The guinea pigs live in a hutch with a large run in the back garden; despite living in the countryside they are never threatened by foxes - the rural fox being much too busy. In the winter they come into the house as it is too cold outside and - joy of joys - they live in my bedroom. I'm not an enthusiastic hutch cleaner so the smell is a bit rank, but you do get used to it. But fortunately when summer comes they go back into the garden - Dad moves the hutch every day so not to spoil his beloved lawn.
The guinea pigs are allowed to roam free during the day; they snuffle around the garden with our two dogs who never try to bite their legs. One day Peachy, bigger, four-legged and more adventerous disappears under the garden fence, towards the brook and then the field full of cows. We hunt for him, calling his name - I want Nan to ask Doreen what he was called before he came to us - say his name wasn't Peachy - he might be confused and think we are calling another guinea pig. He is gone.
Tufty is sad and his squeaks become fewer and fewer. But one autumn day when the hutch has been moved back inside a plump guinea pig appears in the back garden. Peachy has returned - obviously we know nothing of his adventures (despite what my Nan says we are unable to communicate with our pets), but I'm sure he had a good time.
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