PeeWee and Plush (7 page)

“I like their names,” Lexi said. “Squirrels aren't too clever about naming their offspring. Around here, we're all named for the city streets.”

I nodded knowingly. In my months in the park, I'd met dozens and dozens of
squirrels and they all had names like Seventy-seven and Fifty-two. And Lexi was named Lexington after an avenue.

“Well, I hope you remember the names of my children,” I said. “You'll be seeing a lot of them.”

“There
are
a lot of them,” said Plush, looking around: “Pudge, Perky, Pip, and Squeak. Now we are truly a family.”

I can't explain it. Our four children were born within minutes of one another. They have the same set of parents and live in the same tree hole together. How could they be so different?

Pudge was the biggest and grew daily for he ate constantly. Even Lexi, who seems to be chewing or searching for a nut at all times, is impressed by Pudge's appetite. We need to watch Pudge carefully because he'll put anything in his mouth. Once, I overheard Plush scolding him when he was about to eat a buttercup, one of the plants that I warned her not to eat back when she first came to the park. Nevertheless, two days later Pudge came back into the hole and curled up in great pain. He had eaten one of these flowers and now he had a bad case of stomach cramps.

“
A bad nut is worse than no nut
,” Lexi said when he saw Pudge in pain. But, thankfully, Pudge felt better within a few hours.

Pip and Squeak were just the opposite
of Pudge. They were the smallest of our offspring and kept busy with such energy and curiosity that they had to be reminded to eat. They poked their noses into every hole that they could find. They are small enough in size to get into and out of the tiniest crevices. “Watch your steps,” I warned them.

“
Curiosity caught the squirrel
,” said Lexi, who spent a lot of time checking on the progress of the babies.

“I won't be caught,” replied Pip. “I'm not a squirrel. Besides, Pop,” she said, turning to me, “I can run fast.”

It's true. In addition to their lively, curious manner, Pip and Squeak move with more speed than our sons.

And then there was Perky. Both Plush and
I feared he was misnamed. Perky is not perky at all. Instead, he is timid, hardly ventures from our hole. He reminds me of Plush during her first hours in the park. But while Plush quickly outgrew her fears, Perky is just the opposite. Each day he seems to discover new things to be frightened of: the wind, leaves falling from the trees, squirrels, people walking by, dogs. Whatever he sees through the entrance to our hole seems to make him cringe with fear.

Why didn't my mother warn me about how hard it is to be a parent? It seems like I'm worried about my children all of the time.

“You don't have to worry about us, Pop,” Pip said. “We can take care of ourselves.”

I suppose I should believe her. I once read that in the early days of guinea pig history, all our ancestors lived outdoors in the Andes Mountains of South America, and the newborn of our species adapted to being surrounded by enemies at birth. Unlike other animals, such as baby rabbits, who are born blind, naked, and helpless, guinea pig babies are born with a warm coat of fur, open eyes, and a mouth full of teeth. Our newborns are able to go about alone and search for food, almost at once. Anyone watching Pudge, Pip, and Squeak could have seen that immediately.

Still, there were days when those children of ours caused us a great deal of anxiety. One evening at dusk they were playing near
the hole. Gradually, however, Pip and Squeak made their way farther and farther from home.

“I hope they aren't lost,” said Plush anxiously when she couldn't see or hear them nearby.

“Plush, I'm sure Pip and Squeak are fine. We must give them their independence. We want them to learn how to take care of themselves.” I said those words confidently to ease Plush's worries. But the truth was that I was as nervous as she was about our young puppies.

As the evening got darker, I went looking for our daughters. I knew I could call on Lexi to help me, but like my children, I wanted to be independent. I walked many
paws and was very relieved when I finally heard their voices.

“Look what we found!” exclaimed Squeak proudly.

Pip had a string in her mouth and it was attached to a large red balloon.

“We think it's a giant berry,” said Squeak. Pip couldn't speak for fear of losing hold of the string, but she nodded her head in agreement.

I knew that what they'd found was not meant for eating. Did you sniff that before you grabbed for it? I wanted to say. But I kept my mouth shut. They had to learn some things for themselves. So I followed along with them as Pip pulled on the string and brought their find close to home. Of course, it would never fit inside our hole.

“What do you have?” asked Pudge eagerly when he saw his sisters. “Can I have a bite?” And then without waiting for their reply, Pudge sunk his teeth into the ball.

BANG!

A huge explosion sent poor Pudge rolling over backward. It certainly frightened the rest of us too. I'd known that what Pip found wasn't edible, but was only a plaything
that some child had lost. And now all my children had learned the lesson, especially the always hungry Pudge.

