out
the human resistance
for piggy rule's coming at last.
***
***
THISTLE AND PUFFALUMP
Higgledy piggledy
Thistle and Puffalump,
two musical hamsters,
went out for a stroll.
Find exercise ball
locomotion most practical.
sometimes they rock, but
mostly they roll!
***
TO MINSK, THE MEANEST HAMSTER I KNOW
A hamster is a curious beast
of cunning and of guile,
a fearless, brave conquistador
when traveling in her ball.
A hamster likes to motor on
and look not where she goes.
No piggy caution will she take
propelled by furry toes.
To ram the wall--a jarring thud--
gives hamsters great delight
then realigned, a new course set,
move on without respite.
A hamster is a fearsome beast:
agile, quick, and stout.
All piggies keep a watchful eye
when hamsters are about.
***
Bathtime for Piggywig!
(Using "Piglet's Liquid Bath," of course!)
***
The cold, steel clippers
bite my delicate toenails,
I squirm to escape.
***
Cold steel clippers bite
hard into my piggy toes.
Frightened, I squirm free.
***
THE ARGUMENT
"My toes are my own,"
said the pig in a huff,
"Keep your clippers away...
I've had quite enough!"
"But, sir pig," said his human,
"Your nails are so long
They inhibit your movement...
I believe you are wrong!"
"But human, my nails
are attached to my feet!
My toes prefer hay
to your hard clippers...Wheet!!"
***
THE PHOTOGRAPH
I saw today a photograph
of some poor pig having a bath.
his fur was wet, his eyes were bright,
he seemed a quite pathetic sight.
But on a closer look I see
that some poor pig, in fact, was me!
***
Emerging from the bath (Piggywig)
When I was just a pup I came upon
a gerbil who was black with flecks of gray,
who traveled much, and to him I was drawn,
regaled with tales of cities far away.
And often I'd return to hear him tell
of all the children with whom he had played.
I came to feel I knew him very well
and endless hours with him I would stay.
But time was often cruel to my dear friend.
He spoke much less and shuddered when he moved.
I cried to see our friendship come to end
for such a splendid gerbil have I loved.
Yet an eternal gift he gave to me--
the precious orb of life's sweet memory.
***
MOURNING, MORNING
I dreamt there was a field beyond the sky
with rolling hills bathed golden by the sun.
A place where all the souls of piggies fly
when sleep and dreams on Earth to them have come.
Long shadows of a leafy, spreading tree
give comfort to the piggies heading past,
and mama pig calls, "Please come home to me.
Your journey's destination's here at last."
The smell of berries red ripe on the vine
is veiled in clover and in baby's breath.
No sadness shall you feel at eventide.
Just nestle next to mama and be at rest.
I dreamed a thousand dreams of hope and then
all piggies old shall be made new again.
***
HIDING
When I was young, I used to find
a perfect thing to hide behind
was in a room that's often wet
and called by humans a toi-LET!
***
Nutmeg: Demonstrating the "majestic cavy stance"
Piggywig just got a new little "brother", a short-haired brown pig named Nutmeg (or Lyric, we haven't quite decided yet). At first, the two pigs were pretty wary of one another--PW occasionally biting Nutmeg's behind if he was in the way of the water bottle. Since then, the two have settled in quite nicely together. PW leading the way on all expeditions from the cage with Nutmeg following close behind. Sort of a mini pig train.
PW has introduced Nutmeg to a spot under our kitchen cart near our bag of bags. This has long been a favorite spot for PW since there are often crumbs to eat and, by chewing through the nasty paper shopping bag, PW can get to the delicious platic bags contained inside. Nutmeg picked right up on the gustatory delight of plastic bags. Recently, I changed the setup a little. Now we have a BOX of bags, which presents a much tougher challenge to PW and Nutmeg.
Last night we had a bit of a scare. Nutmeg decided to go on an adventure alone. We searched the house and could not locate him. Even PW seemed down about Nutmeg's absence, making palintive squeaks and generally acting depressed while lounging under our dinette. We did eventually find Nutmeg underneath the computer printer, but there were definitely some tense moments for a while.
