I like my Guinea Pig with Cranberry Sauce

A few months ago we had some rooms in our house painted. We found a contractor that we liked and he sent some of his men over to do the job. They did a great job-very professional, very respectful.

When they were done my husband asked if they could give us an estimate for some more jobs around the house and led them into my son's room. His room is in dire need of a paint job, and my husband does not paint. He has made many attempts-but it is easier for all of mankind, or at least our family if he does not attempt this task. When I was a kid, we painted our rooms all the time. If we wanted a new color my parents would get the paint and we would set out to do it ourselves. We had learned how to paint by watching our parents paint every last room in our house numerous times. I believe they even lost square footage by the amount of paint that are on those walls! One summer they decided to paint the outside of our house and us kids were in charge of the garage, so we knew what it meant to wield a paint brush. My husband on the other hand did not.

The first time I ever saw him paint was when he decided to paint one wall in the garage of our first home. It was drywalled and he wanted it to look finished so he went out and bought some white paint. I left him to his task and went inside to do some other household chores. About 4 hours later I was wondering what he was doing so I peeked into the garage only to find him still painting. I asked how many coats he had put on the wall and his reply was "Well, every time I get to the end I look at where I started and the colors are different!" He did not realize that the paint was drying as he worked along and had actually painted 6 coats on that one garage wall. God Bless him... he tries so darn hard.

From that time on, we have always paid someone to paint for us. This time was no different and like I said, my husband had led the painters into my son's room for an estimate. In my son's room is our beloved guinea pig Coco. We have had Coco for 3 years now and she is a part of our family. When we lived in Nebraska, we had a much bigger house and Coco and her cage fit quite nicely and I rarely had to smell her rotting poo or fermenting piddle coming from her cage. In this house, we literally have no where to put her and so she has settled in my son's room because I figure it already smells of dirty boxer shorts and athletic straps-what's a little rotting poo to go along with it?

Since we have moved to Virginia I have tossled with the idea of finding another home for Coco. She is very sweet and she whistles at the kids when she hears them coming and they love to play with her, but the smell was driving me insane. I had thought about putting an ad in the paper, or advertising at PetSmart--but all of those plans changed this fateful day that the painters came to our house.

When they walked into my son's room they oooh'd and ahhh'd over Coco. They were speaking a foreign language to one another and then would tell us how big our guinea pig was and so forth. In my head I started thinking "Hey! Maybe I can hand Coco over to these really nice guys!" Then it happened... they said the thing that has haunted me to this day. They told us that they were from Peru and in Peru they EAT GUINEA PIGS!

Now I can never put an ad in the paper because I would worry about poor Coco constantly-wondering if she were the main dish at a family gathering. She loves to eat carrots and celery, but I just can't bring myself to serve her up on a platter with Fava Beans and a nice Chianti.