My girlfriend and I recently bought three guinea pigs. All boys. Pappa New-Guinea-Pig, Blake, and Toothless. Their home is massive chipboard enclosure in our living room, complete with CCTV so that Chelsee can check in on them when she’s working in London. They’re lovely pets. They make crazy noises and jump in the air when they get excited.

No-one’s sure how the animals came to be known as Guinea Pigs. They originate from the Andes of South America; thousands of miles from the Guinea region in West Africa. One theory speculates that the first half of their name derives from traders who sold for one guinea; a coin manufactured from West African gold.

They’re clearly not pigs either, but the comparison isn’t unique to the English Language. The German’s call them Meerschweinchen, which translates to, little sea pig. They do eat a lot, and their squeals sound pretty similar.

Anyway, here’s a poem that I wrote on the subject:

A Guinea For A Friend

I don’t know how they got their name

They do not come from Guinea

Perhaps it’s from the price once paid

By women in the city

One guinea for a pet, my dear

One guinea for a cage

Two guineas for my journey

To the Andes mountain range

I don’t know how they got their name

The do not come from swine

Perhaps because the squeal like pigs

And snort from time to time

One guinea for a pet, my love

One guinea for a cage

Two guineas so a merchant

Can make an honest wage