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Police killed my Guinea Pigs? (Tuesday, Feb. 07, 2006)

Or has our bunny boiler of a neighbour upped the ante? After clearly not getting the response she required from the council, on Friday she called Health and Safety to complain about the way the builders were dangling on harnesses (which they have to as she wouldn't let them put scaffolding near their property) and complained to the director of the company for the things that had dropped on her side of the fence (which she would not let them come around to pick up).

So on Sunday morning, we pop out to order some carpets (during which my son Joshua manages to lose 5 cars wedged inside the middle of rolls of carpet) and on our return I happen to notice that one of the guinea pigs in the garden is very still. And seems a little stiff to boot. I check on the other one, and find him in a similar position, completely stone dead. This seems very odd given that a few hours earlier they had been their usual perky self.

So gently wiping away a tear (a tear of joy I hasten to add - personally couldn't stand the smelly creatures) I told my wife the fate of Fred and...can't remember what the other one was called. She instantly assumes psycho neighbour has had something to do with it, as their hutch is up against her fence. They are easilly frightened by noise, so we wondered if she'd gone up behind them with a big cymbal.

When we tell our nice neighbour what had happened, she casually mentions that a police helicopter came over the houses very low in the morning, making a tremendous noise. So maybe that's what sent them into a panicked frenzy that caused their little hearts to stop beating? Or maybe psycho neighbour instructed her high ranking police officer of a husband to order in the helicopter? I guess we'll never know...

So Monday morning I scooped them into the wheely bin (in a ceremonial black bag, I'm not *that* heartless) and headed off to work. When I mentioned what had happened to my work colleague Kim (actually a bloke despite having a girls name - not as bad as a burly bloke I used to work with at the hospital who had the really unfortunate name of Beverley Tit) he asked me if they hadn't just gone into hibernation. Bugger. THere's a thought....maybe their still, lifeless bodies were just still hibernating bodies. Though one of them was lying on its back with it's legs in the air, I can't imagine hibernation strikes that quickly.

This thought nagged me all day, so when I got home I fished them out of the wheely bin, and placed them in a warm corner of our conservatory. They looked a sorry sight, especially Fred who had an old tea bag stuck to his back and a couple of baked beans encrusted on his face. I had to be careful to keep them out of sight of the kids as they were none the wiser. After a couple of hours, the conservatory started to smell of death, so I assumed that hibernation had not taken place, for which I was a little relieved. I crept quietly into the conservatory to check on them, half expecting a scene from pet cemetary to evolve, as they shot out of the corner and started gnawing on my leg.

So dead as dodos and back to the wheely bin for Fred and whoever. I'm not sure when to tell the kids, maybe they will start to get inquisitive when I start breaking up the hutch to chuck into the skip outside. And I feel a scathing letter coming on to send to the Hertfordshire police force...already looking forward to their reply...

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