Perhaps my earliest memory of formal schooling is the incident known forever after as "The Battle of the Guinea Pig."
It would seem as though the elementary school that I attended had bestowed upon three kindergarten classes the gift of two Guinea pigs, unknowing how and to what extent a conflict could develop around them.
The first pig, a piebald, was christened Lenny by Ms. Curley's class, where it took up residence for most of this story. Her class, being the largest, naturally needed its own Guinea pig. My own class, taught by Ms. Slim, and another class of equivalent size, taught by Ms. Crooks received the other pig, named George.
This set the stage for a rather large conflict, as our respective classrooms were located on opposite sides of the school's massive basement, and, as many children are aware, any furry animal placed in the presence of kindergartners will be fiercely competed for.
Our classes consisted of 14 boys and 10 girls, and 11 boys and 13 girls, respectively. Ms. Slim was a youngish redhead, who usually wore white. Ms. Crooks was much older, with gray hair pulled back into a bun. The scowl that her face was usually drawn into and the gray clothing that she usually wore alone often managed to scare children more than most teachers could if they tried. The scowl may have just been a by-product of the severity with which she pulled her hair back, but it certainly looked genuine.
On the first day of school, it was determined that the pig would circulate between our classrooms on alternating days. This system, oddly reminiscent of a system in place at another school whose name shall not be mentioned (although it is for quite a different purpose there) worked for a few days, but it soon became evident that the daily travel was quite traumatic for George. He would often retreat to the small cardboard box that had been set in his roofless cage, and refrain from emerging for hours.
By the end of the second week, some nameless official ordained that George should stay in one room for the rest of the year. Ms. Crooks, being Ms. Slim's senior, was the first choice, so off George went.
As we were denied visitation rights, we were unable to see George except in short glimpses, which turned our stomachs as we saw affection lavished upon him by students whom we had declared our mortal enemies.
It was at this point, or somewhere along the line where some brilliant individual, perhaps myself, suggested that we remove George from the clutches of his captors and return him to his rightful position, between the sink and the coatrack in our room.
Only the strongest and the bravest went, i.e., all of us. We left recess as surreptitiously as we could, and trooped off to the den of the enemy. Eighteen willing hands united to lift the heavy cage, while the other thirty assisted in the opening of the doors. We staggered back to our room as George chittered madly and hid in his box. As the Removal of the Pig (as this stage was later titled) took place during recess, the noise mattered not. What mattered, however, was that George was once on free soil.
We sat around, gazing at him while he broke precedent and walked out of his box shortly after being set down. At the time when Ms. Slim walked in, we were contemplating weather we should open the cage and play with George. We suddenly fell silent upon her arrival, but she took little notice of the recent addition to our ranks. I suspected, and my suspicions were later confirmed, that Ms. Slim secretly wanted George back.
Meanwhile, Ms. Crooks's class was somewhat agitated by the disappearance of their most prized possession. As they mustered their forces for a reconnaissance mission, we played with George (who had liked our class more than Ms. Crooks's all along) completely unaware of what was happening on the other side of the building. Our blissful ignorance ended at the point where a mob of small children, armed with plastic shovels, plastic rakes, wooden blocks, rocks, and other implements best not mentioned descended upon our classroom, intent on retrieving George at any cost.
A vicious battle ensued, which we fought tooth an nail down to the last man. When the smoke cleared, small fires burned in various areas around our room and, lo and behold, Ms. Slim and Ms. Crooks could be seen grappling in the center of the floor.
The two teachers were screaming inarticulately at one another, as well as exchanging blows. First, Ms. Crooks swung a left hook at Ms. Slim, which connected with the sound of a baseball bat slammed into a pound of hamburger. Ms. Slim gasped at the sudden pain, and gave Ms. Crooks as good as she got. Then Ms. Slim executed what looked like a Judo maneuver and threw the large Ms. Crooks over her right shoulder. She then jumped on Ms. Crooks, grasped her throat, and growled through clenched teeth.
"Give up?"
"Never!"
The brawl went on for several more minutes, until, with Ms. Slim in a headlock, Ms. Crooks noticed that we were not only watching their antics, but occasionally betting on them as well.
Ms. Slim wrestled her way out of Ms. Crooks's steely embrace and addressed the class.
"Children, don't you think that we should drop this and learn the value of sharing?"
"Only a loser would say that!" bellowed Ms. Crooks. With the sweep of one meaty arm, she knocked Ms. Slim off her feet. Another vicious battle ensued, that is, until they came to their senses and began to speak, this time without exchanging blows.
"Children, don't you think that we could share George? We could have him in each room every other week, so we could both see him equally. And„"
"An excellent idea," announced Ms. Crooks, cutting off Ms. Slim. "We should start immediately, and-"
She stopped in response to a lip-quivering child pointing a shaking finger towards the area where the brawl had taken place. There, in the center of the floor, lay George, who appeared to be on the verge of death. He had apparently been rolled over several times by the fighting teachers, and his breathing was very raspy. He seemed to be trying to say something, and we craned our necks to hear. His last words, the dying wisdom that he wanted to impart to us, went something like this "Chka-chka-chka-brakaw-brakaw-ka-ka-kaaaaaaa" with the last syllable trailing off as his eyes glazed over in death.
With non of the usual kindergarten sadness and suffering following the premature death of a beloved animal, we united our forces and set off for Ms. Curley's room. Our mission? To retrieve Lenny and once again have a Guinea pig amongst our classrooms.

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