This past weekend, Alfalfa was in quite a bad mood from the bath I tortured him with on Saturday morning. After he was dry I placed him on the floor and told him, “Now, go play a bit.” He was not happy with the whole situation or my dismissal of him so soon after the offending event. He charged my feet and tried to bite my toes. Jumping back I yelled, “Dude!” He chattered his teeth and ran at me again. I took evasive action and jumped up on the couch. Standing there I looked down to see my guinea pig glare at me with only the menace a recently bathed boar could muster. “What?” I said to him, “You were the one sitting in your poop! I had to give you a bath. You smelled…nasty.” He huffed at me and chattered his teeth again. “Well, don’t be a ‘poop sitter,” I explained borrowing the phrase from Phoenix Piig’s mom, “and you won’t get baths…as often…”
Alfalfa seemed to be satisfied with our conversation and went off to attend to more pressing matter under the bed. Once he disappeared under the bed skirt, I waited several minutes to assure the coast was clear. Standing there I began to feel ridiculous. ‘What the hell am I doing?’ I thought. ‘It’s just a guinea pig…a three-pound-ball of pooping fur! I have nothing to fear.’ Gathering my courage I stepped down from the couch. I braced for a charging boar. Nothing. The apartment was quiet. I took a step towards the bedroom…and another…and then I saw the movement in the bed skirt.
I froze. I held my breath so that I would not make noise. My thoughts ran the gambit… One second I was dismissing the fact Alfalfa was nothing but a guinea pig and the next I was wondering if I could jump on to the bed to avoid an attack from that same creature. Risking it I took another step. Alfalfa ran out from the bed skirt straight at me. I swear that thing’s eyes were as red as red could be. I let out all of my held breath in on rather loud and girlish scream. “Aughhhhh!” I yelled and ran in the opposite direction toward the kitchen. I half tripped over the rug, somehow planted a foot, turned, and hopped up to sit on the counter top. The items I neatly stored on the surface got pushed back and crashed into each other with the sound of a bowling ball hitting pins. I quickly pulled my feet up to ensure they were out of reach as Alfalfa entered the kitchen.
“HA!” I taunted my guinea pig, “I’ve managed to outsmart you!” He chattered his teeth at me in anger from below. “HA! You can’t reach me up here!” He stood there glaring at me. I was in another show-down with my guinea pig. I sighed, “I can’t do this all day, pig. So, I propose a treaty.” He turned his head with interest reacting to the word ‘treaty’ as if it were ‘treat’. “If you want a treat, I’ll give it to you…today. No questions asked; No complaints.” He let out a small wheek. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I said. I grabbed a nearby dishtowel to act as an impromptu matador cape in case Alfalfa decided to charge me. I got down off the counter top and started slowly towards the refrigerator. I pleaded in a quiet voice, “Oh, I’ll give you lots of snacks today…” Again, Alfalfa gave me a small wheek of approval. He backed up into the living room giving him plenty of room to build up speed for a new series of attacks.
Opening the refrigerator, I reached for Alfalfa’s favorite food: carrots. As I picked up the bag, it rustled and Alfalfa let out a wheek of impatience. I startled and the bag dropped bouncing off of the bottom shelf. It spewed its contents all over the floor in front of the fridge. Alfalfa was not scared or deterred by the orange vegetables raining from the sky. He took it as a gift. Sniffing the spilled food, he selected a rather large carrot and began to drag it off.
I let Alfalfa drag his carrot off thinking that he would give up. I was sure that I would find it in the middle of the living room, partially eaten, and really dirty. I picked up the carrots and washed them before returning them to the refrigerator. I cautiously went to check on my guinea pig. He and more importantly the carrot were nowhere in sight. “Huh?” I thought out loud. I looked for my crazy pet. I saw something orange sticking out from under the bed skirt. I bent down to pick up the carrot from under the bed skirt. I grabbed it and was met with an unexpected resistance. I dropped the carrot in surprise. It moved and was pulled completely under the bed. I heard Alfalfa chatter his teeth in anger. “Oh,” I said realizing that my guinea pig was responsible for the resistance from the carrot. I took several steps back from the bed anticipating another charge.
Alfalfa stuck his head out from under the bed skirt. “Don’t worry,” I said with an apologetic tone, “It’s yours…it’s yours.” He huffed at me and ducked back under the bed. “Talk about a grudge,” I said walking back over to my computer. ‘Oh, boy,’ I thought. ‘This grudge thing is too funny.’ I updated Alfalfa’s Adventure’s status: “How long do guinea pig grudges last? Alfalfa is taking this bath grudge to the extreme… – KA.” I received many, many interesting responses throughout the day. Alfalfa took advantage of our agreement multiple times wheeking for treats below the spot on the shelf that contained them. I couldn’t complain. After all, I still had all of my toes.
- Kerry Anne
P.S. – Alfalfa and I would like to send good thought to the “Alfalfa’s Adventures” editor Carolyn Trimble-Weber. We miss all of her red correction marks on the rough draft of this blog. We hope she feels better soon!