by A. N. Wilson
‘Your birthday present is a surprise,’ said Mum. ‘This bag is some more boots for your brother. He said that the old ones fit, but they were getting tight.’ And out of her bag she produced a lovely pair of black, shiny Wellington boots, as black and shiny as Hazel’s eyes.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said the boy. ‘You’re right, my old boots were getting a bit tight.’
‘They shouldn’t leave them lying about,’ Hazel thought. ‘Not if they are tight, and a girl might feel inclined to go exploring up them. No wonder I got stuck, if they were tight. Tight is what they felt.’
The new boots, apparently, were a perfect fit. While the boy tried them on and expressed his pleasure in them, Mum talked to Hazel and the girl.
‘Here you sit, Hazel,’ said Mum, ‘and I have been cycling around town, buying boots and I don’t know what. You have a lucky life.’
‘Well,’ said the girl, but her brother shot her a glance that made it clear that she should not tell Mum the story of how Hazel got stuck in the boot, and how they had to cut her out of it with kitchen scissors.
‘Oh, look what she’s done on your dress!’
‘Is it a dull life for you, Hazel?’ asked Mum, stroking the back of the guinea pig’s head. ‘All on your own, with nothing to do?’
‘I don’t think it’s dull,’ said the girl.
‘I think it’s a bit dull,’ said Mum. ‘You can’t really imagine a guinea pig having an adventure, can you? She just has her food, and she scampers about and … oh, look what she’s done on your dress! Come on Hazel, back in the hutch before you do any more damage.’
‘My dress is drying now,’ said the girl.
‘I’ll put her back in the hutch just the same,’ said Mum.
‘I will,’ said the girl.
‘No,’ said Mum, ‘you stay here. I will put Hazel back in the hutch.’
Mum went to the larder and came back with two carrots and two lumps of bread.
‘Mum!’ said the girl. ‘Hazel’s fat enough as it is. She’ll burst if she eats all that.’
‘She might get hungry,’ said Mum.
‘Quite right,’ thought Hazel. ‘You never know when you might get what I call hungry.’
‘Come on, Hazel,’ said Mum. And Hazel, who by now had recovered from the secret adventure of the boot, was very happy when Mum picked her up and carried her off down the garden path.
Mum opened the door of the hutch very carefully with one hand and put inside it the two carrots and the two lumps of bread.
‘Carrots,’ thought Hazel. ‘Now I must remember to look for those. I’ll have a look in the living room, and then – if there’s what I’d call time, I’ll run over and look in the bedroom. Worth a look.’
‘Now, Hazel,’ said Mum. ‘In you go.’
And Mum put Hazel safely back inside the hutch.
First Hazel looked at her bowl of dried food, and then she ran back into the bedroom to peep at the hay on the bedroom floor. Then she scuttled back into the living room to look for the bread and carrots. And then she paused. Had she really seen what she thought she had seen in the bedroom? She thought that she had seen a handsome black, white, and orange boy guinea pig, the colour of tobacco.
She turned. She chirruped. That was what she had seen! She went back into the bedroom and burrowed in the hay.
The new guinea pig was called Tobacco. They made a very happy pair.
The Visit of Fudge
The new guinea pig was called Tobacco. He had a contented nature, he enjoyed his food and he liked Hazel. They made a very happy pair. Hazel lost that slight wistfulness which she had had when she lived on her own. She no longer scurried about so much, everlastingly on the lookout for something. She had found what she was looking for. She discovered that many of life’s simple pleasures were twice as enjoyable when they were shared with an amiable companion. In the old days, if someone had put an apple core in the hutch, she would have eaten it cheerfully enough. But now, as well as there being something to eat there was something to talk about.
‘Anything important?’ Tobacco called from the bedroom, hearing that there had been a delivery next door.
‘A bit of fruit, by the looks of things,’ said Hazel.
‘Fruit, eh?’
Hazel never fully remembered all the fruits that there were, but Tobacco had a real knowledge of the subject. As he came out of the bedroom he said, ‘It could be a piece of orange peel. Then again, it could be a pear.’
