P is for Pig

This year, we lost both our pot bellied pigs. First, Miss Suki died in her sleep early in the summer. Then T.S. Belliot became ill and died in early fall. She was thirteen and he was fourteen. They were both 'rescue pigs' . The life expectancy is twelve to fifteen years, so we should have been expecting it, but you never do...do you?

Here come T.S. Belliot and Miss Suki out of their warm nest on what was probably a winter day. You can tell because they are trailing shredded paper that we used instead of straw. Paper is pretty insulating and along with all the old blankets, jackets and sweaters that made up their nest, I think they slept pretty warmly. The door they are exiting is a feed room, tool shed, and their house was the room behind it. That space was divided to give a chicken house above and the pig den below. There's a door that opens to clean both the chicken house and the pig's den with a baffled piggy door in the bottom.

The photo below must be summer as they look clean and sleek as they do what pigs do best. Miss Suki could often be seen grazing about the yard while a warm summer rain washed her clean, but Mr. Belliot would flinch at the first drop of any moisture , rushing to shelter as quickly as his little legs could carry him. A shameful mat of dirt would build up on his back until one of us would take up a toilet brush we kept for the purpose of cleaning him off. He never objected to that scratchy process! Pigs love to be scratched and fall over on their sides (known as pig tipping) to allow access to their tummies.

The chickens did their best to help him with his grooming problem. The little hen below,for one. During his last couple of months, T. and a young rooster were inseparable. The rooster slept with him in his den and could often be seen riding on his back as T. trudged over to investigate Tigger's compost. I'm sorry I never got a picture of them.

They were popular with people of all ages and had many visitors. Here, Tigger's Granddaughters come to see T to offer petting and treats. When my Granddaughter, Piglet was about that age and T. was almost fully grown, she held out a hand with a treat in it, but had her fist firmly closed around it. T. was young. The teeth in that huge maw were razor sharp, and my heart skipped a beat as, before I could stop her, the tiny fist totally disappeared inside!

I was afraid to do or say anything for fear of startling one or both of them. Eventually the little hand was spat out and T was munching carrot. He remained endearingly gentle all his life. While Sukie was forceful and would sometimes nip our feet or legs to demand attention or food, T would only tug on our pants legs a bit to say, "Remember me? I'm way down here and I could use a scratch.."

We miss Sukie with her saucy strut and her bossy ways, and we miss grubby old T ambling abstractedly about with or without a chicken on his back. We miss the way they talked to us and to each other. We miss all the little things they did that made us laugh. And so, change has come to the one acre wood....much of the heart has gone out of it..