Nutmeg seems pretty scared of humans; he always flees from our embraces and when he is caught, he quickly runs and hides in my wife's hair. PW spoke to Nutmeg about this, a the following poem was the result.
I.
A friend or, more truthfully, a companion
the other day greeted me.
The first I ever saw him, so soft and small and brown--marked by fears
of the vagaries of life, and
what he must have done
to deserve this fate:
lifted up
from his brothers and sisters, from his mother, and his father
(who he never knew.)
So young, only four months, yet already filled with
terrors and nightmares.
Lifted up
with his brothers and sisters
from the honeydew and solace, from the sense of belonging,
from the warmth and the safety, from the absence of fear
lifted up from wise Mama Pig.
At least he was with his brothers and sisters.
Now again tragedy,
terrors and nightmares.
What have I done so wrong?
he asks, in just four months, to be
lifted up
again, and carried away
from my brothers and sisters, from my mother, and father
(who I never knew.)
Lifted up, all alone, to an alien land.
It was, he decided,
an omen
to be lifted up twice by such large human hands
in such a short time.
II.
There are so few of us. A chosen few, perhaps,
but chosen for what--to atone for such wickedness
real or imagined?
What sort of God dispenses such justice? Why are there
so few of us?
He is only the second pig I've ever met, yet
our stories are the same--coincidence or fate.
I had a sister once. We were so yound when I was
lifted up
and carried away to an alien land
terrors and nightmares.
Often I wonder what happened
to my sister, to my mother, and my father
(who I never knew.)
***
More poems about Piggywig's new little brother Nutmeg.
Brown, furry lump with
glittering eyes and large feet--
sweet little Nutmeg.
***
Nutmeg, the Bandit
Zipping round the table legs
in picture perfect figure eights,
Creeping slowly like a thief
about to nab a basil leaf,
Wheeping at the break of dawn
a cheery piggy breakfast song!
***
Little One
Beyond the door, beyond the trees,
beyond the birds and buzzing bees,
beyond the stars, beyond the sun,
where did you come from little one?
You jump and scamper, buck and turn
then trundle off to eat a fern.
In little circles round you run.
Where did you come from little one?
Now that you're here, I like you much
(but must you dash around my hutch!)
A piggy friendship just begun,
together with you, little one.
***
Piggywig has been chewing on an anthology containing some of the caustic poems of Dorothy Parker. This seemed to kindle a cynicism in him that we had not previously seen.
A poet's life they say should be
filled with thought and subtlety.
Observing nature's hidden line
requires patience most sublime.
Left alone to contemplate
a drop of time or curse of fate,
or focus on the songs within...
I think I need an aspirin.
I'd rather join in piggy trains
and rule, with Nutmeg, our domain.
Noisy chatter unabated.
Solitude is overrated!
***
Piggywig has recently been observing our gerbils as they run around (and periodically fall off) our couch.
Gerbils tumble, gerbils fall.
Gerbils have no fears at all.
Gerbils seldom make a sound.
Gerbils lost and gerbils found.
***
We gave Piggywig an old stuffed rabbit to play with for awhile. He composed this Haiku for it.
***
The poetic blessing has been a traditional staple of the Celtic culture and Piggywig, after eating a cassette tape of the Thistle and Shamrock, was inspired to try to incorporate this fine tradition into the cavy culture.
May you never know gray winds of sadness.
May your waters run clear, clean, and bright.
May you frolic with lovers and kinsmen
in the sweet amber hayfields of life.
Feel the flickering glow from the fire
of the love for a sweet piggy wife.
May you never know want nor desire
in the sweet amber hayfields of life.
***
Piggywig was so intrigued by the story of the pig found in the park that he wrote a poem in his honor.
On a cold night I sleep by a park bench,
so alone that I'm scared for my life,
for a wind from the north is a-blowin',
and it cuts through my soul like a knife.
Christmas morning I came home to a family
to be loved by a boy and a girl.
I would purr when they'd ome home to see me;
I had never a care in the world.
Then the warm smell of spring came a-calling
from golden fields that I never could see,
and the boy and the girl took to playing,
but they seldom would come play with me.
Now I sit all alone in the corner
of an attic that's black as the night,
and I wheep and I weep to the children,
but they never to me will reply.
