The sanctuary where nearly 400 guinea pigs keep people showing up

I like good news better when it has hay on the floor and a job that still needs doing. In Salisbury, Massachusetts, Kimie Smothermon starts each day with nearly 400 guinea pigs to feed, clean up after and check on. The work is crowded, noisy and exhausting. It is also the thing that gets her out of bed. 1

That combination matters. This is not a tidy rescue story in which one animal is saved and the credits roll. Smothermon runs the Guinea Pig Sanctuary, one of a small number of U.S. rescues devoted solely to abandoned guinea pigs. On a typical day, 350 to 400 animals live in a converted office space, in cages stacked from floor to ceiling. Volunteers move between them to clean cages and check sick animals. 1

The sanctuary exists because people sometimes discover that a small pet requires more care than they can manage. Smothermon also boards guinea pigs while their owners travel and encourages rehoming when that is the better option. The animals are social and often need to be adopted in pairs, which makes a quick handoff less simple than it may sound. 1

Earlier this year, an older woman arrived carrying two cages. Her husband had become ill, and she could no longer properly care for him and the guinea pigs. Smothermon hugged her and waived the usual surrender fee.

"I tell people, just bring them here," Smothermon told The Associated Press. "If that's what you need to do, I'll take on the responsibility." 1

That sentence is the heart of the story. It does not make the problem smaller. It gives someone a place to put it down safely.

Smothermon did not set out to run a sanctuary at this scale. Her grandson Alex brought home a guinea pig after a childhood accident and health problems had made him wary of most animals. Guinea pigs became an animal he could safely approach, and Smothermon's family began taking in abandoned pets. 1

The family ran the rescue from its New Hampshire home until a fatal fire in 2019 killed another grandson, two dogs and dozens of guinea pigs. The loss sent Smothermon into a depression. While the family lived in a hotel and searched for a new home, people kept bringing them guinea pigs that needed help. That need gave the family a reason to continue Alex's dream, eventually leading them to Massachusetts. 1

The sanctuary now receives calls from across the country: 11 guinea pigs from Illinois, seven from Texas, and 97 from New York, where nearly half are expected to have babies. Smothermon says she gets only a handful of days off each year. Her explanation is blunt: "If I don't get up, they don't eat and they can die. So even though it's not a choice, I have to." 1

The hopeful part is not that one person has found an easy calling. She has not. The hopeful part is that the work has become shared: a volunteer clipping nails, an adoption coordinator greeting an animal, and a family keeping a promise alive after losing almost everything. In a room full of cages, care looks less like a grand gesture than a list of small jobs finished before dinner. And then, the next morning, someone gets up and starts again.