Imagine walking through a forest, beneath a canopy of trees taller than a house, and all at once the trees start running around. You’re so small, compared to the trees, that you wonder if the trees know you’re down there, and you hope like crazy that they won’t step on you, and you can’t get out of their way fast enough. That’s how it was for Philip. Except the trees were the legs of humans, and those humans were desperately trying to get away from something. He was scared, but not so scared that he didn’t know what he should do and where he should go. He zoomed to the corner, where the end of the wall met the narrower wall that was the entrance to the fitting rooms. People wouldn’t step on him if he was tucked away in a corner. It would be a safe place for him to wait for the commotion to die down.
“I never thought I’d see something like that in a store like this. What's wrong with people?” he heard a teenager say.
He assumed she was talking about Rodie, for who on earth would ever expect to see a guinea pig in any kind of store, never mind the expensive place where Mahmee worked? His assumption became a possibility when he caught a scent that was faint but familiar: Rodie.
Philip was terrified that the humans would step on him and squish him because they didn't know he was there. But he believed that the danger Rodie faced was greater than his, because the humans knew she was there, and they would try to get rid of her. Silently daring the marauding legs to bowl him over again, he crept from the corner and into the fitting room area, guided every inch by the whiff of his beloved friend.
The trail brought him down a carpeted hallway that was bordered on one side by a prettily papered wall and on the other by a row of small rooms. Each room had a door, and most of the doors were open, showing clothes hanging from the walls or heaped upon the floor.
Fortunately for Philip, the door to the room where he found Rodie was open. (He had no idea what he would do if the door was closed!) A pile of clothing was in the corner on the far side of the room. Rodie was hunkered under a heavily padded bench that was covered in rich, rose-colored tapestry.
She popped up and down on all fours when she saw Philip (something that guinea pigs call "popcorning") and licked the tip of his nose. "I'm so happy to see you! We've got to alert Mahmee!" she cried.
"We can't do that," Philip said, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist. "Mahmee will be angry at us for leaving Ant Kandiss's office."
"No, you don't understand," said Rodie, stamping her little foot. "Something bad has happened here. Can't you smell it?"
Philip sniffed the air. "All I smell is you."
"That's not me, you silly little piggie! There! Over there-" she pointed toward the mound of clothes on the floor.
Philip didn't know what she meant. "What is it?" he asked innocently.
Rodie straightened her shoulders, looked him square in the eyes. "I'm not touching it. You go through it and find out for yourself."
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Three
Never before had Philip encountered a hole. But he had heard about them, of course. Rodie had told him they were powerful pools of black air that carried creatures from the earth into your home. On more than one night he had awakened to the sight of Mahmee in her PJs, whacking something under the kitchen table with a rolled-up newspaper. (“A centerpede,” Rodie always whispered knowingly.)
Once he was all the way into the hole, Philip stood very still. He had expected to be transported to a destination in the blink of his eye. But nothing was happening. He wasn’t lifted up or pushed or made to float through the air. The floor was hard and cold against his paws.
As he wondered what was wrong, his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and he could see that he was in a narrow passageway. A slat of wood covered the wall at eye-level and about two hairs’ breadth away from his nose. His rump kissed the edge of the hole.
“I must be in the wrong position,” he said to himself, for it occurred to him that his bulk was preventing the air current from taking him. He edged to the left, so he was crouching along the hole, instead of across it.
A short distance away, the gloom faded into blackness. There came a sound that reminded him of a leaf cartwheeling across the lawn. The sound stopped. Squinting into the murk, he saw a dark gray blob with four skinny legs and an incredibly long, skinny, hairless tail crouch down, jump up and crouch and jump again, like a playful puppy that just woke up from a nap. The blobby figure was, in fact, a well-fed, highly enthused mouse. It was giggling so hard that Philip could hardly understand a word it was spewing.
“Hey, HEY, HEY, a visitor, a visitor! What are you, a gerbil? Wow, I’ve never seen a gerbil!"
“Well, you STILL haven’t seen one,” Philip said, annoyed that he could be mistaken for a much smaller, insignificant rodent. “I’m a guinea pig."
“A guinea pig! I’ve heard about your kind. You guys eat your poop!”