One day I was taken to the sunlight
in a box I could just peek above,
past the fields where the children are playing,
past the boy and the girl that I love.
And we drove to a park with a fountain
near a bench in the sun's setting light,
and I squeak as they fade in the distance.
There's not even a whispered goodbye.
So I'm sad, frightened, fearful, forsaken.
I would run but there's nowhere to flee.
Is there no one whose heart isn't taken,
who could care for a piggy like me?
All alone in the night's dark'ning hours
in a dreamy-eyed vision I see
there's a girl and she smells like the flowers
who will love a scared piggy like me.
***
A chill breeze blowing
through the screen door marks
summer's funeral.
***
Venture out
venture in.
Run in circles.
Make a din!
Smell a carrot,
squeak and beg.
Rest beside
a table leg.
Jump and buck,
turn about.
Venture in,
venture out.
***
Sonnet & Nutmeg
We miss him.
We miss him a lot.
At the time of his death, Piggywig was sharing his home with Sonnet, our littlest guinea pig, who looks a lot like Piggywig. Poor Sonnet kept nudging Piggywig with his nose trying to get him to wake up, but to no avail. At least Piggywig had little Sonnet to care for him and comfort him.
Piggywig is survived by our two other pigs, Sonnet and Nutmeg, who is
quite a mischievous pig. They miss him too.
In a single drop of water I can see
In the ruby sparkle of a hamster's eye
I sip some water then lay down to sleep,
"Come piggies old, come piggies new
Come piggies old, come piggies new
Come piggies old, come piggies new
The simple song now washes over me
Twilight
In a gray November twilight
She pulls her coat tighter
The wind is from the north
You must be cold tonight.
***
Vignettes
When I would scratch your back
***
The sadness of your death
***
Call me Winter. I was born in a warm, soft nest of chewed wood and cardboard.
My mother, who was quite experienced at giving birth, having had sixteen
children before me, considered having babies to be a natural process which did
not require assistance of any kind. On the bright when I was born, along with
seven other brothers and sisters, I joined a large, close-knit family.
Our nest was in a two-level gerbil cage in the nesting-place of Jane, a young
female bald-yet-tufted creature. The only fur that she had which looked
anything like ours was in a tuft on top of her head! From our nest, we could
see her big sleeping-nest, a dresser holding her unusual removable-smooth-furs,
and a huge white door. We thought that the wooden things would make tasty chew
toys, but it was the door that most interested my family and me. Every day, we
watched Jane turn a shiny knob which made the door open and close and we
dreamed of the day we would see the unknown things on the other side. On
several occasions, one or more of my family members were able to escape while
the girl opened the cage to pet us or to give us new nesting materials.
However, the thrilling episodes never lasted long. Jane always pursued
escapees with great violence, slamming her furless paws or a box down around
them. I came to fear her, as did many of my brothers and sisters. We tried to
avoid her touch and trembled when she picked us up. My brother, Tamerlane,
even bit her sometimes. I was not brave enough to risk her hurting me in
anger, so I just tried to be still and waited for her to become bored with
me.
The most exciting escape was accomplished by my father. One day, when Jane
opened our cage, Dad leaped past her grasping hands onto the furry-looking
floor covering. The ever-fascinating door was ajar and he managed to slip out.
We were so proud of him! He went where no gerbil had gone before.
Unfortunately, he never came back. We tried to pretend that he had made a new
nest for himself in some fantastic place filled with alfalfa, but we knew the
terrible fate that had probably befallen him. Although the white door led to a
world of wonderful new experiences, it was guarded on the other side by a
terrible monster. The thing had four legs, like us, but was much taller and
longer with big teeth in its snout. Jane called the thing "dachshund" and
seemed to like it a great deal. It made loud barking noises and had a fearsome
growl. As Dad's tail disappeared through the door, we heard that growl and, as
I said, Dad never came back. None of us dared approach the door after that.
Escapees had to be content to gnaw on the dresser.
