The kitchen was so quiet this morning, absent the soft little sounds of life I have grown so accustomed to over the last five years. They were comforting noises those sounds, even the higher pitched whistles demanding food or a scratch on the head. I could hear her wandering about the kitchen floor, searching for little crumbs when I was downstairs loading the washer, or the dryer.  I used to giggle when she would lick my toes while I was cooking. It tickled, and never once did she use those sharp front teeth in a harmful way. Not once did she bite a single soul intentionally. There were a few times when she accidentally nipped someone in the process of nibbling on a treat. But she learned from those little encounters, from the reactions of the person, or animal and those occurrences were rarer than a blue moon.

Her given name had been Gilly, my son named her. My daughter Dara surprised me one Mother's Day, five years ago with an unusual gift; a guinea pig. A half-grown, little ginger colored, long haired guinea pig. Id' never actually had one before, nor can I honestly say I was interested in adding one to the household pet population.
It's funny how the animals we never look for turn out to be the very best ones.  At first, Gilly was distant and aloof. And she seemed so sad in that cage all by herself. I considered getting her a companion, and dismissed the idea. Instead, I placed her cage in the kitchen on the floor, in a corner, and opened the door. Not long after, I found no need to even block the kitchen exit or close her door. Her name changed too, it went from being Gilly to Miss Piggy. It suited her perfectly.

For well over four years, Miss Piggy had the run of the kitchen, and she could not have been happier. We became her herd. Whenever people were in the kitchen talking, standing about, she would come out of her cage and make the rounds to each one. I recall once recently I was chopping something, and glanced down to see the cat, the dog and the guinea pig all sitting to my left, patiently waiting for a treat to hit the floor. It was one of those moments you know will be lost as soon as you reach for a camera, but it will be etched on my mind's eye for years to come. Miss Piggy learned to mooch from the best of the moochers.
Miss Piggy passed away Saturday morning, she died in my arms. I held her for a few hours that morning, before she passed, because deep down I knew what was coming. The closeness soothed her, one of the most gentle, loving little souls I have ever known. Those five years passed all too quickly, and it was far too short a time to have her with us. Her cage is empty, the kitchen much too quiet.

She's buried out back, and Hugo, my Great Pyr lies across the spot where we buried her right now. He kissed her goodbye that day, before I took her to the vet. He knew. He watched us bury her, and he still looks for her, sniffs her empty cage, and sniffs the spot where she is buried. I believe he misses her. He often lay on the floor out in the kitchen with her.
So it is with sorrow that we bid farewell to one cherished, beloved member of our household, one whose time with us, was much too short, but leaves behind loving warmth that will linger for a very long time.

Goodbye Miss Piggy, we love you.