The Collie and The Cavy

For those who may not yet be enlightened, a cavy is the tater-tot-shaped creature commonly called a guinea pig. Yes, I admit I just wanted my title to alliterate and get your attention. (Writers. We’re odd like that.)

I named my first cavy Zorillo (Zor-EE-oh), which means “skunk” in Spanish, for his black and white markings. My family has a weird thing about naming animals after other species. There was the coon named Kitty we raised one summer. Whenever someone new visited, we asked, “Would you like to see our Kitty?” Then we brought out our raccoon and enjoyed the shock she always produced. It never got old.

My sister got a kitten who behaved more like a puppy, so we named him “Sabaka,” (Suh-BOCK-uh), Russian for “dog.” Funny? Maybe not, but we certainly thought so.

Guinea pigs are underappreciated as pets, maybe because they are vaguely reminiscent of what would happen if you gave preschoolers potatoes, pipe cleaners, and googly eyes then told them, “Turn these into animals.” These furry little piggies have a certain comical appeal – but they’re not going to win any beauty pageants.

Zorillo and my Rough Collie ("Lassie dog") Gustav were great friends. I always left the top hatch of Zorillo’s spacious, handmade habitat open so Gus could stick his head in and say hello. If Gus failed to greet him when he entered the room, Zorillo squeaked until he received a proper nose boop and sniff inspection. He also whistle-squealed when he wanted his hay bin refilled or hadn’t received his daily allotment of fresh veggies.

The summer I visited China to participate in an ESL teaching program, my parents were willing to care for Gus but not my guinea. I ended up rehoming Zorillo to a wonderful family who would spoil him at least as much as I did.

But I think Gustav missed Zorillo. Gus soon had another creature to raise, as my sister got a German Shepherd x Belgian Malinois puppy named Sabre. Young Sabre filled that Collie caretaking need quite nicely, yet Gustav didn’t forget his little guinea friend.

I know this, because one day he brought me another one.

We were on one of our daily walks, with him strolling off-leash down a quiet country road. (I was back in Michigan with my parents, who lived in the middle of nowhere.) Suddenly, Gus’s head jerked to the side, pulled by a scent-string. He darted into a deep roadside drainage ditch and disappeared amongst the cattails.

This was unusual behavior for Gus, but I wasn’t too concerned. I figured he was just trailing a muskrat and knew he wouldn’t stray beyond calling distance. Watching the cattails move in his wake, I waited for him to emerge.

When Gustav came back, he wasn’t alone. Up the incline he nose-nudged a small thing still hidden by the long grass. He reached the road with a rodent darting about amongst his legs, trying to escape but blocked by his nimble paws and wedged nose. I was baffled to see the creature was a calico guinea pig!

When I gasped, Gustav looked up with the beaming expression of a proud new father. That lapse allowed the guinea to escape his leg-cage, and he had to corral her again. I swooped in to retrieve her. She scrabbled without biting – why I love guinea pigs – until I wrapped her in my T-shirt. She seemed content to remain snuggled against my stomach.

After knocking on several doors and asking if anyone had lost a guinea pig, I was directed to the home of a local wildlife rescue woman. Her house was now closer than my own, so I took the little cavy there. She was out making her animal caretaker rounds when I arrived in her driveway with my midriff exposed below a shirt-wrapped bulge.

I explained the situation and asked if she could help. Keirstie said, “You found it in a ditch?”

“No, my dog found it and brought it to me,” I clarified.

She eyed Gus appraisingly and said, “Maybe I need a Collie.” Then she sighed. “I normally only rescue wildlife, but you did find it outside…”

Sensing she was weakening, I said, “I can feel scabs on its back. I think maybe a hawk or something tried to get it.” (After a later examination, Keirstie determined the scabs were from bite wounds.)

She shook her head, then marched toward her barn. “Bring it in. I’ll find somewhere to put it,” she said over her shoulder.

That was a great day for Gustav and me. We followed Keirstie into her barn, where she rifled through boxes and bins, muttering to herself while I obsessed over the baby raccoons, squirrels, muskrats, possums, and bunnies in her care. A few fawns were curled up asleep in pup tents, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anything more precious.

After the guinea was settled in a temporary habitat, we toured the substantial property. One curious fawn was bold enough to follow Gus around and experimentally nibble his fur! Keirstie had a wildfowl pond which was regularly raked out each year so it didn’t reek. All the animal pens were tidy and clean, and the pastures were well-rotated.

“From the front, I would never have known any of this was here,” I marveled. Hence the name Out-Back Wildlife Rehab Center, I suppose.

She showed me her cat habitat, a room in the barn connected to an outdoor enclosure with a jungle gym of climbing equipment. The rescued cats lived in community. Stories of the cruelty those cats had lived through - one was electrocuted, another staked to the ground - turned my stomach.

“I know how destructive cats can be in nature and I have too many small animals to take care of, so I can’t just turn them loose,” she explained. “I try to find them homes; but if I can’t, they’ll always have a home with me. I’m not very good at turning animals away.”

We stayed until dusk, and the wildlife rescue became a regular stop on our walks until I moved to Florida. Many wildlife babies become orphaned when their mothers are hit by cars. Sometimes the babies themselves are injured. Spring was the rehab center's busiest season, but Keirstie took in animals all year round.

Though she initially intended to rehome the survivor cavy, Kierstie named her Rita and kept her. (Foster fail!) Rita had a wobbly head tilt, which Kierstie reckoned could be from being tossed out of a still-moving vehicle. (This happens more often than you might think.) But Rita lived out the remainder of her days in peace and safety.

Gustav has gone on to help me raise a rabbit rescued from a piglet pen, many chicks and ducklings, some parakeets, several kittens, a few more puppies, and two orphaned baby goat brothers who had to be bottle-fed and thought he was their dad… But those are other stories.

Keirstie and her Out-Back Wildlife Rehab Center are still in operation as a nonprofit organization that is entirely volunteer-run and donation-funded. In 2021, the wildlife rehab center took in 757 total animals! She will celebrate her 44th year of wildlife rescue in 2022. Please share this story and others like it to raise awareness for wildlife rehab!