Last week, I rushed my sweet old guinea pig Chuck to the vet, fearing he would not survive the respiratory infection I was sure he had. After the vet confirmed the diagnosis, an extremely serious condition in guinea pigs, I brought him home with a bottle of pet antibiotic and a heavy heart.
Five doses of medicine and a lot of worrying later, Chuck seems to have beaten the bug. He weighs only three pounds, but I feel as if the weight of the world has lifted from my heart. As I watch him happily munching on a piece of timothy hay, I can’t help but smile.
I know I will have to face his demise some time, but I am glad Chuck did not die this week. I am glad that, even after all my years of experience and effort to develop a thick skin, I can feel affection and attachment to this little creature.
This time of year, I am especially vulnerable to self-inflicted stress – you know, the kind of stuff that finds its way onto the schedule because “It’s the holidays,” the “obligations,” self-imposed with very little real thought as to the validity of the feeling, and the general busy-ness that occurs simply because it is December. I feel more than a little bit thick that I wasted so much energy fretting about silly stuff, instead of just being happy for the good fortune that is my life.
Have yourselves a merry little Christmas!