The Green, Green Grass of Home.

Circa 1967. A photograph taken by my father in a metaphorically Elysian field (actually it was in the west: a western suburb of Melbourne) surrounded by bucolic gardens lined with shrubberies and flower beds.  It is mid-summer. A nine-year-old boy holds a guinea pig with a fat brown body and a patrician white flash down its nose, like a Melbourne Cup winner. The boy is me. I have forgotten the guinea pig's name. It was one of two; my brother had a multi-coloured one of white, brown and black, whereas mine was that black-and-tan brindle colour set off by its horse-like nose flash. 

Day breaks bright, the longer shadows of earlier spring receding with the advance of the season. Out in the garden the guinea pigs are already chewing grass, little crepuscular creatures that they are. They chew mechanically and have something of a distracted look in their eyes. If they were human, they might be wondering what to do with their day. They look very fat, even rabbit-like; but while the caviomorph or lagomorph debate might never end, children have made the distinction for centuries, based on the simple belief that if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck it is a duck, if you'll forgive the cross-species metaphorical allusion. Later, Violet will be placed back into the triangle cage from the two-storey mansion; Mullet will make advances on her. Blind in one eye and with long unkept black-and-tan fur, he looks like a rough-coated pirate chasing a maiden around the deck of a wooden ship. However, Vegemite steps in and defends her honour, a knight without a horse.  No

Bright, sunny morning full of the promise of summer. The grass has that late spring bounce and that quality of green that will fade once the long, hot summer sets in. Today it is studded with small white round seedheads that look like crystal earrings, and some yellow ones, little happy parasols of the wild plant world. Mid-morning Violet arrives. A guinea pig apparently of the Coronet type, she has long hair of rich vanilla with caramel ends. She looks like a society matron in a fur coat, the latter part of which simile is, of course, literally true. Violet attracts interest from Mullet and Vegemite, the two resident guinea pigs whose names and appearance suggest a lower caste when compared to Violet's regal bearing. They could be a pair of London barrow boys. Violet holds her dignity and Vegemite appears to take the role of consort, sending Mullet outside while he takes up residence in the royal box with the furry one. There are two boxes, but Mullet remains out of doors most of