My last pair of guinea pigs (which i call marsvin, because the Swedish word is way cuter) were the queens of lawnmowing. I would put out their 2′x3′ wire cage top directly on the lawn, set them in it, and in 45 minutes they would mow six square feet and fertilize it with their funny little turds.
So when i got these marsvin (Plunkett and Macleane), i thought they’d be the princes of lawnmowing. Here they’re all set up, with some towels pinned on top f the cage so they can get out of the sun (which they oddly despise, like fuzzy little vampires).
They are defective. They only mow little bits at a time, sometimes in weird patterns so it looks like my lawn has mange, and sometimes in oddly coherent strips, like this:
And it takes them HOURS. But if i ask them about it, they just give me these innocent faces and shriek their horrid little marsvin shrieks. And look vaguely smug. It’s like they’re eating the lawn unevenly as some kind of subversive, avant garde art revolution.
I’m not reallllly upset about it, though, because my backup lawnmower? That one is sexy.