I think he was very smart, but I’m not really sure. He seemed smart to me, but I was a kid. I am sure of this: He was socially very awkward. He was a grown man, but he didn’t have a real job or a lot of friends. Actually, I never really met any friends his own age. He lived with his daddy, who was smart, and quite urbane. Maybe he had some form of autism, but they didn’t call it autism in those days. He was called “delayed.” “Jimmy’s quiet,” they would say. They’d call him “reserved” and “shy.” And Jimmy would do things repeatedly, over and over and over…when the rest of us had long since lost interest. But there was one subject Jimmy knew an awful lot about and he shared that knowledge with me.

Jimmy knew about Guinea Pigs. He always had four, or five, or eight. Long-haired, short-haired, solid and spotted, Harlequins and Calicos. He could even “talk” to them in their own language. Yep - He made the little “Woop. Wup-wup-wup, Woop!” sounds just like they did. I was fascinated. His daddy would let him bring one (or three) over to our house to play with me. The “piggies” as he called them, rode in a cardboard box full of newspapers and wood shavings. We’d let them out on the living room floor and sit under the grand piano taking care that they didn’t escape to other parts of the house, and the dogs.

One day Jimmy came over with four guinea pigs. One too many. He said he wanted to give me one and I could pick. For some reason, I understood that I should choose the one that didn’t already have a name. The one Jimmy hadn’t bonded with yet. I don’t know why I knew it, I just did. So I chose the little brown-haired one with white spots. My mom brought a cardboard box and Jimmy showed me how to layer papers and wood shavings. He gave me a box of food pellets and told me I should also feed it just like we fed his – lettuce, and the peelings from carrots and potatoes and other vegetables saved from preparing dinner. He asked what I would call it and I said “Piglet”, you know, like in Winnie-the-Pooh.

After that, Jimmy came over every couple of days. My daddy gave me a little wood and wire cage we painted blue, inscribing “Piglet” over the door. Jimmy showed me how to clean the cage and supervised my attachment of the water bottle. Sometimes he’d bring his other piggies to visit. Soon Piglet became very fat – and Jimmy became suspicious. Sure enough, shortly thereafter, Piglet gave birth to a tiny red-haired baby! We named it “Roo” following our Pooh theme.

Over the years, we managed to breed at least one namesake for most of the Winnie-the-Pooh characters. We’d laugh and play with them, celebrate births and mourn their deaths. But I grew up and went to high school and got involved in all those activities. I’d only see Jimmy at church and we’d briefly update each other on our piggies. When my last guinea pig died, I didn’t replace him. I grew older and left for college. I’d only see Jimmy when home on breaks, but we’d talk about the days we shared “pig stories.”

Jimmy died a couple of weeks ago. He’d lived a long time. He’d been ill and living with a caretaker for years. But I will always remember his kindness and gentleness with the guinea pigs, the way he carefully taught me to love them, and the joy we had sharing our experience of them. I will miss you, Old Friend.