Now Philip was vastly indignant. “I beg your pardon! My mahmee would never, ever feed her pets poop!”
“Just trying to be sociable,” said the mouse, not at all offended by Philip’s manner. “Did you ever have an elephant walk into your home, huh, huh?”
“Of course, not!” replied Philip.
“Well, if you did, you’d know how I’d feel about seeing the likes of you here, in my living room,” the mouse replied, obviously trying to make Philip feel bad for treating him as if he, the mouse, were beneath him. "Where'd you come from, huh, huh?”
Philip had no time for chit-chat, but he believed the mouse was friendly, alone, and stuck in a place where he’d rather not be—just as Philip was. “I’m not here to visit, really,” Philip said earnestly. I’m trying to find my friend.” He explained about Rodie as fast as he could.
It was probably the most exciting bit of news that the mouse had ever heard. He pranced around the passageway, gleefully whipping his tail and begging Philip to let him come on the quest. Philip, however, thought such a helper would be a nuisance. Not because he would be in the way, but because Philip would feel responsible if anything happened to him.
“Maybe you’d better not, ” said Philip, trying to sound as kind as he could. “People are afraid of mice.”
The mouse’s feelings were hurt, but he knew too well what people who don’t like mice can do to his kind. Not in the mood for being swatted by brooms or chased by vacuum cleaners, he admitted that Philip was right and asked if he could at least show him the way back into the store. Philip gladly followed him to an opening around slender pipes that belonged to a water fountain.
The mouse stood aside, flicking his tail toward the light fanning in through the hole. “We’re near the elevators,” he said furtively. “When you go out, turn left. They’ve got jeans hanging from a long bar against the wall. Stick to that wall. The jeans will hide you.”
Philip regarded the opening with trepidation, for it seemed to him that he was a bit large to fit through. “Where do I go from there—assuming that I get out, of course.”
“Don’t panic, man, use your nose! But if you need help, just call me.” He gave Philip an encouraging slap on the shoulder and would have scampered away had Philip not called, “Wait! What’s your name? I don’t know your name!”
The mouse let out a sound that reminded Philip of the noise Mahmee made whenever she saw a centerpede in the cottage. “Er, that’s it?” he said, puzzled. “Do you have a nickname—something shorter, perhaps?”
The mouse giggled. “You’re so funny, Mr. Philip! That’s what everybody calls me. At least, that’s what they say when they see me!” With that, he happily dashed up the wall, toward another part of the store.
“’Don’t panic, man, use your nose,’” Philip mimicked. “Use my nose, my backside! Do I look like a bloodhound? Silly rodent. Guinea pigs aren’t famous for their sense of smell—Or their eyesight,” he added upon hitting his nose on the wall near the hole.
Patient, filled with the determination that fuels us when there's no retreating from something we must do, he squeezed between the edge of the hole and pipe, reached, set one forefoot onto the marble floor and listened. he thought he heard rising female voices, but as nobody was nearby, he carefully stepped completely out of the hole. He perceived that the water fountain was indeed near the elevators, and that the elevators were set back in a large alcove.
The voices were getting louder. He heard a noise of people running. Curious but careful, he stuck his nose around the edge of the alcove. He saw the wall of pants legs that the mouse had told him about. Some of the legs swayed sharply, as if disturbed by a strong gust of wind. Philip felt himself being bowled over and over and over, until he was almost flat against the wall beneath another line of jeans. He forgot who he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He fluffed up and crouched stiffly, the perfect image of the guinea pig that is scared or hurt, waiting for danger to either pass or end his misery.
Once he was all the way into the hole, Philip stood very still. He had expected to be transported to a destination in the blink of his eye. But nothing was happening. He wasn’t lifted up or pushed or made to float through the air. The floor was hard and cold against his paws.
As he wondered what was wrong, his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and he could see that he was in a narrow passageway. A slat of wood covered the wall at eye-level and about two hairs’ breadth away from his nose. His rump kissed the edge of the hole.
“I must be in the wrong position,” he said to himself, for it occurred to him that his bulk was preventing the air current from taking him. He edged to the left, so he was crouching along the hole, instead of across it.
