I coddled the warm lump of fur in my arms, holding him so tenderly. I petted his head gingerly as small purring sounds came from the soft creature. My father glared at me with a look that said, “I told you not to get attached.” I looked away from my father’s face, full of admonishment, but I could still feel his eyes bore into me. Senor Hernando stood before me prepared to collect the rodent and scornfully reminded me, “Traditionally, jaca tsariy does mean ‘collecting of the cuys’.” I was not about to relinquish Gus to this man, no matter what customs I broke. I had been in love at my first glance at his nutmeg colored fur, tiny eyes, and wet nose.

“Adelina, give Senor Hernando the cuy,” my father said impatiently.
“But papa…”
“Lina, jaca tsariy is today! Say your despedidas so we can prepare for tonight’s meal!” he demanded.

As tears filled my eyes, I reluctantly surrendered my poor, sweet Gus. Resistance was futile, and the outdated celebration, a feast of guinea pigs, triumphed that day.