I witnessed a tragedy. Worst of all. It wasn't filmed.
Some fences are made of driftwood. Others are made of silence.
Field Note #7 by Galloway the Guinea Pig.
I knew something was off the moment the carrots stopped coming.
First the food. Then the mood. Then the fall.
Rosie? Faceplanted mid-fence check without warning. One minute she’s muttering about “reinforcements,” the next… splat. She tripped on a rogue wisteria root and hurtled through the driftwood fence like a sack of unwashed potatoes.
I leapt out of the basil. Fred dropped a carrot. Skunk muttered, “too soon.”
There she was. Sprawled on the shattered fence, arms out like some tragic grass angel after losing the war with gravity.
I tried to look concerned, but to be honest I was furious.
Because I didn’t catch it on camera.
That would've been content gold. Viral platinum. I can see the clickbait worthy headlines now…
"Middle-aged human vs rogue vine: wait for the crash!”
I could’ve ridden that reel straight into a Snax collaboration, a freeze-dried carrot deal, or maybe even a guest spot on GuineaTok After Dark.
But no.
No tripod ~ No phone ~ And NO slow-mo
An influencer moment slipping silently into the undergrowth like a long forgotten hashtag. I’m still emotionally traumatised by the missed engagement metrics. #UnfilmedTragedy #WastedContent
Rosie stood up, all muddy and silent. Then straight into jamming driftwood back into the fence like a possessed chicken. Made it worse, obviously. Now it’s all holes and weird angles. Looks like it was built by a one armed paper hanger mid-quake.
Dinner? Late.
Rosie? Pale. Jittery.
Muttering things like:
“Too many mouths…”
“Costs keep climbing…”
“Down to three... no. Four?”
Four?
Where was Herb?
No one’s seen him since the rain. But he was a bit odd. Always smelled like garlic. Eyebrows that never stopped arguing. Sort of loner-vibe energy. Still. He wouldn’t skip two feeds in a row. Not Herb.
Something’s off.
Rosie won’t meet my eyes, which, frankly reeks of behaviour of someone with something to hide.
She keeps glancing at the fence. And the punga. And back to the fence again.
I nibbled at her shoelace. Drama or not, my stomach still operates on a schedule. Rosie just stared into the distance like she was trying to delete a memory.
And here’s the thing that really haunts me:
No one filmed it.
Perhaps it never even happened.
Next on Field Notes from Galloway:
ps. My dinner was 18 minutes late. Unforgiveable.
pps. if this goes on the record. I want it known, I’ve seen some shady stuff in the guineapig forums lately.
Previously: Of Cheese Rolls and Driftwood Fences - Where it all began
View all at Fences. (a saga.) - The fences we build & the lines we cross
Next episode….
Herb v2.0 and other bad ideas I had New World
It started, as most of my worst ideas do, at New World Supermarket.