“Mommy, next time you go to the store would you please get a cucumber so I can put it in water and make a pickle?” J.T. recently made this request. And immediately, in my head, I’m saying, “What tha?! Why do we need to make a pickle? Why can’t I just pick up a jar of pickles, already pickled?” Of course, that’s not what I did. I bought a cucumber and am now in the process of finding out how to make a pickle. 

I freely admit I am intimidated by cooking and pickling is no exception. I tend to develop a form of dyslexia when reading recipes, always leaving out an ingredient or misreading the measurements or simply skipping steps altogether. I’ve started fires on the stove and in both the toaster oven (in my defense a corn dog does come on a wooden stick and that is pure kindling in my book) and in the microwave, one time even resulting in an small explosion.

So with great trepidation I go online to scope out the pickling process and come to find out I’ve already screwed it up. I’ve picked the wrong kind of cucumber. Apparently it should look more like a pickle as a cucumber than like a cucumber. I’m so confused already.  And just what exactly is “de-scumming the brine”, sounds very painful. At this point I’m hoping J.T. forgets about this request. 

Which could happen, he is amply distracted since we’re adding to our pet population. Currently we have two dogs. Dolly is a desert rescued shepherd-mix with a gimpy foot that doesn’t slow her down. And then there is Trout. (Deep breath. Sigh.) Trout is a year old Black Lab. He’s my husband’s dog. To tell his story will require a separate blog entry and a calculator. So stay tuned for that one. I apologize in advance, it will be more like a venting session for me. 

As little boys will do, (and some times big boys when they really, really want their very own big dog)  J.T. has been heavily negotiating for a new pet. So far he’s asked for any one of the following: chinchilla, bearded dragon, snake, tarantula, chameleon, gerbil, frog and turtle. Oh, and when he was 3 he asked to bring a baby gorilla home from the zoo. 

Despite still reeling from the last time I agreed to a new pet, J.T. managed to soften me up to the idea.  So we asked our vet what he thought would be a good choice for a 7 year-old boy.  He recommended a guinea pig. And, turns out, a classmate’s mom had one too many and was looking for a good home for their extra guinea pig. We brought her home last week.  

We have since discovered there is a huge community surrounding the love and even borderline obsession for Guinea Pigs, who knew? There are extensive discussion boards with forum topics ranging from adopting a rescued piggy (once again, who knew?) to ‘In Memory Of…’ (very sad, don’t read those without tissue handy).  And apparently those who truly revere their furry rodents, post videos of them doing things like dancing to “Jungle Boogie” or singing “The Banana Boat Song” and even dressing them up in super-hero costumes. I won’t go into detail about the ones of guinea pigs giving birth. (Why? Why?! I’ll never get that image out of my head!) 

But our family favorite has to be the instructional videos on guinea pig care. These are done by a sweet British woman who demonstrates things like giving her pet a bath. Who, as she holds her little pig on it’s back under a running tap, pleasingly states, (use a British accent here) “Oh, she pretends she doesn’t like it, but I think she really does!” Meanwhile, the little critter is obviously frozen with fear. It’s kinda like watching Julia Child but with a soaking wet guinea pig instead of a succulent pot roast. Oh, that reminds me, just in case you should do your own guinea pig research, be forewarned, they are considered cuisine in Peru. Seriously.

For the most part we’re finding guinea pigs are pretty simple critters to care for, as long as your little one agrees to do his part. When we talked about bringing “No-name-yet” home we asked J.T. what we should do if he complains about cleaning up after her. His prompt response was, “Well, I don’t complain about picking up the dog poop?” He had us there. He really doesn’t complain about it. Just does it. Although he reserves the right to comment on all the chewed up toy parts that turn up in Trout’s droppings. 

So the debate about what to name our new furry friend is on going. Stephan calls her “Guinea-guinea” in a sort of a sing-song-y way. (It’s kinda cute.)  J.T. initially wanted to call her “Zoey,” but then changed it to “Padme” (as in Luke’s mother from “Star Wars”) then to “Furry” and now to a name Stephan and I keep mispronouncing and flat out forgetting. It’s another “Star Wars” reference, so we’re told, but it just isn’t sticking. I personally think we should name her “Pickles”.

If you’ve got a pet name suggestion, pass it along. If you’d like more information on pets check out: http://pets.vvdailypress.com/. And if you’re interested in the pickle making process go to,  http://www.pickyourown.org/makingpickles.htm. Let me know how it goes, but please, dumb it down for me. 

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