A short distance away, the gloom faded into blackness. There came a sound that reminded him of a leaf cartwheeling across the lawn. The sound stopped. Squinting into the murk, he saw a dark gray blob with four skinny legs and an incredibly long, skinny, hairless tail crouch down, jump up and crouch and jump again, like a playful puppy that just woke up from a nap. The blobby figure was, in fact, a well-fed, highly enthused mouse. It was giggling so hard that Philip could hardly understand a word it was spewing.
“Hey, HEY, HEY, a visitor, a visitor! What are you, a gerbil? Wow, I’ve never seen a gerbil!"
“Well, you STILL haven’t seen one,” Philip said, annoyed that he could be mistaken for a much smaller, insignificant rodent. “I’m a guinea pig."
“A guinea pig! I’ve heard about your kind. You guys eat your poop!”
Now Philip was vastly indignant. “I beg your pardon! My mahmee would never, ever feed her pets poop!”
“Just trying to be sociable,” said the mouse, not at all offended by Philip’s manner. “Did you ever have an elephant walk into your home, huh, huh?”
“Of course, not!” replied Philip.
“Well, if you did, you’d know how I’d feel about seeing the likes of you here, in my living room,” the mouse replied, obviously trying to make Philip feel bad for treating him as if he, the mouse, were beneath him. "Where'd you come from, huh, huh?”
Philip had no time for chit-chat, but he believed the mouse was friendly, alone, and stuck in a place where he’d rather not be—just as Philip was. “I’m not here to visit, really,” Philip said earnestly. I’m trying to find my friend.” He explained about Rodie as fast as he could.
It was probably the most exciting bit of news that the mouse had ever heard. He pranced around the passageway, gleefully whipping his tail and begging Philip to let him come on the quest. Philip, however, thought such a helper would be a nuisance. Not because he would be in the way, but because Philip would feel responsible if anything happened to him.
“Maybe you’d better not, ” said Philip, trying to sound as kind as he could. “People are afraid of mice.”
The mouse’s feelings were hurt, but he knew too well what people who don’t like mice can do to his kind. Not in the mood for being swatted by brooms or chased by vacuum cleaners, he admitted that Philip was right and asked if he could at least show him the way back into the store. Philip gladly followed him to an opening around slender pipes that belonged to a water fountain.
The mouse stood aside, flicking his tail toward the light fanning in through the hole. “We’re near the elevators,” he said furtively. “When you go out, turn left. They’ve got jeans hanging from a long bar against the wall. Stick to that wall. The jeans will hide you.”
Philip regarded the opening with trepidation, for it seemed to him that he was a bit large to fit through. “Where do I go from there—assuming that I get out, of course.”
“Don’t panic, man, use your nose! But if you need help, just call me.” He gave Philip an encouraging slap on the shoulder and would have scampered away had Philip not called, “Wait! What’s your name? I don’t know your name!”
The mouse let out a sound that reminded Philip of the noise Mahmee made whenever she saw a centerpede in the cottage. “Er, that’s it?” he said, puzzled. “Do you have a nickname—something shorter, perhaps?”
The mouse giggled. “You’re so funny, Mr. Philip! That’s what everybody calls me. At least, that’s what they say when they see me!” With that, he happily dashed up the wall, toward another part of the store.
“’Don’t panic, man, use your nose,’” Philip mimicked. “Use my nose, my backside! Do I look like a bloodhound? Silly rodent. Guinea pigs aren’t famous for their sense of smell—Or their eyesight,” he added upon hitting his nose on the wall near the hole.
Patient, filled with the determination that fuels us when there's no retreating from something we must do, he squeezed between the edge of the hole and pipe, reached, set one forefoot onto the marble floor and listened. he thought he heard rising female voices, but as nobody was nearby, he carefully stepped completely out of the hole. He perceived that the water fountain was indeed near the elevators, and that the elevators were set back in a large alcove.
