Chester went where all guinea pigs go, this afternoon.
He took his squeaks with him, too.
His perky ways and outspoken complaints used to fill the halls as we rushed to fulfill his desires. Soft brown fur accompanied his strong will. Able to endure the harshest rides in the car, able to look straight into the face of our dog, Millie, and still voice his opinions in a high-pitched manner, Chester exceeded all the small, furry creatures that ever dwelled with us (especially the rabbits).
He would squeak when he wished for water. I would take the bottle to fill it, and he would squeak louder, as if it were an emergency. I would clean his cage, letting him loose in the back yard, and as he tasted the sweetness of freedom, he would elude all captors by dashing into the thorny rose bushes, as we would helplessly give up the chase, not daring to fare the thorns.
He was prestigiously stout, ever eating. A sight for all to see— which proves that we will miss our little, brown friend. We loved our little Chester.
Vivé le la cobaye! (French)
Long live the guinea pig!
We really will miss you, Chester!