A nice girl should be seen and not heard, or so the saying goes. I guess I must have never really been a nice girl because I waltzed into this world voicing my opinion to anyone that would listen. I'm what some may describe as talkative, or as Scott would probably say, opinionated.
It's now bordering on two years ago that I persuaded/pushed Scott into agreeing that we take home the tiny bundle of fluff that we lovingly came to know as Hamish. Boy by name, but very much girl by gender, (although we wouldn't come to find that out until much, much later!) By guinea pig standards, she's technically a dwarf, and since the day we packed her into our car and drove her home, she never said one word. Not even the faintest squeak, which if you know your guinea pigs, you'll know is pretty damn unusual. The only noises I ever heard escape her fuzzy lips, were disgruntled chunners if I ever had the audacity to move when she had her ass comfy. Did I also mention she's a bit of a diva?
It took a man appearing in her life for Hamish to finally speak up. Cue Ralph. The handsome stud with a penchant for sniffing butt and flicking turds. Male in every sense of the word; despite the fact that he'd had his balls surgically removed, but hey, that never dampened his spirits. Hamish maintained a dignified silence for almost 12 months before deciding to hell with it! She wasn't standing for his shit anymore, and in no uncertain terms, was going to be putting his arse straight - in the most high-pitched, vocal way possible. For the last couple of weeks, she's been raining a shitstorm of, 'You better back away from my carrot, bitch' and 'What the hell you playin at peeing in the house!?' on a very taken aback Ralph. She's even been singing for her supper. Whether or not she'd grown tired of biting her tongue or felt like she'd surpassed the honeymoon period of her relationship with her cage mate, it's safe to say...