The voices were getting louder. He heard a noise of people running. Curious but careful, he stuck his nose around the edge of the alcove. He saw the wall of pants legs that the mouse had told him about. Some of the legs swayed sharply, as if disturbed by a strong gust of wind. Philip felt himself being bowled over and over and over, until he was almost flat against the wall beneath another line of jeans. He forgot who he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He fluffed up and crouched stiffly, the perfect image of the guinea pig that is scared or hurt, waiting for danger to either pass or end his misery.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Two
Once they reached the store, Mahmee brought Philip and Rodie to Aunt Candace’s office. Aunt Candace had helped Mahmee bring Philip home from the pet store when Mahmee didn’t have a car. Philip often enjoyed telling Rodie how Aunt Candace had talked to him, not to the other piglets in the cage with him. He was afraid she and Mahmee would pass him up the way so many other people had passed him up because they thought he was ugly. He could hardly believe his ears when he heard Mahmee say she would take him precisely because he was ugly, and the ugly ones always had the sweetest personalities. Aunt Candace was calling him “Philip” before the store clerk took him out of the case.
Aunt Candace was delighted to see Philip again. She couldn’t believe how big he had grown! And, she couldn’t believe that Mahmee was feeding him nothing special—just the ideal guinea pig diet of lots of hay and veggies, and a small amount of plain pellets. “He gets tons of floor and lap time, too,” Mahmee said.
With one hand under his arms and one hand under his rump, she took Philip from the carrier and held him so they were nose to nose. “Are you my baby boar?” she said in a squeaky voice.
Aunt Candace laughed. “Wouldn’t it be funny if he said yes?”
“But I always say yes,” Philip said, though to Mahmee and Aunt Candace, his words sounded like “Wheek wheek wheek wheek wheek wheek!”
One by one, Mahmee’s co-workers came to play with Philip and Rodie. With so many people around to watch her pets, Mahmee thought she would go to lunch with a co-worker she could never have lunch with because their schedules were so different. So off Mahmee went. And off went all the other workers because customers needed them or because they were arranging merchandise on the floor. Aunt Candace tried to stay in her office with Philip and Rodie, but she had to help a new sales associate with a nasty customer who was trying to return a very expensive dress that she had worn and torn.
“I guess we’re by ourselves,” Philip said after everyone had gone and the room was quiet.
“Thank goodness, I thought they’d never leave!” Rodie said in a huff. “They’re not very smart, you know.”
“Of course they’re smart,” Philip retorted, feeling insulted. “They’re Mahmee’s friends. Mahmee wouldn’t have stupid friends.”
“Then how do you explain this?”
Rodie nudged the door to her travel case. Clearly, the person who had put her away had failed to close the door properly, and it ever so gently drifted open. Out Rodie stepped, onto the cool marble floor of Aunt Candace’s office.
Philip was aghast. “Go back, Rodie! You’ll get in trouble.”
“No, I won’t. Everybody knows you can’t punish guinea pigs.”
She froze as the office door opened and Aunt Candace, talking on her cell phone, reached for a pen on her desk and started to write. It was as aunt Candace stood there, half in and half out, that Rodie gave Philip a sly glance and scooted through the door to freedom.
Philip wheeked in horror. What would Mahmee say when she came back and Rodie was gone? And what if Rodie got lost, or some stranger found her and kidnapped her? He had to get Rodie back. But how? He did frantic laps around his travel case and wheeked and wheeked, hoping desperately that Aunt Candace would look his way. But she was so caught up in her phone call that she just kept on talking and finally went away, letting the door slam shut behind her.
“No…wait!” Philip cried, placing his little paws on the side of the soft carrier. As he stood, he discovered that the mesh panel at the top of the carrier was zippered only half way. By stretching a tiny bit more, he could scramble through the opening and over the side of the travel case. In seconds, he was on the floor, crouching in fear, waiting for Aunt Candace to open the door again. Suddenly he saw the little hole in the wall behind the filing cabinet. Would it bring him to Rodie?
Before venturing into the hole, he thought he should leave Aunt Candace a note so she wouldn’t worry about him when she noticed he wasn’t in the office any more. He took one of the scraps of paper that lay around the trash basket beneath the desk and with his paws batted a pen from the open shoulder bag that hung from the chair.
“deer ant kandiss,” he carefully printed. “r-o-h-d—“ He stopped. He thought he knew how to spell Rodie’s name, but it didn’t look right. He crossed it out and wrote “r-o-a-d,” but that didn’t look right, either. So he crossed that out and put in “r-o-d-d.” But that still didn’t look right, so he played it safe and decided to refer to her as “the gurl.” “the gurl got owt. im going to fynde hur. luv and oxx, yore neffew, fillup.”