‘Ar,’ said Hazel. ‘It could be a pear.’
She was eating some of it and couldn’t rightly make up her mind.
‘It could be, girl,’ Tobacco conceded.
He had taken to calling Hazel ‘girl,’ and she seemed to like it, though she never called him ‘boy’.
‘But as it happens, this is …’
‘It’s nice,’ said Hazel.
‘That it is,’ said Tobacco, sinking his teeth into the apple core. He had momentarily forgotten what this particular fruit was called, but it was very delicious.
When they had nibbled it down to almost nothing, Tobacco shared with Hazel some of his almost-memories of the old days. He had no memory for things that had happened very recently. But there were some fascinating things lodged in his memory from three or four weeks before, when he lived with his parents in a rather over-crowded hutch. He did not know that they had been his parents, and when he thought of his father, it was simply a half-memory of an old black and white guinea pig who had talked rather a lot.
‘I knew a guinea pig once …’ said Tobacco, remembering his father but not knowing that it was his father.
‘Now I can’t remember whether I ever did,’ said Hazel.
‘This guinea pig,’ said Tobacco, ‘he said the best fruit to eat was called the Barn Anna. White, I believe it is.’
‘More like a cabbage?’ asked Hazel.
‘Could be.’
‘This here fruit was nice,’ said Hazel, surveying the few remnants of the apple core. ‘What did you say it was? My memory’s terrible. Not like yours.’
Tobacco went to the bars of the hutch and sniffed.
‘It’s a really nice day today, girl. Let’s hope they put us out on the lawn.’
A few minutes later the children came and put the guinea pigs in the run on the lawn. When Tobacco and Hazel ran about together on the grass, they were a joy to see. They were so happy, so playful, so carefree.
Now it so happened that on that day, the children who looked after the guinea pigs were planning a surprise for Tobacco. The girl had told all her school friends about him. Yes, Hazel was a wonderful, beautiful creature. And when she had owned just Hazel, the girl had believed that it would not have been possible to love a guinea pig more. But after Tobacco arrived, well … comparisons are odious. The girl did love Tobacco very, very much indeed. He was so friendly and happy, and he chirruped when you picked him up and put him in your jumper. The girl had told her friends that Tobacco was the handsomest, the most chirruping, the friendliest, and the best boy guinea pig in the world.
The girl’s best friend, another girl called Rona, was also very fond of guinea pigs, and she had one whom she considered the prettiest, the most chirruping, et cetera: Fudge was a special breed, known by guinea pig experts (or, as they call themselves, Cavy fanciers) as American Crested.
The girl who looked after Hazel and Tobacco knew that no girl guinea pig could be nicer than Hazel. But she agreed with Rona that it would be very exciting if Fudge could have some babies. And if the prettiest, most chirruping, et cetera were to mate with the handsomest, most chirruping, et cetera, they would have the most et cetera baby guinea pigs in the world. Some of them might even turn out to be et cetera cresteds, and that was an exciting thought. So the girl had agreed that Rona should bring round Fudge that Saturday morning, and that Fudge should spend the weekend in a separate hutch with Tobacco. But as with so many things that sound like a good idea, it actually turned out badly.
‘This,’ Tobacco
was saying, ‘is what I’d call juicy. Really juicy grass, this.’
Hazel gazed at him admiringly. He had such a way of putting things. But just then the side of the run was lifted up, and a hand reached in and grabbed Tobacco in mid-sentence. He was just saying, ‘I know this guinea pig once who knew about grass …’
‘Don’t squeak, Baccy darling,’ said the girl. ‘You are going to meet Fudge.’
‘Oh, he is sweet,’ said Rona. ‘He’s so nice and glossy.’
‘Fudge is nice, too,’ said the girl politely.
Tobacco stayed still in the girl’s hands and quietened down. She sat on the grass and held him in her lap. He looked this way and that. This way he could see the wife, running about the run, saying, ‘Ar, juicy, that’s the word for it.’ And that way, the other way, he could see some knees, clad in a pair of jeans, and some hands on which the nails were rather bitten down, and in the hands the silliest-looking guinea pig Tobacco had ever seen in his life. It was an orange affair (not that he troubled himself about colours; as it happened he couldn’t make out colours). And it had this sort of fur-hat thing on its head. Well, really! Tobacco tried to think of a word for it and selected the word silly.
