It’s been two weeks since Louie died. Such a short, long time. Would it be callous to say, I’m over it? I’ve made my peace with it? Perhaps not callous, but certainly wrong. There is no peace in what happened, but life does go on and we should learn from the past. At least that’s what I believe.
When Piggledy died, three new animals found a home with us less than a week later. This time, the hole left by one guinea pig will be lived in, if not filled, by three new piggies. It’s only a matter of time and the right combination. Little Julius is already reserved for me. He will be able to move in with his girls sometime in January after the scars from his operation have healed and he won’t be producing any new piggies. I’ve got my eye on one little girl, currently residing a bit outside of Stuttgart, a sweet black ball of fur who needs to bring a friend who won’t bite her and harrass her. But when she’s found the right one, I’ll go get her.
Perhaps before the year is over, I’ll be making breakfast for those little muikers again. Meanwhile, Louie is still staying with us, only now what remains of him is kept in a tiny sparkly urn. One day, when I find the right place, I will bury those ashes and bits of bones.