The sound of that exploding ball terrified little Perky. He whimpered with fright for a long while afterward. And day after day, he insisted on remaining in our hole. Unlike his siblings, he always depended on Plush or me to bring him food. And since he was still drinking his mother's milk, he didn't need to go looking for water.

“Perky, come for a little walk with me,” I had called when he was three days old. His brother and sisters were busy running around, but still he refused to venture out of the hole.

“The park is too big,” Perky said.

“We won't walk through all of it. Just a few paws,” I promised.

Perky shook his head. “I don't need a walk,” he said.

“Come with us,” Pip called to her brother. “We'll take care of you.” She ran over and licked his head affectionately.

But Perky wouldn't budge. He moved deeper into our hole and curled up into a ball. “Leave me alone,” he said.

It would have been easy to do that. It was enough of an effort watching the antics of our three other pups. But Plush and I knew that we had to encourage Perky to go outside. What we didn't know was how to do it. We had a real problem on our paws.

And then we had another problem. One morning soon after the full hunter's moon, when our children were almost five weeks old, we woke to discover that the air was colder than usual and a fine covering of white was on the ground. I stepped out onto it carefully and noticed that the ground was very cold. When I turned to look back
toward the hole, I discovered that I'd left a series of paw prints behind me.

Pip and Squeak came out of the hole and jumped about on the cold ground. They were fascinated by the tracks that they made. Pudge came out, but, as usual, he was more interested in finding something to put inside his stomach.

By the time Lexi jumped down to give us his morning greeting, the white was almost gone.

“How did you like your first snow?” he called to us.

“Was that snow?” Plush asked in amazement. “I thought snow was thick and deep and icy cold.”

“If that was snow, we've nothing to be afraid of,” I said, thinking of the soft wet
covering that had disappeared so quickly. It was nothing like the cloudlike stuff I'd seen in the magazine photos.

“Snow is light and snow is heavy,” said Lexi. “Snow is dry and snow is wet. Snow is beautiful and snow is dangerous. This morning we had a teasing snow. It fools you into thinking that winter will be easy. But it rarely is. Beware of winter, my friends.”

That was a long speech from Lexi and his final words were as chilling as the air around us. Plush and I looked at each other. If what Lexi said was true, our days in our cozy hole were numbered.

“Is this winter?” I asked.

“No. It's still autumn. And we will probably even have two or three days of false
summer when the air becomes very hot once again. But winter is on its way. It's almost here.”

I nodded. Every day for the past few weeks I'd seen birds flying overhead and calling out their farewells to us. “We'll be back in the spring,” the robins chirped. Just the day before I'd seen an enormous V formation of Canada geese on their way south too. We could see that many of the animals were getting ready for winter. Only the pigeons and the squirrels were staying put.

It was time for us guinea pigs to move to our planned winter quarters.

Except that we had a problem. It took Plush and me well over two hours to make
the long trek to the zoo. This wouldn't be a problem for Pip and Squeak. They'd be thrilled by the chance to go off exploring new areas. Pudge too would welcome a chance to find new tidbits as we traveled to the southern end of the park. But how were we going to get Perky to make the journey. His short legs had never gone very far. He didn't have the stamina or strength of his siblings. The trip would be long and dangerous for him.

Lexi seemed to read my thoughts. “I could give Perky a ride over to the zoo,” he offered.

“Oh, Lexi,” I said with relief, “would you do that? It would be wonderful.”

“No, no, no!” shrieked Perky when he
heard our plan. “He goes too fast and too high. What if I fall off ? I would break all of my bones!”

“If you hold on to my fur tightly, you'll be fine,” Lexi told our pup.

“Suppose my paw slips?” he asked. “No, no, no. I can't do it.” He shuddered at the thought.

“What if we make the trip in two parts?” I suggested. “We could go halfway one day and the rest the next day. I'm sure I can find a hole where we can camp overnight.”

“Perhaps that's the best way,” Plush conceded. She turned to Lexi. “Thank you very much for your generous offer,” she said. “Perky is just too timid to take a ride with you.”

“I'd love a ride,” said Pudge, swallowing the seeds he'd been chewing on.

“You're much too heavy for poor Lexi to carry,” I retorted at once. “And the walk to the zoo will be good for you. You won't get much exercise during the winter when we're hiding in the rain forest.”

“We'll get our exercise at night after the zoo closes,” Plush reminded me.

Plush and I talked over our plans. We decided we would leave together the next morning. Lexi said he'd look for us from time to time. If he wasn't carrying Perky, he could travel along the tree branches and see if there were any problems ahead.