Herb v2.0 and other bad ideas I had at New World

Some fences are made of driftwood. Others are held by silence, snacks, and strategic self-restraint.

It started, as most of my worst ideas do, at New World Supermarket.

I was supposed to be grabbing milk and more Vogel’s. I even took a list. But somewhere between the bulk-bin trail mix and the specialty cheese, I wandered into the pet aisle.

Just to “have a look.”

Which is how I ended up, twenty minutes later, at the checkout with organic kale (for Fred’s digestion). A bag of freeze-dried raspberry drops, Galloway’s current obsession. Two punnet trays of microgreens I don’t even like, but apparently Skunk does. And last but not least, a 30kg sack of premium guinea pig pellets, perched on top of the trolley like I was stocking up for another Covid lockdown.

The checkout woman didn’t blink. Probably thought I was just another crazy guinea pig lady living on the Coast. Turns out, I’m not alone.

But as I was leaving, it was what I saw on the supermarket noticeboard that caught me off guard.

A little homemade poster, taped slightly wonky, with a photo of two ginger guinea pigs nose-to-nose over a slice of cucumber. One of them Herb-like. Same daft ears and suspicious tilt to the head.

FREE TO GOOD HOME, it said.

And for a brief moment, I imagined bringing home a ‘Herb’ stand-in. I could sneak him into the herd when no one was looking.

I’ve been trying to block Herb’s untimely demise out of my mind, and maybe with his doppelganger, The Good Rooster wouldn’t notice.

But I knew he would. Absolutely, he would.

The Good Rooster has been unusually patient since Herb disappeared. Sympathetically passing me a tissue when I start tearing up. Chocolates in the sock drawer. Cups of tea delivered without asking.

My bike, mysteriously serviced and left by the gate with the tyres pumped. He keeps nudging me toward “a bit of time off.” Long beach walks, movie nights, spontaneous detours to look at waterfalls we’ve seen a dozen times before. So sweet. So thoughtful.

But I know that look.

The one that says: You’ve had your fun with the gully project, but this has gone too far.

He’s playing the long game.

It’s not kindness. It’s tactical.

The Good Rooster thinks I’m losing interest. That I’m quietly admitting defeat among the wisteria and the creeping buttercup.

And if he can just keep me distracted long enough, off the property, off my gully mission, he’ll be able to slip in with the weed sprayer and “sort things properly.”

In his view, my little herd of free-range guinea pigs will never be a match for our gully overgrowth. And as patient as he is, the Good Rooster does not view Galloway and friends as cute little lawnmowers.

He thinks they’re freeloaders in fur coats.

Looking at my trolley, full to the brim with emotional support treats for the dwindling herd, and two sad TV dinners for the Rooster and me. I thought better of it. A replacement guinea pig? That’d be the final straw.

I didn’t enquire about the guinea pigs on the noticeboard. But I did take a photo of the ad. Just in case I changed my mind.

When I got home, I unpacked the groceries onto the kitchen bench.

That’s when I took the photo. You’ll see it below. The pigs’ meal: gourmet, curated, vitamin-balanced. And behind it, our oven, cold. Empty.

The Good Rooster walked in. Didn’t say anything. Made toast.

Pointedly glanced at the sack of premium pellets on the bench and gave me that look… the one that says I’m going to let this go. For now.

I think my gully project is on borrowed time.

The lines have been drawn. Not crossed. Yet.

#WestCoastLogic #WhereTheWisteriaCreeps #ToastForDinnerAgain #FreeloadersInFurCoats

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Previously: I witnessed a tragedy. Worst of all. It wasn’t filmed (Galloway)

View all at: Fences. (a saga.) - The fences we build & the lines we cross

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