On November 5, 1993 at 11:00 a.m., my dear little four-year-old Chocolate was put to sleep after three months of surgery, antibiotics, and force-feeding. I thought I could love no other.
On November 6, 1993 at 4:00 p.m., my husband (who was concerned since I was so depressed and wanted to give me another pet) and I brought home a tiny one-month-old. Although I knew I would end up loving her, but I really did not want to. We named the little 300 gram ball of fur Sundae.
For several days, that little ball of fur would not eat or move. When I picked her up, she went limp. If I did not see her breathing, I would have thought she was dead. I knew getting a new piggie so soon was a mistake ... I was going to lose two cavies in a week.
That beautiful ball of fur started to eat ravenously, and even though her three-day fast caused her to lose 30 grams, by the end of the first week, she was 340 grams! I began taking her out for floor time. At first, all she would do was sit on my lap, but after a few days, she began to venture out ... scampering back every minute or so ... many times she would come back to use my socks as her bathroom. I had soggy socks for weeks! If I left her while she was on one of her ventures and she came back before I did, she squealed for me to come back. Of course, I came running when she called.
As she grew older, the visits back to me were less frequent and she stopped using my socks as a bathroom. However, she continued to follow me around. We went from room to room, playing a game of hide-and-seek or tag or queen of the mountain. When I left the room, she usually followed close behind, though there were times when she wanted to be on her own. At the end of every floor time, she jumped into her house. She learned this at a very young age (within a month).
During the warm months, we took trips outside to the lawn and she munched to her heart's content. I thought she would soon grow out of staying close to me there as well, but she always was content to stay right beside me and munch on the grass, letting me move her when she ate all the grass in a particular spot. When she was finished, she would put her front paws on my leg and look up at me. I would then pick her up and take her inside. One day, she decided that she was a big girl, and ran to the front door on her own. It amazes me that she only ran in the wrong direction one time.
As she grew older, she stopped squealing as much and let Wheeker and Truffles expend their energies, but she always was ready to purr and cuddle. I suppose she knew that she did not need to use her voice to get what she wanted. She had trained her mama well. She loved getting scratched behind her ears, on her back, and the top of her nose. She loved being stroked on her face and under her chin. Often, she would give up eating for awhile just to get scratched or stroked ... even when her two friends were ravenously devouring the goodies. I suppose she knew that I would give her her own private treats if they ate all the good parts.
During the last week of her life, she was sick with a respiratory infection. She kept her spirits up and enjoyed her life as she always did. I felt there was something wrong, though, and took her into the vet at 2:30 p.m. on Wednesday, March 5. He said that she seemed to be doing better than a week ago. I was relieved when I left for home at 3:15. Less than five hours later, while I was giving her her medication, she went into convulsions. I paged the vet and took her in. She was scheduled to have surgery, but she passed away at 9:30 p.m.
I will miss that wonderful 1400 gram ball of fluff. I had hoped that she would be with me at the turn of the century. Her two little friends, Wheeker and Truffles are lost without her. They depended on her for everything. Her humans are empty without her. We know there will never be another like her.
I will try to design a nice collage of her pictures to add to this tribute at a later date.
|Cavy Chronicles||A Day in the Lives of Three Cavies||Ask the Cavies||Cavy