Satisfied with his note, Philip took a deep breath and stepped up to the hole. He suspected that what he was about to do was very dangerous, and he was afraid that Mahmee would be angry with him for leaving the office. But he was more afraid of something bad happening to Rodie. Mahmee would never forgive him if she knew he didn't try to help her. And what was more important: he would never forgive himself. Even though his tummy churned with nerves and he wondered if he would ever see Mahmee again, he shoved his nose into the hole and carefully lifted first one paw, then the other, over the jagged, chalk-dusty threshold.
Aunt Candace was delighted to see Philip again. She couldn’t believe how big he had grown! And, she couldn’t believe that Mahmee was feeding him nothing special—just the ideal guinea pig diet of lots of hay and veggies, and a small amount of plain pellets. “He gets tons of floor and lap time, too,” Mahmee said.
With one hand under his arms and one hand under his rump, she took Philip from the carrier and held him so they were nose to nose. “Are you my baby boar?” she said in a squeaky voice.
Aunt Candace laughed. “Wouldn’t it be funny if he said yes?”
“But I always say yes,” Philip said, though to Mahmee and Aunt Candace, his words sounded like “Wheek wheek wheek wheek wheek wheek!”
One by one, Mahmee’s co-workers came to play with Philip and Rodie. With so many people around to watch her pets, Mahmee thought she would go to lunch with a co-worker she could never have lunch with because their schedules were so different. So off Mahmee went. And off went all the other workers because customers needed them or because they were arranging merchandise on the floor. Aunt Candace tried to stay in her office with Philip and Rodie, but she had to help a new sales associate with a nasty customer who was trying to return a very expensive dress that she had worn and torn.
“I guess we’re by ourselves,” Philip said after everyone had gone and the room was quiet.
“Thank goodness, I thought they’d never leave!” Rodie said in a huff. “They’re not very smart, you know.”
“Of course they’re smart,” Philip retorted, feeling insulted. “They’re Mahmee’s friends. Mahmee wouldn’t have stupid friends.”
“Then how do you explain this?”
Rodie nudged the door to her travel case. Clearly, the person who had put her away had failed to close the door properly, and it ever so gently drifted open. Out Rodie stepped, onto the cool marble floor of Aunt Candace’s office.
Philip was aghast. “Go back, Rodie! You’ll get in trouble.”
“No, I won’t. Everybody knows you can’t punish guinea pigs.”
She froze as the office door opened and Aunt Candace, talking on her cell phone, reached for a pen on her desk and started to write. It was as aunt Candace stood there, half in and half out, that Rodie gave Philip a sly glance and scooted through the door to freedom.
Philip wheeked in horror. What would Mahmee say when she came back and Rodie was gone? And what if Rodie got lost, or some stranger found her and kidnapped her? He had to get Rodie back. But how? He did frantic laps around his travel case and wheeked and wheeked, hoping desperately that Aunt Candace would look his way. But she was so caught up in her phone call that she just kept on talking and finally went away, letting the door slam shut behind her.
“No…wait!” Philip cried, placing his little paws on the side of the soft carrier. As he stood, he discovered that the mesh panel at the top of the carrier was zippered only half way. By stretching a tiny bit more, he could scramble through the opening and over the side of the travel case. In seconds, he was on the floor, crouching in fear, waiting for Aunt Candace to open the door again. Suddenly he saw the little hole in the wall behind the filing cabinet. Would it bring him to Rodie?
Before venturing into the hole, he thought he should leave Aunt Candace a note so she wouldn’t worry about him when she noticed he wasn’t in the office any more. He took one of the scraps of paper that lay around the trash basket beneath the desk and with his paws batted a pen from the open shoulder bag that hung from the chair.
“deer ant kandiss,” he carefully printed. “r-o-h-d—“ He stopped. He thought he knew how to spell Rodie’s name, but it didn’t look right. He crossed it out and wrote “r-o-a-d,” but that didn’t look right, either. So he crossed that out and put in “r-o-d-d.” But that still didn’t look right, so he played it safe and decided to refer to her as “the gurl.” “the gurl got owt. im going to fynde hur. luv and oxx, yore neffew, fillup.”
