Farewell Henry the guinea pig

Last week, I had to say goodbye to my lovely guinea pig, Henry. Henry was a silver rex (a grey fuzzy one) and he was nearly 3 and a half years old, which made him our second longest surviving guinea pig (after original guinea pig, Eric). He had been living with Herbert for nearly two and a half years, which made them our longest lasting pair of guinea pigs.

I had a health worry with Henry a few months ago, but it turned out it was just to do with a change in food. He’d lost weight and the vet advised me to try him with some different food. We tried the different food and he gained a little bit of weight.

Since then, he and Herbert had seemed very happy and healthy.

On Saturday 4th March, he seemed a bit withdrawn. Not quite himself. I was slightly concerned, but not overly worried. Our vet doesn’t open at weekends and I wasn’t sufficiently worried to take him to a different vet.

The next day, he seemed worse. And he went downhill very quickly.

At the start of the day, I got him to eat some hay and grass.

I weighed him and he’d lost 225g, about 20% of his body weight, in less than three weeks.

In the afternoon, he went upstairs and settled into his bed, hardly moving. Somehow I felt he wouldn’t be leaving that bed again. I put some grass and hay in his bed with him and gave him his water. I was pleased that he drank the water well while I was holding the bottle.

I decided to move the water bottle upstairs, to make it easier for him to get.

The last time I checked on him, just before I went to bed, he was even less responsive. I thought there was a good chance he would be gone in the morning. But if he wasn’t, I would take him to the vet and hopefully give him a small chance. I know how quickly guinea pigs go downhill and how hard it can be to bring them back to life, but maybe he just needed some antibiotics to get him back on track?

I checked him at 6am and was very happy to see him still alive. Herbert was sat on Henry’s bed with him, as if he was looking after him. Henry turned his head towards me and responded to me, which I was pleased to see. I tried to give him his water again, but it was hard to get him to take it.

I rang the vet at 9am and they said I could have an appointment at 2.15.

‘We’ve got nothing this morning. Unless you can be here for 9.30?’

They asked what was wrong with him and I told them I thought he was dying and I just wanted to give him a chance. The lady on the phone was so nice. Her tone of voice immediately changed when I said that.

I came off the phone at 9.09 and pulled into the vet’s at 9.24.

By this time, Henry’s breathing was very shallow and his body felt all wrong – almost solid, as if he was already dead.

I got him out of the box and the vet said he looked rather ‘flat’. He did.

I put him on the scales, but in the end it wasn’t even worth weighing him.

She said he felt very cold, so she took his temperature. He was so cold that the thermometer wouldn’t even give a reading. She said he was also quite dehydrated.

She felt his stomach and it felt a bit lumpy. It could have been a fairly minor stomach bug or blockage or it could have been something more sinister.

She said they could keep him in and try to warm him up, give him intravenous hydration and painkillers, maybe X-ray his stomach… But she also said it was very unlikely it would help him.

He was just too far gone. And he needed too much.

If she’d given him a 50/50 chance with the treatments, I would have taken them.

It was so hard, but it felt like there was only one decision I could take. I had to let poor Henry go.

It was all so sudden that nobody had had chance to say goodbye to him, so the vet very kindly took some final photos of us. She also left me to sit with him for a few minutes.

I sat and held him and stroked him and told him what a good boy he was and how I was going to miss him. I was in absolute bits.

The vet came back and asked if I was ready. ‘No, but… ‘

She said it would take five or 10 minutes. I’m not sure how long it actually was, but it felt like a very long time.

She brought his little body back to me and put it in the box.

The staff on reception were so kind and respectful as they knew what had happened. (This wasn’t my experience at my previous vet’s.)

I took Henry home and found I was still talking to him as if he was with me.

I was heartbroken. He was such a sweet little thing.

Guinea pigs are notoriously good at hiding illnesses until they get to a point when it is really impossible to hide any longer. I hope he hadn’t been suffering for long before I realised he was ill.

When I’d considered losing the guinea pigs, I’d thought it would be easier now I’m a dog owner. But it wasn’t. The guinea pigs might not take up as much of my time or headspace as they did before we had Hetty, but losing one was just as hard.