The Godfather of Guinea Pigs (Part 2)
I lived in London in the early nineties. My parents were visiting, and I was sightseeing with them all over London. It was 1992, and we jumped on and off tube trains on our way to tourist attractions having lots of fun and enjoying the time together. In one of those British trains with old carriages, I sat opposite a man with a woven basket on his lap. Now, if I thought that was an odd sight, it became even odder when I noticed something move in the basket. It was a guinea pig!
By this time, I was already guinea-pig-mad and well-versed in their care. He noticed my interest and waved me closer. To my surprise, a stunning Peruvian guinea pig was in the basket, with extremely long and well-groomed hair. So, of course, I asked him, “what are you doing on the London Underground with a guinea pig in a basket?!” Peter explained that he was returning from Great Ormond Street Hospital for sick children, where he would visit with his guinea pigs, weekly. Peter told me that he cared for over 100 guinea pigs in his bedsit in South London, just over the bridge. His energy exuded kindness and caring, and I felt comfortable asking if I could visit one day. We exchanged phone numbers and agreed for me to visit.
Not long after, I picked up the phone and called him. We set a date to meet, and off I went. I had no idea what to expect. South London was on the other side of where I was living in Queens Park, North London. So, with an A-Z in my hand, I found his location. He lived on a small council estate, and his home was a tiny apartment bedsit. There was a bunk bed for him, and underneath the bunk bed, he had built an open-top enclosure for his guinea pigs. He had two or three such roomy pens. Peter himself was a bundle of joy, laughter, and silliness. He loved making jokes, always smiled, and was a gracious host.
Peter immediately, and very passionately, launched into the injustices done to guinea pigs. And on top of the list was the Veterinary Medical Board in the UK. He was always writing letters, setting up campaigns and asking questions. The problem was, he told me, that the veterinary board was issuing licenses to veterinarians who had learned exactly nothing about guinea pigs in their four years at vet school. And with this license in hand, they had carte blanche over their guinea pig patients’ lives. After hearing this, I was shocked. How is a vet allowed to treat a guinea pig patient if they medically know nothing about the animal? Sadly 30 years later, this is still an issue.
I learned that Peter was a prolific writer of books on guinea pigs. He was also an avid photographer, with guinea pigs being his favorite subject.
Every book Peter published featured his own photographs, and at this time, he was about to publish a new book, so I told him I would help with some press. At the time, I was helping a friend who had a press agency that specifically focused on artists, actors and authors that were available to promote their latest movie, exhibition, or book. I put Peter and the book he was promoting on the list that every journalist, magazine and TV program read to find content and guests to interview, etc. I was delighted to help in any way I could…
By this time, I was already guinea-pig-mad and well-versed in their care. He noticed my interest and waved me closer. To my surprise, a stunning Peruvian guinea pig was in the basket, with extremely long and well-groomed hair. So, of course, I asked him, “what are you doing on the London Underground with a guinea pig in a basket?!” Peter explained that he was returning from Great Ormond Street Hospital for sick children, where he would visit with his guinea pigs, weekly. Peter told me that he cared for over 100 guinea pigs in his bedsit in South London, just over the bridge. His energy exuded kindness and caring, and I felt comfortable asking if I could visit one day. We exchanged phone numbers and agreed for me to visit.
Not long after, I picked up the phone and called him. We set a date to meet, and off I went. I had no idea what to expect. South London was on the other side of where I was living in Queens Park, North London. So, with an A-Z in my hand, I found his location. He lived on a small council estate, and his home was a tiny apartment bedsit. There was a bunk bed for him, and underneath the bunk bed, he had built an open-top enclosure for his guinea pigs. He had two or three such roomy pens. Peter himself was a bundle of joy, laughter, and silliness. He loved making jokes, always smiled, and was a gracious host.
Peter immediately, and very passionately, launched into the injustices done to guinea pigs. And on top of the list was the Veterinary Medical Board in the UK. He was always writing letters, setting up campaigns and asking questions. The problem was, he told me, that the veterinary board was issuing licenses to veterinarians who had learned exactly nothing about guinea pigs in their four years at vet school. And with this license in hand, they had carte blanche over their guinea pig patients’ lives. After hearing this, I was shocked. How is a vet allowed to treat a guinea pig patient if they medically know nothing about the animal? Sadly 30 years later, this is still an issue.
I learned that Peter was a prolific writer of books on guinea pigs. He was also an avid photographer, with guinea pigs being his favorite subject.
Every book Peter published featured his own photographs, and at this time, he was about to publish a new book, so I told him I would help with some press. At the time, I was helping a friend who had a press agency that specifically focused on artists, actors and authors that were available to promote their latest movie, exhibition, or book. I put Peter and the book he was promoting on the list that every journalist, magazine and TV program read to find content and guests to interview, etc. I was delighted to help in any way I could…
