The other day, my guinea pig Popcorn passed away after a few months of illness. She never seemed to really suffer and was still perky and eager for food right until the end. Although I was deeply saddened by her passing, I had much less feelings of guilt compared to my two previous guinea pigs. This is the reason why...
I remember when my first guinea pig Squeaky died, I was inconsolable. Squeaky had been ill for quite some time before her death, and although I loved her dearly, I took her for granted and didn't know how to deal with her imminent death. Her skin and fur began falling out, and she became abnormally skinny. In retrospect I probably should have had her put down as it seemed she did suffer a bit near the end, but I was young and in denial of the situation. I coped by spending less time with her and relying on my parents to take care of her more. When she died I felt such overwhelming guilt that I swore I would never abandon another guinea pig like I did her.
Unexpectedly, I ended up with two new guinea pigs a few days later. I named them Peanut and Popcorn. I had them for many years and tried my best to ensure they were happy, even getting a larger cage for them.
When Popcorn's sister Peanut died unexpectedly last June, I was plagued with guilt. Thoughts like "I wish I would have spent more time with her." "Did I do something wrong?" or "Maybe if I had done stuff differently she would still be alive!". I knew I didn't abandon her, but I still felt like I didn't do enough and that I still failed her at times. I felt bad for the times I forgot to feed her before school. I felt bad for the times I let her cage get a bit messier than what it should have been. I felt bad for not holding her and allowing her enough exercise time as I probably should have. I felt like I had failed my promise to Squeaky. But did I? It took Popcorn's illness for me to understand how good of an owner I really was.
Shortly after Peanut died, I noticed a bulge on Popcorn's lower abdomen. I was very concerned and planned on taking her to the vet. Before I could however, it ruptured into a giant cyst. I remember not knowing what to do. Should I clean it or would that make it bleed more? I got her to the vet the next chance I got and when he pressed on the cyst it exploded with blood and she was rushed to the back to stop the bleeding. I remember seeing the trail of blood and crying, praying she would be ok. After nervously waiting several minutes, the vet brought her back and told me she also had a tumor growing in the cyst. He said it could be surgically removed but it would cost at least $200 and there was no guarantee she would make it though. I was immediately willing to put out the money but wasn't sure if it would be the best decision for her so I said I would keep it in consideration. The vet then prescribed an oral antibiotic which I would give to her twice a day. We bought the antibiotics and I followed the advice and made time to give her the medicine. Even when I was in the hospital I insisted my dad give it to her until I got out.
She seemed to get a bit better after that, but it wasn't long before I started noticing a strange smell. I didn't think much of it at first but one day when I went to pick Popcorn up, I noticed her tumor had grown drastically and was now poking outside of her cyst and looked infected again. I took her back to the vet and he proscribed more antibiotics and a special salve to help heal the tissue around the tumor. The vet's assistant then suggested to put fleece over top of her usual bedding to help keep her cyst clean and make it more comfortable for her. She gave me the fleece and suggested I change it once a day. I will admit I didn't clean it as often as she suggested, but between all the things I had to do it was hard to keep up with everything perfectly. I also didn't want to hold or move her as much because I was afraid I might hurt her or cause her to start bleeding. On top of that she smelled so bad at that point I was the only person brave enough to take care of her. We kept her in a corner of an isolated room as my mom insisted she made her sick. I normally have a very touchy stomach but somehow I was able to apply the salve to her cyst and tumor no matter how putrid smelling she was. After her medicine ran out, I felt like there was not much else to do but keep her comfortable. I was still tempted to pay for the surgery but due to her age (being almost 6) I felt it may be too much for her.
The last couple months she remained fairly active, and with a healthy appetite. Due to the horrendous smell, my parents often urged me to take her to the vet and either get her put down or just leave her there. But I couldn't do that. I wasn't going to abandon her just because she was old and sick. As long as she seemed happy I wasn't going to stop taking care of her just because it was inconvenient. I didn't hold her much due to reasons I explained earlier, but I always made sure she had plenty of hay and water and gave her fresh food daily (usually while talking and petting her).
When Popcorn finally died, although I was sad, I realized something. I stuck with her right until the end. I went over and above what a lot of owners would have done. Then my thoughts went to her sister Peanut. I had my faults and I didn't always do things perfectly, but I always tried to give Peanut and Popcorn the best life possible. I never mistreated them and they had everything they needed. Not all guinea pigs are as lucky to have such a loving home. Taking care of Popcorn made me realize that. I loyally took care of Popcorn no matter what and I know I would have done the same for Peanut if she had shown signs of illness.
So instead of the usual unbearable grief I normally feel when a pet dies, I felt a sense of relief. Tears filled my eyes and I stroked Popcorn's fur and talked to her softly as though she could hear me. I told her how much I loved her and expressed how happy I was to have had her. I imagined her joining Peanut and Squeaky and I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, as though Squeaky were smiling down on me with approval. It wasn't until that moment that I realized Squeaky knew my intentions all along. She just wanted me to see it in myself.
I remember different people telling me that a good way to tell if you really loved your pet is if you felt guilt wondering if you "did enough" after it died. That is a clear indication that you really cared and your pet was very lucky to have had a loving owner such as yourself. A good guinea pig owner needs to be responsible, but they don't need to be perfect. We all have our lazy moments, busy times, and make our fair share of mistakes, but what really matters comes from within. If you truly love your pet, it is impossible to mistreat them because the love you have for them will ensure you do your best to take care of them given your situation.
Peanut, Popcorn and Squeaky were very much loved, and are dearly missed. It's been very emotional for me to write this as they have so much of an effect on me.
Thank you Peanut, Popcorn and Squeaky for all your unconditional love and friendship. You will always be fondly remembered and have a special place in my heart.
 |
| In Loving Memory Of Popcorn: 2009-2015 |
