@dubsrayboo I so very sorry about your guinea pig; I had a guinea pig when I was a kid and intended to give him a “Viking” funeral. I built a raft for him and I was going to set him and the whole thing on fire and send him off to sea but my parents wouldn’t permit that so I ended up burying him, on and with his little raft, in the back yard. He is still there.
And both my dear, long-lived cats, died at home. I knew Bugsy was dying, he had been dying for a while, but when the end came, when Bugsy was 18, I took one of my father’s quilted flannel shirts and laid it on the dining room table and laid Bugsy on it and he died in my arms. I lined a basket I had with blankets and put him in there before rigor set in.
A couple of years later, my dear Casper, at the age of 21, who was dying of terminal cancer, fibrosarcoma, curled and snuggled up, in the crook of my elbow, with his head nestled in my armpit, one last time, and when I woke up in the morning, he was dead. Rigor had already set in and that was incredibly painful and upsetting. My once alive and wonderful, full of personality cat was now dead and stiff; but he seemed light as a feather; he didn’t seem heavy to me at all.