One hot bright, some new tufted creatures came into Jane's nesting-area. We
didn't know what to make of this turn of events. We feared that Jane had
brought more hard furless-paws to squeeze and torment us. Heather, a female
with lots of golden tufts on her head and John, a male with marvelous
gerbil-brown tufts, said that they were going to adopt two of us. I didn't
know what that meant, but I figured that if had anything to do with Jane, it
couldn't be good. The new tufted-ones picked each of us up, petted us, and
looked at our undersides. We didn't make it easy for them at all. We squirmed
and wiggled. Tamerlane managed to leap out of Heather's paws and to run under
the dresser. This was not the most sensible move. Jane stomped after him,
repeatedly slamming her paws down right behind the tip of his tail. When John
finally scooped him up, I was glad. I think that Jane would surely have killed
him if she had continued to slam her paws down like that. I was so grateful to
John for catching my brother without hurting him, that I let Heather pick me up
without much of a struggle. She stroked my back and examined my underside.
She said something to Jane about wanting two gerbils, not two hundred. Well, I
couldn't see what would be wrong with two hundred. We gerbils are very
family-oriented creatures, you know. Those tufted-ones are pretty confusing
though, so I tried not to let her remarks bother me. They just can't
understand the gerbil way of looking at the world.
John and Heather ended up putting me into a new cage with new nesting
materials on the bottom. Soon, my brother, Tamerlane, joined me. We were both
extremely excited to be going on an adventure, but we were sad too. We were
going to pass through the mysterious white door. And, although I was sure that
the full-grown tufted-ones would give us safe passage past the terrible
dachshund monster, I was also sure that Tamerlane and I would never see the
rest of our family again. For gerbils, the white door seemed to only work in
one direction.
Heather carried our new nesting-place outside and I felt a warm breeze ruffle
my white fur. I never knew that the air could carry so many varied smells.
When I looked up, I saw blueness and moving white things that looked very soft.
I was surprised at this because before I had only seen white stillness above
me. Looking down, I saw a green, hairy floor covering. The green hairy stuff
surrounded something full of water which Heather and John called a "fountain."
The water was constantly in motion and went up rather than down. Tamerlane and
I were stunned. The only water we had ever seen before was the water in our
drinking bottle. And that water only moved when we persistently licked at the
bottle with our tongues to make it move down and come out!
Heather carried us into a big, blue creature that had four wheels instead of
four legs. It made a noise that sounded like a combination of a growl and a
purr when John turned it on. It was very strange to know that I was moving
while I kept my feet still. I felt really out-of-place and just huddled in the
corner of my cage with Tamerlane. I was so happy that I didn't have to
experience all of these new things by myself!
I fell asleep to the rocking motion of the blue moving thing and, when I
awoke, I was in a new place. Above me was the familiar white stillness and
below was more furry-looking floor-covering. Tamerlane and I were now living
in a larger room near a big box that showed moving pictures and made all kinds
of noises. John and Heather liked to sit in front of it on a huge soft nest
and stare at it. Sometimes the box made sounds that reminded me of the
terrible dachshund monster, but no monster actually came so I decided that it
must be trapped inside the box. I was certainly glad of that!
Tamerlane and I were still very nervous whenever tufted-ones touched us, but we
slowly came to see that John and Heather were much calmer than the younger
tufted-one with the slamming paws. Even so, we still tried to escape
sometimes. There were so many nooks and crannies that we could see from our
nest. We just had to explore them. One dark, after Heather fed us a yummy
meal of sunflower seeds and alfalfa, she accidentally left the cage open. That
dark, Tamerlane and I had a marvelous time. We explored under all of the huge
sitting nests, inside the closets where removable-smooth-furs were kept and
even inside the sleeping-nest room Unfortunately, Tamerlane strayed too far
away from the wall and Heather saw him when she woke up. At first, we thought
that she had not seen us because she was half-asleep, but she looked under her
nest, where we were hiding, and I knew that our time of freedom was limited. I
had not yet explored the food-place to my satisfaction and so I darted past
her, raced down the hall, and ducked behind the food-hot. Oh the crumbs that I
found there! It was a wonderful experience. Every once in a while, my
curiosity would get the better of me and I would peek out from behind the
food-hot. Heather was out there, but her paws were never quick enough to catch
me so I had a long time to explore the dark, interesting-smelling, food-hiding
places. The next time I stuck my nose out, I saw a fascinating long, dark
space. It went from the food-hot to some unknown location. I just had to
investigate. I cautiously entered the tube and then... I felt it start to
move! I looked out the end and saw that I was now high above the floor. The
tube, which I had by this time discovered was made of cardboard (like the tubes
the Heather often gave me for nesting material), seemed to fly through the air
until the end came to rest on top of my cage. Gerbils are not meant for
flight! I gratefully stepped out onto the roof and climbed down to my nest. I
found Tamerlane already nestled there. He told me that he had been captured by
John while investigating the loud, dirt-sucking creature that lived in the
biggest closet. We had a wonderful time on our adventure, but we were glad to
be back home.
