Friday, December 31, 2010

Eaten By An Inca

Isn't it funny how New Year's Day makes one reflect upon certain things.  I've been sitting in my cage chewing the bark that Pea kindly provides me with for my entertainment.  Bark!  I ask you.  What about a game boy or something?  Anyway I've been thinking what a tumultuous 12 months the first year of my life has been.  Here I am a (not so) humble Australian cavy with aristocratic Peruvian ancestry living with Pea - an Australian Brit with dual nationality who was born in France and Chook who was born in Australia but who's father is a kiwi.  That's really strange.  How does that work?  What happens when your father is a kiwi?  Do you hatch from an egg?  And why hasn't Chook got a long curved nose, a fat feathery body and big feet.  Come to think of it she does have big feet!  She obviously got her looks from her mother though thank goodness.  Heaven knows where Pea got his looks from, but if I was him I'd ask for my money back.  Then there are the two budgies.  Paolo - well that's obviously Italian and Biggles who's named after a fictional British fighter pilot of World Wars one and two.  So you see, ours is a very cosmopolitan and multi-cultural household.

I also got to wondering how my ancestors first arrived here in Australia from Peru and why they decided to leave their homeland in the first place.  Maybe they just got sick of being eaten by the Incas and all piled into a boat, then having spent a suitable period of time in the Christmas Island refugee detention camp they were allowed in to Australia to become valuable citizens - or at least pets.  We all have different accents too.  Pea has this weird hybrid accent that I like to call Britstralian.  He says things like "I say old chap ahh ya gahn?  Oh jolly good.  Meself I'm a bit crook but."  Don't ask me what it means.  Chook's accent has managed to escape the ravages that swallowing too many flies inflicts on many Australian accents.  She actually opens her mouth when she speaks and doesn't often sound like an over-stimulated duck.  Paolo and Biggles both sound the same to me and I can't understand a word of it.  It's all peeps, whistles and chirps and the occasional squawk when one of them gets ratty with the other.  As for yours truly - I speak three languages fluently - Spanish, English and Cavy.  My Spanish is of the refined type spoken by high-born Peruvians.  None of that childish lisping that European Spaniards are afflicted with.  Barthelona indeed!!  Valenthia!!  Get yourthelveth a good thpeech pathologitht for goodneth thake.

I apologise for prattling on, but apart from this blog I've only got bits of bark to keep me occupied during the day.  It's like living in Tasmania! And so.  New Year's Day.  Time for a few resolutions I suppose.  Firstly I resolve not to squeal like a girl when startled.  It's undignified.  Secondly I resolve not to crap in my drinking water and thirdly I resolve to scatter as much of my bedding straw on the floor as I can so that Pea and Chook spend more time cleaning it up and less time molesting me.

Happy New Year.      

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