Running Buffet has been a little distracted recently. Distracted by the arrival of two new members of our household. Meet the menagerie, if two a menagerie can make.
One of the benefits of stepping onto the property ladder, aside from the opportunity to single-handedly keep B&Q afloat, is that we can now have pets. Landlords are cautious about pets, understandably; even if you find an amenable one, your pets are likely to last longer than your tenancy and there’s a good chance that your furry friends are going to seriously restrict your future rental options.
Now that we own our own house (or, more accurately, now that we own a very small percentage of our own house), we are our own landlords. And this means that pets are back on the table. Not literally, of course.
Mrs Running Buffet has kept guinea pigs before and was very excited about our new arrivals. I, being new to this Dr Doolittle stuff, was keen but apprehensive. After all, how attached can you get to something that, in all honesty, looks like a particularly hairy sock puppet? But it is very hard not to love a creature that, literally, jumps for joy. It’s called “popcorning” because of the way they spring vertically into the air, just like a popping kernel of corn. Without the part where they turn completely inside-out, you understand. That would be upsetting.
It really doesn’t take too long to fall for their charms. Now, you would be correct if you pointed out that writing about our guinea pigs does not really fall under either of my chosen subjects for this blog. They run, but only in small circles, and their culinary nous seems to be restricted to knowing the difference between 57 varieties of grass. But what the hell, it’s my blog and they are my guinea pigs, so here they are.
And like little guinea pig terminators, they’ll be back.