Volunteer Of The Wheek
A couple of decades ago, I worked in a small independent pet shop.
Every day like clockwork, the bell above the door jingles and a little girl, aged eight, comes in and heads straight to the guinea pig enclosure. She doesn’t ask for help; she already knows where they are and sits quietly in front of the glass, just watching.
Girl: “Hi, Buttons. Hi, Pickles. Hi, Sir Squeaksalot.”
The names change slightly every week, but the devotion doesn’t. She knows them all. What they eat. Who gets bossy at feeding time. Who likes chin scratches and who prefers to be left alone.
After about a week of this, one of our colleagues leans down beside her.
Colleague: “Want to help feed them today?”
The little girl lights up like a Christmas tree. From that point on, she becomes an unofficial after-school volunteer. Over the next month, the staff watches as she reads a book on guinea pig nutrition during visits. She starts asking thoughtful questions about vitamin C supplements and cage size. One time, she scolds a teenage customer for suggesting they can live in fish tanks.
She even makes a sign for the enclosure that says:
Sign: “Please whisper near the guinea pigs. They are delicate little people.”
Then one Friday, she comes in holding her mum’s hand. She’s practically dragging her across the shop.
Girl: “Mum, come meet them! I want to show you how I do the feeding! I even clean out the corner where Pickles pees the most!”
Her mum’s trying to keep a straight face, but you can tell she’s not made of stone. Our colleague joins them at the enclosure and hands the girl the little scoop of pellets like usual.
Girl: *To her mum.* “See? I spread it out so they don’t fight. And I check their water bottle, like this!”
My colleague chimes in:
Colleague: “She’s been more reliable than half the staff. Knows every one of them by name and personality.”
Another worker from the counter adds:
Counter Colleague: “She’s basically their union rep!”
The mum looks at her daughter, then at the guinea pigs, then at the staff… and lets out a long sigh.
Mum: “…I assume you’ve picked out which one’s coming home.”
Girl: “W–wait. Really?!”
Colleague: “She’s earned it. She’s been working here unpaid like it’s her part-time job. Pick any one, this one’s on us.”
Her eyes fill instantly. She hugs Pickles like she’s holding treasure.
They leave ten minutes later with a carrier, a bag of bedding, a small booklet on how to settle a guinea pig into a new home, and one very determined little zookeeper in training.
She was back a month later with her birthday money to buy “Sir Squeaksalot.”
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