Gertrude the Great at age eight
Didn’t believe in chance, but fate.
When her third-grade teacher called her name,
She thought she might have sudden fame.
Miss Miller said: “Child, it’s your turn
For a wonderful chance to live and learn.
This weekend you’ll watch the Guinea Pig.
Please feed him grass and not a twig.”
So, Gertrude sat up straight and tall.
She knew the task would not be small.
The neighbors each had cats and dogs.
Some of them owned toads and frogs.
A Guinea Pig would be extraordinaire
As long as Grandmother didn’t care.
Grandma had a fear of pets.
Animals gave her chills and sweats.
Sometimes she made up funny stories
Of eating animals in all their glories.
Gertrude thought she was always joking.
Teasing her like a form of poking.
So, Gertrude got her class assignment,
And Grandma would have to make alignment.
It would only be two days, two nights,
And it seemed a point of civil rights.
Gertrude said: “Thank you, ma’am.
I plan to pass this grand exam!”
When it was time to catch the bus,
Guinea and Gertrude made no fuss.
Gertrude held Guinea’s cage on her lap
And did not take her daily nap.
As the bus pulled up outside her house,
She knew Grandma said she killed a mouse.
Gertrude decided to hide her pet,
Thinking its whiskers might be a threat.
The Guinea’s mustache was long and curly.
The bristles could make Grandma surly.
She slipped through the front door with a whisper
And wondered what Grandma had in the crisper.
Down the hall Gertrude went with Guinea,
And he didn’t even make a whinny.
“Gertrude, is that you?” Grandma called.
Her granddaughter took a moment and stalled.
The Guinea Pig crate would go ‘neath her bed
Till Gertrude knew Guinea wouldn’t go dead.
“Yes, Grandma, it’s me already!”
Gertrude said: “I’m looking for my teddy.”
“Gertrude, Go outside before dinner!”
Grandma said, who ate to be thinner.
Gertrude ran out into the front yard.
This pet-sitting thing didn’t seem too hard.
She grabbed two hands of tall, green grass
And bounced through the yard with spunk and sass.
She shoved the grass in her jumper pocket.
Then blast to her bedroom like a rocket.
When she opened the cage to feed the pig,
The guinea did a zoom, zag, zig.
It sped from the crate just like a barrel!
The guinea pig faced sudden peril.
“Wait! Stop!” Gertrude yelled.
The loosey-goosey pig propelled.
“Guinea, where do you think you’re going?
You should have a better knowing!”
Gertrude dove to catch the Guinea,
But he was such a silly ninny.
He shot and spun all over the place.
Why couldn’t he enjoy his appointed space?
In the kitchen, Grandmother was making stew.
She said she stole the monkeys from the zoo.
Last week Granny made Zebra Chowder
With a bit of Elephant Powder.
Guinea would smell the tasty soup
And would surely want to try a scoop.
Straight to kitchen, the Guinea Pig ran,
And Gertrude mourned its short life span.
Guinea Pig Stew would soon be the meal,
The moment Grandma heard its squeal.
“Gertrude, what’s the noise about?”
Grandmother screamed with a shout.
“Oh nothing, I’m just running laps!
A mile or two or three, perhaps!”
Gertrude caught the Guinea’s tail
And slid him down another trail.
Grandma couldn’t catch a scent.
Guinea had to circumvent!
The living room: the short-term answer.
Gertrude felt like a belly dancer.
The pig plopped upon the love seat,
To find a place to rest its gruff feet.
If Guinea chewed holes in any pillows,
Gertrude would weep like the willows.
Grandma would find the Guinea out,
And Guinea might taste like a trout.
Then Guinea scurried behind the couch,
So, Gertrude had to bend and crouch.
She peered beneath the couch’s leg
And thought of ways to slightly beg.
“Guinea Pig, stop your scurry!”
Gertrude said with fear and worry.
She promised Miss Miller to take great care,
But Guinea Pig was tough as a bear.
“Gertrude, what a great commotion!”
Granny yelled with much emotion.
Soon Grandma loomed above her shoulder.
Gertrude wished she were ten years older.
Then she could make a better case,
For “Guinea Pigs Who Need Some Grace,”
Instead of a chopping board finale
As a way to enter death’s long valley.
“Gertrude, is that a rat? Stand back!”
Grandma went on full attack.
“No wait! It’s a Guinea Pig!”
Gertrude cried. “My weekend gig!”
Granny said: “What of books and papers?
The pig smells of horrid vapors!
What is wrong with that Miss Miller?
I don’t need a horror thriller!
As soon as we catch the little snake,
We’re cooking it up just like a steak!”
“No, we can’t! Go cook a cow!
Gertrude said. “Not Guinea chow!
Miss Miller asked me to watch the pig.
She’d be so mad she’d rip her wig.
We have to watch the pig ‘till Monday.
It’s Friday night, not even Sunday!”
Gertrude dove and grabbed Guinea’s ear.
Grandma looked like a musketeer.
Gertrude said: “Leave me alone.
My homework has a short neck bone.”
“Gertrude, hide him ‘til Monday morning.”
Grandma said. “You’ve had your warning!”
Gertrude slammed her door in tears.
Her young heart grew so old in years.
As she put Guinea back inside his cage,
She felt quite like a wise old sage.
“Never ever make Guinea Pig Stew,”
Or Guinea, they might try to cook you!”
‘Till Sunday night, Gertrude stood her ground.
Grandma said she cooked a basset hound.
And Guinea made it back to Miss Miller,
Who Gertrude thought was quite a pillar.
She passed her test with stellar applause,
And Guinea felt like Dorothy in Oz.
Miss Miller said she was “Gertrude the Great,
Truly great and only age eight.”
Copyright 2014 Jennifer Waters
Dedicated to my brother, Andy Waters, who accidentally killed the guinea pig in childhood.
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