Satisfied with his note, Philip took a deep breath and stepped up to the hole. He suspected that what he was about to do was very dangerous, and he was afraid that Mahmee would be angry with him for leaving the office. But he was more afraid of something bad happening to Rodie. Mahmee would never forgive him if she knew he didn't try to help her. And what was more important: he would never forgive himself. Even though his tummy churned with nerves and he wondered if he would ever see Mahmee again, he shoved his nose into the hole and carefully lifted first one paw, then the other, over the jagged, chalk-dusty threshold.
One
Philip Baby-Boar and Rodie, two plump, happy guinea pigs, were playing cards through the bars of their cages, which sat side-by-side on the cedar chest in Mahmee’s bedroom.
Rodie, whose name was short for the rather grandiose-sounding Rodie Rodentia, was mostly white with patches of black and butter. Her hair was short and smooth, but she had a swirl called a whorl on the top of her head. Her eyes were typical guinea pig eyes: big, black, blank and glossy.
Philip was a delightful fluff-ball of whorls that were white, tan, and a pinkish brown known as lilac. His eyes were the color of garnets.
Rodie was four. Philip was all of five months.
As they played cards that bright April morning, they noticed Mahmee getting their little travel cases out of the closet.
“We must be going to the vet,” Philip said nervously.
Rodie tsked and perused the cards in her paw. “Don’t be silly. We go twice a year, in May and November. It’s not May, and it’s not November, so we can’t be going to the vet.”
“Then where are we going?”
The sound of Mahmee popping the lid on the container next to the cedar chest made them drop their cards and stand up tall, with their front paws on the cage bars.
The container held timothy hay, their favorite food. They were wheeking and begging for it before the sweet, greeny scent hit their little pink noses.
“Please, please, please, please, please,” they implored as Mahmee placed fistfuls of hay into each pet carrier.
Their wheeks stopped as Mahmee gently lifted first Rodie, then Philip Baby-Boar from their cages and placed them in their carriers. Rodie’s carrier was made of hardy plastic and had a door made of shiny chrome bars. Philip’s carrier was a piece of soft luggage that had mesh panels on the side and a mesh panel on the top that was opened and closed with a zipper.
The prospect of a trip to the vet was forgotten as the piggies hunkered down in their carriers and nosed their beloved hay. They didn’t even pay much attention to the way Mahmee strapped their carriers into the rear passenger seat of her car and drove the short distance to the fancy department store where she worked. They were about to begin the biggest adventure of their lives, but all they could think of was hay.
Rodie, whose name was short for the rather grandiose-sounding Rodie Rodentia, was mostly white with patches of black and butter. Her hair was short and smooth, but she had a swirl called a whorl on the top of her head. Her eyes were typical guinea pig eyes: big, black, blank and glossy.
Philip was a delightful fluff-ball of whorls that were white, tan, and a pinkish brown known as lilac. His eyes were the color of garnets.
Rodie was four. Philip was all of five months.
As they played cards that bright April morning, they noticed Mahmee getting their little travel cases out of the closet.
“We must be going to the vet,” Philip said nervously.
Rodie tsked and perused the cards in her paw. “Don’t be silly. We go twice a year, in May and November. It’s not May, and it’s not November, so we can’t be going to the vet.”
“Then where are we going?”
The sound of Mahmee popping the lid on the container next to the cedar chest made them drop their cards and stand up tall, with their front paws on the cage bars.
The container held timothy hay, their favorite food. They were wheeking and begging for it before the sweet, greeny scent hit their little pink noses.
“Please, please, please, please, please,” they implored as Mahmee placed fistfuls of hay into each pet carrier.
Their wheeks stopped as Mahmee gently lifted first Rodie, then Philip Baby-Boar from their cages and placed them in their carriers. Rodie’s carrier was made of hardy plastic and had a door made of shiny chrome bars. Philip’s carrier was a piece of soft luggage that had mesh panels on the side and a mesh panel on the top that was opened and closed with a zipper.
The prospect of a trip to the vet was forgotten as the piggies hunkered down in their carriers and nosed their beloved hay. They didn’t even pay much attention to the way Mahmee strapped their carriers into the rear passenger seat of her car and drove the short distance to the fancy department store where she worked. They were about to begin the biggest adventure of their lives, but all they could think of was hay.
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