I am smart, good-looking, will cuddle up to you if you need me, and I’m totally adorable.
So why does Mummy say I’m a monster?
Okay, that Roscoe told tales about me fighting him a few weeks ago.
And when I sneaked into Bertie’s run while Mummy was snoozing on Friday evening, well, it was his own fault we got into a fight. It was nothing to do with me. Why he was hiding in his tent, crying, when Mummy woke up, I have no idea. He’s a big baby. I was just in his tunnel, making sure next door’s cat didn’t intrude on our territory.
Apparently, apart from lots of patches where his hair has been pulled out, Biggles has a big bite on his back. Mummy’s put him straight onto Roscoe’s medicine before my germs can get nasty. MY germs? I reckon they’re Biggles’ germs. Or Roscoe’s even, leaving them lying around wherever he’s been. He goes everywhere, that chap. AND he’s been eating the bottom of the hay bag so the hay drops onto the floor. That’s quite clever, actually. I wish I’d thought of that.
But I don’t do things like eat hay bags. I’m a good boy. I’m totally adorable!
I don’t know what’s going on. There’s no grass left where Mummy puts us out in the evening for grass time. It’s all brown. Although there is a little around the edges. I nibble that but it’s not enough for a real supper. We spend most of our days sheltered form the sun in our runs.
Most days Mummy goes around the vegetable patches with a funny bucket-thing with a spout which makes it rain where she points it. Sometimes she does one vegetable patch, the next day she’ll do the other, and she sometimes waters one of the trees and some of the flowers. And sometimes some things under the roof of the patio, too. I suppose she has to make it rain because it hasn’t rained for ages. She doesn’t make it rain on the grass, though.
Please make it rain on the grass, Mummy. We need it.
Some days last week were nice. When Mummy got home she put us out in the garden in the runs and it was very nice. She put the covers across the cages depending on how hot it was and how late it was. Later the sun doesn’t seem quite so warm.
I had the middle run this week, between Roscoe & Neville near the fence, and Biggles nearest the path. It was nice to see everybody but I find the sky a bit scary, so I rested in the tunnel or under my tent when there wasn’t anything else to do.
The grass seems to be getting a bit dry. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, but it is. Mummy said the grass under the plum tree is very dry, even dryer than mine. We didn’t go out yesterday because it was a ‘bit cool’ as Mummy says, and she brought us in some grass. There wasn’t very much, and most of it was drying, but it was very tasty all the same.
Mummy says we need rain, but only at night. I’m not sure that’s the way it works, Mummy.
Well, it’s been a very strange couple of weeks, and I can’t say I like all the changes.
First Percy was ill. He was all wobbly for a day or so, and Mam took him with her when she went away for a couple of days. When she came back Percy had gone over the Rainbow Bridge. I can’t say I was surprised. He’d been poorly underneath all his bravery. He’d had this lump on his jawbone ever since we’d known him, and it wasn’t going to get better. He was having medicine to help him feel okay, but he was fed up with it. Nice about it, mind, but still fed up.
Bertie misses him a lot, so does Mam. And we get through floor time ever so quick now.
Mam does us in a different order, now Bertie’s come down to live in a cage opposite us. We hardly saw him that first week, he was so distressed. Not sure whether it was losing Percy or being in a strange cage. He started to come out of hisself after a few days. He’s got a ledge he can sit on and see us better. I stand on the side of my cage and look right back. I don’t get to chat with him on the floor, though. Mam puts me down with Neville, just as right and proper, but Biggles and Bertie each have some time chatting to Neville too. He’s says they’re nice boys. Not sure he knows what a nice boy is, mind.
