by Dani Thomas

Created on: November 24, 2008

I had a special guy in my life. He was handsome, with brownish-black hair; big, deep black eyes that made it impossible to think about anything else, or even breathe. I loved him with all of my heartnothing could change my feelings for him, at least nothing that I could control. He gave me six and a half great years, and then left me to fend for myself against the world. One night he was there, the next morning he was gone, just like that; out of my life.

I knew it would be tough, but I wasn't ready for this. I would do anything just to spend another day with him. Sure, he weighed less than three pounds, and lived in a cage, but why should that change anything?

His name was Cinnamon. I gave him quite a few names before I found the perfect one. He was "Bud Not Buddy" after the book for a day or two, then it switched to "Chocolate Cake" one of my favorite foods, but I ended up with Cinnamon. It seemed to fit him perfectly. His coat was just the right color to look like cinnamon. He was also a very "warm" and loving critter. Always loving to snuggle up with me, especially my hair, which at the time, was quite long. He was just a baby when I got him, but so adorable I couldn't resist.

I wanted to learn about my new "baby", so I joined Munchers-N-Crunchers; a 4-H club in a nearby town for guinea pigs and rabbits. Cinny, as he was called, had a special talent he liked to perform on the show table. Rather than run around the table like all the other animals, he preferred to doze off, only coming to when I needed to use him. Even then, I don't think he was paying much attention to what I was doing. I thought it was quite funny watching all of the other showmen trying to keep their animals on the table, and I could just stand there, and look cool.

Toward the end of his life, he began to have health problems. I felt terrible watching my little guy suffer, and not being able to do a thing about it. He still squealed with joy when he heard the fridge door open, and vegetable bags rustle. But everyday, the squeals became quieter until the day that you couldn't hear them anymore, just the sound of him breathing.

Little did I know when I went to bed on September 11, 2007, that I would never see my baby alive again. He died that night. I still remember how cute he was. I still try to convince myself that his death wasn't my fault. He had live nearly two and a half years over the normal life expectancy of a guinea pig and he had to go sometime. But what if I hadn't flicked him on the nose that night?

I was giving him his nightly snack, and he wouldn't back away from the front of the cage, not matter what I did, so I flicked him on the nose. Maybe he was trying to say goodbye one last time, I'm sure he knew it was coming, even if I didn't want to admit it. What if I had given him a big hug, and told him "I Love You" over and over again? Would it have changed the outcome? I doubt it. The pain of losing my best friend is terrible, but the best thing I can do know is to remember those six and a half great years my guinea pig gave me.

In Memory of Cinnamon

April 29, 2001-September 11, 2007

"My Baby"

I shall never forget you!

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