Last night, when I was on my way out to take the dogs on yet another walk (I've got to stop walking in and out of the house so much), my brother meandered over to Wilbur and asked, "Do you ever let him out of his cage?".
"Yeah. You just saw me put him in his ball so I could clean the cage."
"But, other than that? You know, to just run around."
"A couple times a week. Except now, you're staying in the office so he doesn't have anywhere to run right now."
"Oh." Sad, sad little man face.
(Reaching his fingers into Wilbur's cage)
"Why is he trying to bite me? Do my fingers taste good to him?"
"He just wants to know you. If you want you can take him out."
The dogs and I come back from our walk to find my 6'4" brother holding Wilbur close to his chest in his massive man hands.
Wilbur is splayed across his hands, eyes bulging and feet holding on for dear life.
"I think he's scared of me."
"Hahahahahahahaa!!! I need to get a picture of this."
"No! I don't want people to know I was holding a guinea pig!"
"Well, be prepared for them to know because I'm putting it on my blog."