Some time during my first cold, I noticed some changes taking place in my
body. Of course, Tamerlane and I had grown since we came to live with John and
Heather, but now my fur was changing color. I had always been a white gerbil
but, all of a sudden, brown hairs were growing among the white ones on my tail.
After many brights and darks, my tail became completely brown, like
Tamerlane's. At first, I was embarrassed about the changes and felt that my
fur had been ruined. As I got used to my new tail, however, I grew to like it.
Now I think that it's nice to have a tail the same color as that of my brother
and my mother. It reminds me of my family and makes me even more unique. John
and Heather just can't get over the change in my tail. They're always pointing
it out to each other with wonder. I like the extra attention.
Another creature who gets a lot of attention is a furry lump called Guinea
Piggy. He came to live with John and Heather after we did but before my first
cold. When he first arrived, he was only about four times the size of a
gerbil. Now you'd need about sixteen of us to embody his girth! Guinea Piggy
is very demanding. He's always squeaking loudly and making noises that sound
nothing like a gerbil. Tamerlane and I think that he's rude and just can't
understand what the tufted-ones see in him. Sometimes, when we manage to sneak
out of our cage, we scurry over to torment him. Oh! You should hear him
complain when we do that! Heather and John always know that something's up
when he screeches. Its almost worth getting caught quickly to bother Guinea
Piggy.
Well, that's my life so far. I've only been alive for about two hots and one
cold, so it doesn't take me long to tell you about myself. Its now the
beginning of my second cold and I'm still sharing my nest with Tamerlane and
the house with Heather, John and that annoying Guinea Piggy. Sometimes, when
John is under a lot of stress, he says that he wishes he were a gerbil. I
don't blame him. Life can be confusing sometimes, but it's always an
adventure. A gerbil's life is the life for me.
Lemon basil stretching out to touch the sky.
Gossamer dandelions yawning in the breeze
On a bed of golden leaves now turned to brown.
Reflected back, a hazy reverie,
Of gerbils and of hamsters scurrying by,
Who then stop a moment just to wish me well.
And feel the warmth of Sonnet by my side.
Looking inward, smoky memories,
As Sonnet sweetly sings an ancient song:
Now nestle here together.
And sing of all your hopes and loves
In a joyous piggy choir.
Raise up your voices high.
Let fall your tears in waters clear
A wistful piggy sigh.
And chuffle without care,
For I shall sing along with thee
Always and forever!"
With all the piggy voices from the past.
I wheep with them but softly as they sing,
That piggies old are piggies new again.
John and Heather
My wife walks the place
She buried you, just days ago
Beneath the fading marigolds.
And hugs herself and cries
As she recalls your gentle fur
When she lay you softly down.
In a gray November twilight
Beneath the fading marigolds.
You'd always purr.
We'd both be cheered by this
Simple act.
Lies not in death itself,
But in the could-have-beens and company
We'll never share again.
2. Prose
by Winter Gerbil
bright DAY
dark NIGHT cold WINTER hot SUMMER tuft HAIR bald-yet-tufted-creature/tufted-one HUMAN removable-smooth-furs CLOTHES furless paws/paws HANDS furry-looking floor covering RUG green hairy floor covering GRASS moving-white-things-that-looked-very-soft CLOUDS white stillness CEILING blue creature with four wheels CAR box-that-showed-moving-pictures TELEVISION sitting-nest SOFA/CHAIR sleeping-nest BED food-hiding-places CABINETS food-hot OVEN food-place KITCHEN dirt-sucking-creature VACUUM CLEANER