It was the silliest-looking guinea pig Tobacco had ever seen in his life.
‘I mean,’ he said quietly to himself, ‘a head’s a head. Just a head. You don’t need to go dolling it up with a sort of hat effort.’
‘I think he chirruped then,’ said the girl optimistically.
‘It sounded more like a whimper,’ said her friend Rona.
‘No,’ said the girl firmly, ‘it was a definite chirrup.’
‘I so very much hope,’ said Rona, ‘that they’ll like one another.’
‘It is impossible not to like Tobacco,’ said the girl.
‘Shall we try putting them together in the hutch?’ said Rona.
The girl stood up and carried Tobacco down to the garden shed where the hutches were, and Rona followed carrying Fudge. The girl opened the bedroom door of the hutch and put Tobacco inside. Tobacco felt disappointed that he had been given such a very short time in the run. He had been enjoying the fresh air, and the grass, and the good talk. But he contented himself with the certainty that Hazel would soon be brought to join him.
‘Shall we put Fudge in the bedroom, too?’ asked the girl.
‘No,’ said Rona, ‘I’ll put her in this living room part of the hutch.’
So this they did. And then they shut the doors, making sure that they were fastened securely. The two girls peered into the hutch. Fudge chirruped and nuzzled into Tobacco’s feeding bowl.
‘She loves that bran,’ said Rona. Then she added coyly, ‘I expect they want to be left on their own.’
And the two girls walked out of the shed, leaving the guinea pigs to their own devices. They went and sat on the lawn and watched Hazel munching her grass-feast in the run.
‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if Fudge had some babies?’ said Rona.
‘A whole litter of crested Tobaccos,’ said her friend. ‘As glossy and friendly and sweet as Tobacco, only with little crests on their heads! If Fudge does have a litter of babies, would you let me have one?’
‘Would your mum let you have three guinea pigs?’ asked Rona.
‘Of course she wouldn’t,’ said the girl’s brother, who had come out to join them. He thought it was soppy to be drooling over the little creatures in this way. He wanted someone to play tennis with and waved a racket grandly. ‘Come and play a game.’
‘Not if you’re going to be rude about Baccy,’ said his sister.
‘I’d like to play,’ said Roma.
So they all went to the nearby park to play tennis.
Inside the hutch, Tobacco lay in his hay bed for a while, and felt sad. Then he decided that there was no point in sulking, and he had no sooner made this sensible decision than his spirits lifted. He heard some munching and scuffling next door in the living room and he happily assumed that Hazel had been brought to join him.
‘I could have done with longer on the grass, girl,’ he called from the bedroom. But as he waddled out to join her, he did not hear the familiar cries of ‘Ar’ or ‘That’s right.’ Instead, to his absolute amazement, he saw Silly Hat bold as brass, standing in their living room and eating their food.
‘Get back in there if you value your life,’ said Fudge angrily.
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard.’
‘That’s not manners,’ said Tobacco. ‘And who are you, I would like to know.’
As he spoke, all the fur stood up on his back. He felt a violent hostility to Silly Hat. He felt so angry that he would have liked to bite the silly pig.
‘Warned you!’ said Fudge, who ran towards Tobacco with fur on edge and teeth bared.
The fight was sharp and furious. Fudge tried to jump on Tobacco’s back and bite his neck. Tobacco threw Fudge off and scratched at the enemy with his claws. Then to his great satisfaction, he managed to get a good mouthful of Fudge’s crest. He yanked and tugged with his teeth and succeeded in pulling out some of the fur before Fudge hit him with a claw on the side of his head and knocked him dizzy.
Fudge tried to jump on Tobacco’s back and bite his neck.
‘I’ll teach you to pull my crown, you common little brat!’ howled Fudge.
‘Crown! Huh! Silly hat more like,’ said Tobacco.
He regretted saying this, because it excited in Fudge a truly murderous fury.
