Guinea pigs are strange animals.
They have this inscrutable expression all the time, like Japanese, so you never know whether they are happy or not.
I have learned quite a bit about them since MinniePig came into our lives.
For a start, our Minnie’s favourite items are Romaine lettuce and the Irish Times. She is very fussy about her reading matter and it’s a race to get the Irish Times read before she has eaten it.
Having devoured Roisín Ingle, she will happily sit there producing loads of poo.
Guinea pig poo is strange stuff. It always seems to be fairly dry and hard, and it is always exactly the same size. The size looked vaguely familiar, so I measured it.
I was right.
Minnie produces .177 calibre shit every time.
I have an old air rifle that I am very fond of. It was my first gun, and I got it for my fifth birthday. I still remember the joy of my first kill.
I haven’t used the rifle much lately, but I dug it out of the attic and tried out Minnie’s poo for size. It was perfect.
Last week, I brought it out to do some hunting. I had forgotten how good an air rifle can be as there is no sound to scare any other tourists in the area. I racked up a good score.
I would be very interested to see the pathologists report.
“Cause of death unknown, but guinea pig excrement was found in the heart”
I think Minnie and I have a long and fruitful symbiotic career ahead of us.