He’s been acting strange recently. A lot of weeks now he’s been right antsy about me. Tells me to mind my own business and stop playing with him, and then gets all cross with me. I don’t know what’s come over him. He used to be such a quiet, amiable chap. If I said move over, he’d move over quiet as a lamb. Now I have to assert my authority, like. Then he argues. What’s more, Mam and Biggles and Bertie all side with him. I can’t see it myself. He’s getting to be a right pian to live with. And anyway, how come Bertie and Biggles get a cage each and we have to share? I asked Mam and she said it was better for me to share with Neville, more company. I’d be lonely on my own, she said.
Yeah, right. But he wouldn’t argue with me, would he?
Maybe he’s just upset with all the changes too. He used to spend time chatting to Percy. They all did. I did too, when we were on the grass. He was a lovely chap.
Never mind. I hope we go out for some more grass today. I like grass. That never changes.
I don’t know what this blogging business is all about. I haven’t got anything else to say. I said it last time.
We’re often out eating grass.
Mam is often out doing whatever she does on the grass. When she’s not out she’s either upstairs with Percy and Bertie, or in the garden pulling things out of the flowerbeds.
I hear Bertie was a bit huffy last week. He’s like that. Full o’ hisself. Mam says I’m full o’ meself too. Well, at least I’ve learnt to put a g at the end of my doin’ words.
Bertie looks after Percy
Percy looks after Biggles and Bertie
Bertie sits with Biggles
What’s over there?
Bertie was right scared when Midge had his fit. He was right next door watching. He’s grown up a lot since that night, I can tell you. Mam even left Biggles out on the floor the other day when she put Bertie down for his run. Once it would have been blue murder straight away, or so Percy says, and I’ve met Bertie and can believe it. But no, I watched Bertie eye up Biggles, and Biggles eye up Bertie, and Percy look from one to the other and snuggle in his hay box to keep out of the way… and nothing happened.
They still size each other up and play it big when they’re out in the garden with a cage panel between them. But it’s not too bad. Nothing nasty, like.
So he’s growing up, and Mam calls him a good boy to encourage him some more.
So forgive him if he’s still totally self-centred. I mean, all pigs are, really, aren’t we? And don’t forget, we’re Rodents with Attitude.
Hello, Percy here. I hope you enjoyed the posts from Bertie and Roscoe in the past couple of weeks.
I’ve been sitting comfortably on my pile of hay, thinking deep thoughts. Sometimes I sit in my tent, or my tunnel, or on my bed. I now have both beds. The newest one, which Midge and I got last autumn came back from the cleaners and I slept in it for a week, because it was Midge’s favourite, but I haven’t slept in it since.
Sometimes I go over to the place where Bertie’s cage starts and sit and watch what he’s up to. But then I go back and sleep on my pile of hay. Bertie is funny because he rarely sleeps in his bed. He sleeps half in and half out. Sometimes he puts his head on the bed and his body on the floor, and most times he puts his body in the bed and leans his head over the side. As long as he’s comfortable!
I don’t know why I don’t fancy sleeping in either of Midge’s and my beds at the moment. Maybe they just remind me of him. Maybe it’s because he’s not sleeping on top of the tunnel, facing me. It’s only just gone three weeks since he left us, but it seems like months.
Then again, it’s a year since Kevin left us, and that seems like forever. Sometimes I wonder where he is and then I remember. I do that with Midge too. It’s funny to think I’ve had my lump all this time since Kevin left us. Dr Sally thinks I’m a wonder. I think that’s a good thing.
I’m fed up with my lump, though. Mummy always gives me a big cuddle when I have to have my meds but I’m fed up with having my meds. The chewy ones are okay though. I find it easier to bite things that stay in chunks rather than things that wrap around my teeth, like lettuce. Mummy’s noticed I leave a lot of my breakfast. I can’t really be bothered with it. Bertie usually finishes it off, I think. I like the herbs, though. And the strawberry leaves. And my special pellets.
Why does time go fast, and then go slow? Why does it go fast when I’m sleeping, or when the sun’s out? Why is there more time for cuddles in the morning than in the evening? I don’t know the answer to any of these questions. If you know, do tell me.