‘No one insults the cresteds and gets away with it,’ hissed Fudge through two slightly protuberant front teeth, both very sharp. ‘Particularly not a thing like you.’
Fudge pounced on poor Tobacco and knocked him over on his back. Tobacco waved his paws and shrieked in despair; he was completely powerless. He looked up and saw the open mouth of Fudge and two long sharp fangs coming closer and closer to his throat.
She stroked him, kissed him and examined his cut.
Then, just in the nick of time, the door of the hutch opened, and Mum’s hand reached inside and picked up Tobacco. He was quivering with fright, and he had a cut on the side of his head.
‘Poor Tobacco,’ said Mum.
She stroked him, and kissed him, and examined his cut. It was not as bad as it looked. Mum put Tobacco in the run with Hazel. Then Mum went to the garden shed once more. She took Fudge out of Tobacco and Hazel’s hutch.
‘Come on, Fudge,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll put you in this spare hutch over here.’
It just happened that Mum had been weeding the flower bed near the garden shed. She had heard the furious squeaking of Fudge and Tobacco and had gone to see what was the matter with them. Mum did not blame either of the guinea pigs for fighting. She was not cross with Fudge for having flown at Tobacco. She realised that it was just nature. She was just a little cross with the children for having gone off leaving the guinea pigs before checking that they were getting along well. A nasty incident had been narrowly avoided.
In the run Tobacco was still shaking with the shock of it all.
‘How have you gone and got that nasty cut?’ asked Hazel, her mouth full of grass.
‘Silly Hat did it,’ said Tobacco.
‘What’s that then?’
‘You’ve been all right, girl, eating grass in here.’
‘Ar,’ agreed Hazel. ‘I’ve been all right.’
‘But they’ve gone and bought this terrible pig with a thing on its head like you’ve never seen.’
‘What kind of a thing?’
‘Well, hat’s the only word for it,’ said Tobacco. ‘And a darned silly one at that.’
‘Watch your language,’ said Hazel.
‘Well, silly, then, and never mind about the darned.’
‘That’s better.’
‘And where do you think they’ve gone and put this Silly Hat creature?’
‘Where?’
‘In our hutch, that’s where.’
‘What, not in our hutch.’
‘
That’s right, girl.’
‘Another guinea pig?’
‘Like I says, with this darned – sorry – with this Silly Hat thing on its head.’
‘That wouldn’t be right,’ said Hazel. ‘Not on its head, a hat.’
And then Tobacco felt fonder of Hazel than he had ever felt before, and he went and stood so that his nose was very nearly touching her nose. And then he thought how beautiful she was – so plump and sleek and brown and glossy. And he made a noise that the girl called chirruping – but actually he was saying, ‘That’s my girl.’
They talked for ages about Silly Hat while they munched their grass. Tobacco partly talked so much about it because he couldn’t stop, and partly to remind himself of what had happened in case he forgot it.
‘Then it came at me,’ he said.
‘Oh dear,’ said Hazel.
‘But I gave it what for,’ said Tobacco.
‘I bet you did,’ said Hazel, ‘but you shouldn’t go fighting.’
Although Hazel said this, she was secretly very proud of Tobacco for defending their hutch against an intruder.
Tobacco said, ‘Then I says, “Don’t come a step further,” I says, “or I won’t be actionable for my answers.”’
‘Oh dear!’ exclaimed Hazel.
‘It came at me,’ said Tobacco, ‘but I were ready. Its teeth were bared, and it was hissing and oh, girl – the stink of the creature.’
‘What did you do?’ asked Hazel.
‘Do?’ asked Tobacco. ‘What else could I do? I just fought it. I give as good as I got, girl.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Hazel. ‘But you didn’t ought to have got into no fight.’
‘It come at me,’ said Tobacco, ‘but I knocked it sideways. Flat. That’s what I knocked it. I really think if that lady hadn’t come along, Silly Hat would have been a goner.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t …’ Hazel hesitated. Either she could not find the word ‘kill’ or she did not want to use it. Instead she asked, ‘Where are we going to live? We can’t share a hutch with Silly Hat.’