In Which A Piglet Moves into a House and Gets a New Name
When Aimee the Funny Farmer offered to let me take the runtiest of her 16 piglets home, I knew I would not refuse -- even though we already have three dogs, a cat and a guinea pig in the house, and even though the piglet was of a species completely unfamiliar to me.
I picked up the three-week-old female this afternoon. We put her in a box with some hay, closed the box flaps, stuck it on the front passenger seat of my car and closed the car door. After a brief talk with Aimee about weaning strategies, I opened my car door and
there was the piglet, escaped from the box and standing quietly on the driver's seat.
The piglet, tentatively dubbed Lucky, is an excellent traveler. Once I determined that she would not tolerate having the box flaps shut, she slept all the way to the feed store, where I shelled out a lot of bucks for calf milk replacer, and from there to my house -- the pigsty mentioned in the title.
The plan was to not let my husband know I had brought home a pig. That plan exploded within an hour of arriving at home when I realized that January weather precludes leaving a 3-week-old pig in a pen in a barn. The pig came into the house, my husband figured out that that squealing he heard was not my fiddle playing after all, and my daughter, who is 13, renamed her Violet, after Boris Karloff's pig.
The dogs are fascinated, of course, but the surprising thing is that Violet is not the least bit afraid of them. Violet appears to not be afraid of anything. Her attitude seems to be, this is my world, and it will operate according to my wishes.
I concocted a few ounces of her milk replacer and tried to get her to suck it off my finger. You know what? Piglets have very sharp teeth and very strong jaws. I then tried sticking her snout into a shallow dish of gruel. She screamed and thrashed as if I were trying to drown her in a bathtub.
Hmmmmm, not sure this was a bright idea, bringing home a baby pig.
When Aimee the Funny Farmer offered to let me take the runtiest of her 16 piglets home, I knew I would not refuse -- even though we already have three dogs, a cat and a guinea pig in the house, and even though the piglet was of a species completely unfamiliar to me.
I picked up the three-week-old female this afternoon. We put her in a box with some hay, closed the box flaps, stuck it on the front passenger seat of my car and closed the car door. After a brief talk with Aimee about weaning strategies, I opened my car door and
there was the piglet, escaped from the box and standing quietly on the driver's seat.
The piglet, tentatively dubbed Lucky, is an excellent traveler. Once I determined that she would not tolerate having the box flaps shut, she slept all the way to the feed store, where I shelled out a lot of bucks for calf milk replacer, and from there to my house -- the pigsty mentioned in the title.
The plan was to not let my husband know I had brought home a pig. That plan exploded within an hour of arriving at home when I realized that January weather precludes leaving a 3-week-old pig in a pen in a barn. The pig came into the house, my husband figured out that that squealing he heard was not my fiddle playing after all, and my daughter, who is 13, renamed her Violet, after Boris Karloff's pig.
The dogs are fascinated, of course, but the surprising thing is that Violet is not the least bit afraid of them. Violet appears to not be afraid of anything. Her attitude seems to be, this is my world, and it will operate according to my wishes.
I concocted a few ounces of her milk replacer and tried to get her to suck it off my finger. You know what? Piglets have very sharp teeth and very strong jaws. I then tried sticking her snout into a shallow dish of gruel. She screamed and thrashed as if I were trying to drown her in a bathtub.
Hmmmmm, not sure this was a bright idea, bringing home a baby pig.
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