Falstaff: The Friendly Pig

Falstaff arrived one weekday afternoon when I responded to a call from a local humane society volunteer. The story was that a piglet had fallen off a truck and was currently being housed in a chicken coop at a neighbors house. Would I mind keeping it for a couple of days while the owner was located? My naïve answer was no, I’ll come and get him. Arriving at home with a piglet covered in chicken lice, we headed to the basement wash tubs to clean him off.

It was then I discovered the meaning of the phrase, “screaming like a stuck pig” as the creature, about the size of a 20 pound dog expressed his indignity. Drying him off, I put him in with the Great Dane in a section of the basement I’d put up for him, complete with a doggy door opening to the chain link fenced yard.

The night passed easily enough, neither pig nor dog showing any stress and headed for the pet food supply where I picked up a bag of Purina Pig Chow. Since this was before the Internet or the time when pot-bellied pigs would become popular pets, I was at a loss with what to do with him.

I had read that pigs were more intelligent than dogs, so I began to train him, He wasn’t much at sitting and didn’t fetch. He did, however, take to the leash easily enough. So I would take him out for a stroll each afternoon after work where he would be friendly to the neighborhood children and calmly walked along side.

My own children’s playmates enjoyed visits with him in the basement as he’d stand on his hind legs, front resting on the enclosure, and turn his head to accommodate ear scratches and affectionate pats around his head.

Two weeks passed without the owner stepping forward and things were going pretty well in his confinement. He used the doggy door and was compatible with the dog. In the evening when I drove up I’d see the two of them at the fence. The Great Dane would be standing with his paws on the fence barking a greeting. Beside him stood the pig also making his sound, a low “woof” version of a friendly bark.

The days rolled by and all was well. Falstaff, however, was bored. So to entertain himself, he terraformed the fenced yard. Using his snout to plow—there was nothing to root for—each day upon arriving home I’d be presented with a new landscape. There was no grass there anyway as I’d put gravel in for the dog, so it was of little consequence.

One day, however, I noticed that he had gotten much larger. So much so that he was having difficulty getting up the basement stairs to the yard. HE remained steadfast in his resistance and I attributed it to hormones as he had also morphed into a hog. So I called the area vets to see what might be done.

After hearing stories of how hogs bite people and aren’t compatible with them, I was told that no one was willing to come to the house and neuter him. Not having at truck to haul him in saved him from that procedure. Then disaster struck.

Falstaff, now a 350 pound Yorkshire boar hog, wasn’t going outside. The evidence of his refusal to willing climb the stairs was deposited in the basement and the aroma in the house left no question as to its origin.

So one day I called a friend with a truck who lived on a farm. The day he arrived, I put the rope lead around Falstaffs neck and led him up the stairs and up onto the ramp into the truck, gave him a scratch behind his ears and watched for a few moments as he was driven off to his new home.

I didn’t follow up to see what happened to him—not wanting to know if he’d become bacon or ham. He did, however, teach me a great deal. Having no thought of his being what others called “mean,” my experience of him was as a sentient creature. He was always friendly with people, responsive to conversation and enjoyed romping with the dog. Maybe you’d never seen a hog chasing after a dog in play. It is a sight to behold with each aware of the game at hand.

Of course he could stay with us. Pigs are not suited to suburban living in a subdivision. The biggest thing I learned from him was to accept his nature. He was a pig. So I never blamed him for his ways or the household disinfectant required to clean up after his departure. He was himself.

It was a valuable teaching to me and since it happened before I developed better sense than to take in a pig, one that could have only been taught then. Maybe my frontal lobes hadn’t fully developed and that was why I impulsively rescured him.

Maybe some higher wisdom has brought him to me.

In all of our time together he never bit or expressed ill will. He taught me to value animals for what they are and not impose my expectations. He taught me that creatures given respect return it and that love—unconditional regard for another—was a key to happiness.

Later I would have encounters with a water buffalo, moose and elk that, drawing upon the experience with Falstaff, were also extraordinary in engaging a friendliness and connection you don’t ever read about. Those, however, are other stories. This one was about connection. Connecting with another is easy—meet the other without expectation. I also found Falstaff’s teaching of unconditional regard also works well with humans and I invite you to find out for yourself.

Return to Article Index