This has been an entertaining week. A while ago my male staff was advised by his doctor to change his anti-depression medication. It had become less effective over time and he was having more frequent depressive episodes. It was however decided that it would be better to wait until he returned from escorting his safari group through Kenya and Tanzania because if the new medication didn't work he might frighten the animals, or depress the wildebeests so much that they'd simply throw themselves at the lions, yelling "Please eat me. Anything, just don't make me spend another second with this strange virtually hairless, pale, depressed primate."
So, as soon as he returned he went to the doctor and declared himself ready to try the new loony pills as he likes to call them. This involved gradually cutting back on his current medication and then starting on the new stuff. All went well for the first week and a half of cutting back and then it started. Boris, Baci and I could tell that all was not how it should be when on a Tuesday evening not long after taking his first new loony pill my male staff stood up from his armchair and staggered about as though it was a Saturday night and he'd just consumed his customary bottle and a half of chardonnay. He was slurring his words in a Saturday night-esq mannner too. My female staff asked if he was okay, to which he replied.
"Sure, aahhmmm fahhhn. Jusssshhhht uh little dishy thatssshhh awwwl." He sounded like John Wayne and I didn't think he was at all "dishy". He staggered off to bed, bouncing of the wall as he went like one of those silver balls in a pinball machine.
By the morning, most of his "dishyness" had passed and he'd stopped slurring his words. He made my female staff breakfast as usual and then set to work on his computer in the office. After an hour or so it became plain that all was not well. The swearing coming from the office was much louder, more frequent and much more profane, heartfelt and bitter than usual. I can tell you that both Boris and little Baci learned some good old English words that morning. Words that they would be better off not knowing, especially one of Baci's tender age. Almost every word began with either the letter F or the letter C and were repeated loudly and often. It was as if Ozzy Osbourne had been given a guest appearance on Sesame Street. At one stage it actually became worse than when my female staff practices on the piano, that's how bad it was. I've become accustomed to new lyrics and notes being added to traditional tunes as my female staff hits the wrong key. "All BOLLOCKS! bright and beautiful, all creatures great and SHIT!" or "Onward Christian BASTARD! Marching as to F@#k!"
It all came to a head on Thursday morning. My female staff had a day off, so she and my male staff slept in for a while and had breakfast in bed. (After feeding myself, Boris, Baci and Paolo the budgie of course.) Then they relaxed and read their books for a while. My female staff moved and jogged my male staff's book and he lost his page. It was as though an utter disaster had just occurred that threatened to ruin his life. With a cry of "Oh well, it was a stupid book anyway." (Probably true, it was a Dan Brown novel after all.) he threw it across the room and buried himself in the blanket and kept repeating the words "I don't want to be here." This appeared to alarm my female staff because she came and scooped us out of our cages. She then returned to the bedroom with her arms full of guinea pig cuteness and thrust us all under the blanket where my male staff was hiding, curled up in a foetal position in a vain attempt at attaining oblivion. Instinctively we all knew what to do. Boris made straight for the back of my male staff's right knee, I went for his right nipple and Baci, being the least experienced biter of the three of us went for the end of his most tender bit. We all sank our teeth in simultaneously and my male staff leapt from the bed howling. Looking back the this incident I can only marvel at the gallant effort my male staff made at trying to stem the blood from three wounds with only two hands. Not surprisingly the wound inflicted by Baci received most of his attention, but his hand still flew rapidly between the back of his knee and his nipple too. If you've never seen a naked middle aged man doing a demonic version of the Macarana you haven't truly lived.
"Well," said my female staff. "you said you didn't want to be there. Well, now you're not."
I'm am pleased to report that my male staff has since changed to another different drug and is doing quite well, except that when he pees, it spouts out from all the Baci inflicted holes like a watering can and it takes him half an hour to mop the floor of the toilet. Now he's complaining of a stiff back from all the mopping. Never mind. The doctors says the extra holes will soon heal and that will mean his back will get better too.
Guten Tag vunce again everybody. Ich haben been sinking lately zat it vas not such ein gut idea to come and live vis dis crazy volk. I sink Baci Und Ich vould haf been better off stayink put at ze rescue centre und being rescued by somebody else. Even if it took zwei or drei jahre.