Jewely came to us in a cat carrier in September 2000. She was a runt, obtained for us from a hog farm by a well-meaning (but misguided) friend. She was sickly, and needed special food and a heat lamp. With gentle care, she soon became a lively member of the farm and began to thrive. Let out of her area, she'd follow us around the yard, playing like a puppy.
True to her Yorkshire White breed, she rapidly expanded to around 500 pounds. Sometimes her play was a little rough; one of her favorite tricks was to get behind someone and send them airborne with a well-placed snout between the legs. The day Jewely did not follow us and began to wander into the field, we quickly enticed her into the barnyard with a molasses cookie and there she spent the rest of her life, except for one traumatic escape, which resulted in the installation of electric fence around the barnyard. For many years after, whenever Jewely went into heat, she'd stare at that spot in the fence where she was once able to get out and search for a boyfriend. If she wasn't staring at the fence, she might be obsessively dragging weeds into the barn for her nest.
Given a bale of hay, Jewely would make an impressive mound for her bed. Visiting her in the barnyard during her 'special time' was the only time it was somewhat risky to be around her. It was that old snout in the butt trick, but it was not so funny coming from a 700 pound pig. Our driveway runs along the barnyard, and if Jewely was out browsing when I drove up from work, she would race me up the hill, ears flopping and barking loudly. Yes, pigs bark.
She was alone for much of her life, except for the various chickens and pigeons who inhabited the barn. Then, in 2005, we got Spi, a pony, for Eliza. Jewely followed Spi around like a puppy, nibbling his tail and generally being a pest. For the most part, it seemed like unrequited affection, although I did once see Spi licking Jewely's back. Ultimately, when we connected the barnyard and pasture areas, her friends included 6 goats and 4 horses. Even with a new 7 or so acres to explore, Jewely stayed in her known barnyard area. Only once, just this past fall, did she explore the upper pasture. She spent the entire next day resting in her bed. Unfortunately, she never got up again.
She had been fighting an infection, which we treated successfully with antibiotics. But she went off her food, which is a big deal for someone who rolled joyfully in such treats as leftover cherry tarts and frosting covered cookies (I used to have cafeteria duty in public school and the amount of lunchtime waste was truly disturbing; the kids all knew I was saving goodies for my pig.) She loved to eat - with literally lip-smacking enjoyment - almost as much as she liked a good belly rub or back scratch. And true to the porcine stereotype, her mud hole was a source of great pleasure to her. Now when I walk by the barnyard, and see the mudbathing spot that she carefully constructed to hold water, I feel a pang of sadness that I won't see the muddy venus rising out of it again.
She died quietly sometime during the night of November 29th. I think my husband, who fed and talked to her every day of her eight years, and nursed her with water three times a day in her last month, will miss her the most. She brought joy to many, including total strangers who would pull off the road to watch her standing serenely out in her barnyard, her innocent eyes gazing back with friendly curiosity.
(Photo of Jewely with angelic tranformation copyright 2008 by Eliza K.S.)
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