Sarah

Sarah came to the shelter on a day like any other. A middle aged woman turned her in, saying that her daughter had moved on to college and had tired of the guinea pig. Sadly, small animals such as guinea pigs are viewed as disposable or somehow less important then a cat or dog. My manager did the intake while I watched, quietly listening to the interchange and waiting for the woman to finish filling out the animal information sheet that we asked all people surrendering a pet to fill out. It was always fun to read over the sheets. The information on them would often be in direct contradiction to what the pet owner told us about the animal, or it would reveal the poor care that the animal had endured. Considering that the guinea pig was in a small dirty cage with half a rotten orange as her only food, I didn't need to read the sheet to know that her care up to this point had been less then stellar.

At this point in my life I had seven guinea pigs in two large "cube and coroplast" style cages that took up half the floor space in my office. I did not want to add any more guinea pigs to my family, but I peeked into the dirty cage anyway. A guinea pig that looked very much like the first guinea pig I'd ever owned peered back at me. "I don't need any more guinea pigs," I told myself firmly.

Finally, the woman turning in the guinea pig left and I was able to go over the information sheet. The guinea pig's name was Sarah. My name. "I don't need any more guinea pigs," I told myself firmly. I read on.

The guinea pig was five years old - the average lifespan of a guinea pig is five to eight years. "I don't need any more guinea pigs," I told myself firmly, but my resolve was crumbling. The guinea pig was taken back to the cat room, where the small animals were kept, and I did my best not to think about it. I'd just lost the first guinea pig I'd ever owned, a guinea pig that strongly resembled Sarah, to old age. What kind of person would abandon an animal at the close of it's natural lifespan? I sat sadly at my desk and contemplated the injustice of the world.

It didn't take long for my compassion to get the better of my common sense. I quickly did the paperwork and adopted her, avoiding the eyes of my coworkers who already considered me a little batty for being so fond of guinea pigs and keeping so many. How could they understand? It was a such a small thing to take her in so she could live out the rest of her days in peace. As I tucked Sarah into a little box lined with paper towels, I immediately felt better. She would live out her days in love.

After a short while, I noticed little smears of what appeared to be diluted blood on the paper lining her box. I couldn't immediately find the source of the injury, so I returned her to her box and kept watch. As minutes ticked by, the pale drips of blood turned into huge smears and finally into clots. Blood smears covered her vulva and rump. Careful inspection revealed that she was bleeding heavily from her vagina. She was also very tender around her stomach area, and careful prodding revealed lumps. My heart sank. Although I was able to take Sarah into my home and provide food and care for her, I was not able to afford very expensive small animal surgery that she may or may not survive.  How had Sarah's former owner not noticed this? I had her for less then an hour, and I'd noticed almost immediately! Taking the box to my manager, I asked if I could return Sarah so she could be humanely euthanized. My manager took one look in the box and looked away quickly. I had my answer - Sarah would not have to suffer any more.