Flynn. Flynnigan. Flynner Flynner Chicken Dinner. Inches. Punk. Little Shit. I am forever grateful I came home at lunch to check on you and get every ready to go for your vet appointment. I’m forever grateful that you let me hold you without attempting to bite and run and squirm. I’m so sorry I couldn’t stay with you, be with you for those last moments. I miss you already. And at 3:30am I’ll miss your screeches because you want to be talked to but not touched. And at 7:20am I’ll miss your little wheeks telling me you want more than the scoop of food I already gave you. And at 5:15pm I’ll miss your screeches that you need more food even though your dish is half full. And at 9:30pm I’ll miss your little wheeks saying goodnight when I turn off the kitchen light. And I’ll miss saying I have two pigs. And I’ll even miss cleaning your extra poopy cage. Most of all, I’ll just miss you. I didn’t anticipate coming home to Flynn passing away moments before. I came home early to take him to the vet after a few days of lethargic behavior that was so unlike my aggressive, sassy, loud, messy pig. I’m so much more heartbroken than I ever thought I could be over Guinea pigs. #guineapig
