the little house is empty
I’m sad to report that little Mousie Moo died during the night.
Yesterday afternoon was a heart wrenching time. Mousie was very weak and distressed. She would not take any more water and could no longer stand. At lunch time Little A gathered that little guinea pig up in her hands and held her to her chest and stroked her until bedtime.
Julian even drove down to the greengrocer and bought a lovely fresh head of lettuce just in case Mousie could bring herself to eat. The sight and smell of it stirred her a little and she sniffed the torn up leaves thoroughly, but could not eat.
Many times throughout the afternoon her breathing would become very laboured, her little eyes would almost close, and then she would give a big shudder, open her eyes again and snuggle closer into Little A.
I’m quite sure that it was only Little A’s warmth and love keeping Mousie alive and we knew that when we put her to bed, her little house next to Little A’s bed, that she would die soon after.
This morning, after many tears, Little A made a coffin, decorated with a picture of Mousie on the top, and her favourite foods – apple, lettuce and carrot – around the sides. We wrapped her in a piece of soft green flannel and held the funeral before breakfast.
Each of us shared a funny Mousie story – the time Nan and Little A bought her a leash and tried taking her for a walk in the back garden, naturally she escaped and it took over half an hour to find her – the time she was left on the kitchen table with a punnet of tomatoes, she nibbled each one, and sucked out the juice – the time she peed on Nan’s magazine, and we had to dry it on the verandah railing before Nan came home.
Remembering her good life and many adventures made us feel a little better and we are all very glad Mousie does not have to endure another terrible day of illness.
Our dear little guinea pig is buried beneath the kitchen window and her grave is guarded by a cheerful gnome and decorated with lilac flowers.
Down the air
You fall sun-lazy
Soft and still
Upon a daisy;
Now you drift
to fall between
of scented beams;
And where petals
Lift in flight,
There you settle,
Hid from sight.
( with apologies to S. Thomas Ansell)
Oh how we miss her. What a sad weekend.