sfsp's Journal: Farewell, Wormwood

Rewind to June, 2005.

Sunday morning, I was walking my dog before breakfast. As we walked across the lawn of a local swimming pool, Sadie ran up to sniff at a lump on the ground. Hey, she's a dog.

The lump moved.

I hauled Sadie in on her leash, told her to sit and stay, and went to see what the lump was.

There in the grass was a guinea pig--brown, white, and tan, with a tuft of fur growing out conspicuously on its right eyelid.

Now, guinea pigs are NOT native to Maryland. Heck, they're not even North American. This poor critter had apparently been lost or dumped, and if I didn't save it, it probably wouldn't survive the day. I know for a fact that there is a family of feral cats in the area.

So I picked him up and took him home. I arranged a makeshift home for him, and then started trying to find an original owner to claim him. But no one ever came.

I don't particularly attach to rodents of any size, but the thing needed a name. I chose "Wormwood", after the junior tempter in C.S. Lewis' "The Screwtape Letters". After a couple weeks, I gave him to my cousin (and tenant), whose daughter insisted his name was "Jose' Maria". Go figure.
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Wormwood died last night.

About 6:30, he began to make squeaks of a kind I had never heard before. When I went to look in on him, he was laying on his side, and occasionally thrashing the forward part of his body. He seemed to have lost control of his hind legs and body.

I spoke quietly to him, told him he was a good pig, and that he wasn't alone. I called my cousin to tell her that her guinea pig was sickly, so she wouldn't walk in on it cold. I spoke to Wormwood again, and went to look up the address of the local emergency veterinary clinic.

I looked in on Wormwood again, then called my cousin and told her there was no hurry.

Farewell, Wormwood.