Back Step Confession

I've seen at the Boston Pignic how grazing guinea pigs can attract a passer-by to stop and watch.  A few weekends ago I got to see this in action in my own back yard.  We had the pigs out one evening for less than an hour before it came to the attention of The Girls Next Door and their friend.  It was fun.  They fed clover and dandelion leaves to the pigs, told me what adventures they had been up to and showed off their ability to do cartwheels in the yard.  It was the typical all-over-the-place conversation of young girls and I enjoyed taking it all in. 

One of the twins, her friend and I ended up sitting on the back steps to watch the pigs and chat about our summer plans.  The subject matter meandered and at some point the friend confessed she had believed I was a mean person because mean people lived in our house.  (I'm not sure how that rumor came about, since the landlord and his family, who lived here before us, are the some of nicest people I've met.)

The twins had told her all about the guinea pigs and that she had to see them.  At first she said no, but the twins eventually convinced her to come visit.  She told me she faced her fears and joined the twins, and she was so glad she did, because I wasn't mean at all.  In fact, I am a really nice person.  She had been astonished when I smiled and laughed and invited them all in to play with the pigs.

I told her I was proud of her.  I am.  It takes courage to face the unknown.  It's especially true for a shy person like her.  I remember her first visit; it explains why she had looked like a rabbit ready to bolt, standing at my front door, flanked by the twins.  No wonder she had seemed so overwhelmed, sitting on the floor with Willow:  she had steeled herself to be eaten by a witch like the one from Hansel and Gretel.  I was just enticing children with a house full of guinea pigs instead of a house made of gingerbread.  You gotta watch out for those mean old witches and their stew pots!