Page 70 of Forecasting the Forward

“Should I be concerned? Nervous?”

“Concerned? No. You’re the top girl. Nervous? Also no. As long as you bring them fresh produce, they’ll love you.”

Stopping in the kitchen, I notice that the pet sitter brought some more vegetables, and grab the last portion of spinach. As soon as I crinkle the bag, all six guinea pigs start squealing. Becca lets out her own surprised squeal, then giggles at herself. “Noisy bunch.”

“If you think they’re noisy now, you may be unprepared for the sound when we’re in the room. I had contractors come out to add insulation around that room because the neighbor upstairs complained. I had no idea the sound carried that much.”

Thunder waits patiently at the guinea pig door, and he jumps up hopefully as we approach. “Sorry, Thunder. Not yet.”

“Is it just me, or is he pouting?” Becca whispers, and I look down to see the saddest expression I’ve ever seen on a dog. Thunder whines as his front paws tap impatiently against the hardwood floors. Poor guy. But I’m sure the pigs can smell him already, and I’d like them to acclimate a little before we have a face-to-face introduction.

“Yeah, I’d say he is,” I respond as I carefully open the door. After Becca enters, I quickly move into the room, shutting the door behind me.

All six guinea pigs look at us for a moment, seemingly surprised at the new addition, before all hell breaks loose.

Lily screams her cute little head off.

Rose backs up to the side of a cage, kicking the bedding out as fast as she can.

Daffodil takes off down one of the tubes too quickly, and a piece comes unhooked, trapping her against the exit.

Bluebell is in one of the wheels peeing, and it’s flying out the back to hit Daisy, who just stares at me and squeals. Daisy is the eater of the bunch. She’s quite a bit bigger than the rest of the girls, and she will bum-rush them to get to food first.

And my littlest pig, Dahlia, runs around a track in one of the cages, then takes off down a section of tubes. The vet said she has anxiety, and prescribed medication.

After the third time she bit me, I gave up on the meds. So what if my guinea pig is anxious? Surrounded by this chaos, I can understand her feelings.

“Wow,” Becca breathes, her eyes wide as she takes in the chaos. “This is quite the setup you’ve got here.”

I shrug, scratching the back of my neck as I try to remain nonchalant. Hardly anyone knows about my pigs. I get it. I’m a big, tough hockey player, yet I have a room devoted to six guinea pigs. Quite the contrast. “You’re probably thinking it’s really weird, huh.”

“No,” Becca replies simply. “Honestly, I think it’s cute. Have you always had guinea pigs as pets?”

“I wasn’t allowed to have pets growing up,” I admit sheepishly. “But I’ve always had a thing for guinea pigs. I only planned on getting one, but …”

“Now you have your own personal guinea pig harem,” Becca jokes. “What are their names?”

I spend the next few minutes telling my wife all about my fascination with guinea pigs, how the floral names they have are not for any reason, and how I come into the room each morningto have a cup of coffee to watch them. It’s oddly peaceful listening to them chirp and squeal.

“When you’re on away trips, will I need to do anything specific?”

“Oh, well, uh, no?” I respond, staring at her in confusion. “I have a pet sitter.”

Becca cocks her head to the side, studying me. “But if I’m here, I can take care of them. Unless you don’t want me to?”

“I guess I assumed you wouldn’t want to.”

She turns her head back to watch as Daffodil kicks the tube back into place, successfully making her way back into one of the cages. Becca smiles softly. “I don’t mind. I wasn’t allowed to have pets growing up either. It’s part of the reason why I was so thrilled to get Thunder. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to take care of the pigs.”

I nod, suddenly overcome with emotion. Becca is probably only the fifth or sixth person who knows about my pigs, and I certainly wouldn’t trust anyone else with them. Somehow I know Becca will treat them exactly as I do.

“Can I — can I hold one?” she whispers hesitantly.

“Yeah, darlin’. Sit in the chair.”

I grab Bluebell, since she’s running back and forth in the tube, and she’s the least likely to lose her shit and scare the hell out of Becca. I carefully place Bluebell into Becca’s cupped hands, and watch as she studies my quietest pig. “I’ve honestly never held a guinea pig before, and I had no idea their fur was so soft.”

“Some aren’t as soft, but Bluebell’s is.”

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