Splat!

Photo: Splat in happier times, crapping on ELC's Single Status contracts

Have you ever considered that the name you give somebody could turn out to be a self fulfilling prophecy? Careful thought goes into choosing a name because it defines who you are and could even set you up, or let you down for the future. You know from your school days that certain kids with certain names, and simply because they have that name, will turn out to be either a complete nerd, a tearaway or pregnant with their 4th child by the time they are 13. I will leave you to work out the names in case one of them takes offence.

But names have a meaning and it goes for pets too. Trefor is named after a Welsh coach firm I am fond of (which is also a little Welsh village), Frank was named after my Uncle...so was Harold. And some animals live up to their names, such as pit bull terriers called Tyson, that really do bite your ears off. So when we got 3 Guinea Pigs at Christmas, the choice of name was also important. Spike for the long haired one whose hair stood on end, and Splat for the white one with a black face that looked like a splat of paint. But of course splat is also the noise you get if you drop a heavy on something soft and furry...something like a rabbit hutch on top of a stray Guinea Pig!

On Friday we noticed Splat was missing. They are out in their pen a lot so quite possibly a fox or the near by nesting buzzards might have had him. But a thought crossed my mind that perhaps he had got under the hutch. Sure enough, poking out from underneath it was a little paw. I lifted it up and there he was, Splat! If you have ever watched Tom & Jerry and seen how Tom ends up flat when an anvil lands on him, well then you will appreciate how flat Splat was. As a pancake! Legs spread out either side and wafer thin. Whilst not wanting to downplay the tragedy, it was very funny to see.

The guilty pet murderer was Emma. It seems she had lifted it up whilst cleaning it out, and thought Splat was inside with the others. Instead he was under their feet doing the Guinea Pig version of flower pressing. Poor Splat.