Esther the Wonder Pig

by Steve Jenkins

  I canceled my trip north and now had to prepare two stories for Derek: Why wasn’t I in Kincardine? And why did I bring home a pig? My original plan positioned me as a hero. I was the good guy. I saved this piglet! Of course, I didn’t want to take her, but what could I do? I had been totally confident with my cover story… and then karma bit me in the ass.

  I’d thought I would have a couple of days and access to a bunch of friends who would help me fine-tune my story and now that was all blown to hell because I was head-over-heels in love with a pig. I had to see Derek that same day, and I only had a few hours to figure this out.

  That’s when the pressure really started.

  I called the friends who were expecting me in Kincardine to tell them I wasn’t coming and why, which they all thought was hilarious. They knew Derek would freak out, so they wanted me to keep them posted. They gave me two instructions: One, send them a photo of the pig. Two, send them a photo of Derek’s reaction.

  Then I called our friends Erin and Wally. I needed them to watch the pig while I went emergency grocery shopping to make the fancy “please forgive me for getting a pig” dinner that I would now be making for Derek. I didn’t actually say, “I need you to watch a pig.” I believe I just said I needed them to pet-sit, so they had no idea what I was bringing to their house until I showed up at their door and the little piglet scurried out onto their kitchen floor. Erin was flabbergasted. I believe her first words were: “Holy shitballs, Derek is going to murder you.” Derek and Erin actually dated in high school, so she knows him almost as well as I do.

  Once I’d done my shopping, I reclaimed the pig. In the car, she sat on the front seat beside me, looking nervous and disoriented. I talked to her and petted her while we took the small back roads to our house. I brought her inside and put the dogs outside. We sat together, just the two of us, in the living room for a while as I tried to think of what to feed her. (Something I forgot to do in all of this was to figure out what a pig would eat and make a point of actually getting it.) So I gave her lettuce, dog food, tomatoes, anything I could think of. She settled on lettuce and rabbit food.

  Once I knew she had something in her system, I got to work cleaning up a little and making dinner. I figured the best use of my time would be to clean the house from top to bottom, make my nice dinner, and have it be like Derek was coming home to this great romantic gesture. I kept the dogs away initially so the pig could get comfy. The cats were their typical curious-but-uninterested selves. Once I did let the dogs see her, I was careful to hold her securely, not letting them get too close at first. Shelby and Reuben are both super excitable around baby animals and children, so there was a ton of whining and jumping up. I let them sniff her a little and even get in a few friendly licks before I hid her in the office down the hall. I figured I’d better get Derek in a good mood before springing the new arrival on him. Also, the other animals were a bit confused, so I decided to keep everyone separate for a while.

  I cleaned the best I could in the tighter-than-tight timeframe and then cooked my special dinner, Derek’s favorite: fresh burgers with cheese and bacon, with homemade garlic fries. The scene was set. Wine was poured. I lit some candles to really sell the ambiance. And there I waited…

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was about 8:30 p.m., and I knew Derek would be exhausted after a long day of magic shows, and this was probably not going to be the best time to spring something of this magnitude on him, but I had no choice. And no matter how delightful a homecoming I crafted to ease him into my exciting news, there was already a “tell” in the fact that I was even there. I was supposed to be at the festival, so the minute he saw my car he would know something was up. I was so nervous. I kept pacing around the house, running my story through my head as I tried to make sure the entire place was spotless and everything was perfect. I tried to think of every possible scenario and the reactions Derek might have and then constructed my responses for each. I imagined this was probably what playing chess was like, anticipating my opponent’s next move and then calculating mine. Tactical warfare. And this is why I never played chess. Not to mention, this wasn’t really my opponent—he wasn’t a pawn here—this was my partner, and the only way to win this game was if we both were happy. So I paced and imagined every possible wonderful or terrible thing that would happen until I heard Derek’s car pull in the driveway. Then I just took a deep breath.

  When Derek walked through the door and took one look around, I could tell alarms were ringing in his head. First of all, the entire house was clean. We’re not untidy, but it’s not like Derek came home every day to a home that looked like a real estate agent was showing it off for prospective buyers. I do my best to be a good partner and do a lot of work around the house, but cleaning and making dinner: definitely not my forte. Especially cleaning. Derek has been known to say that wherever I go, I leave lids, caps, notes, you name it—you can pretty much CSI wherever I’ve been by the trail I’ve left behind. He took his hat off over here, he put his keys over there, he sat there and had a drink while he watched TV. But on this night, our house looked staged for sale. This was really out of the norm. Also, I had made us dinner. I never made dinner. Derek traditionally did all the cooking, and there was a good reason for that. On the rare occasions when I tried to cook, it was because I’d seen some crazy recipe I was determined to attempt. And 99.9 percent of the time, I failed miserably, just like those epic cooking fails everyone laughs at on Pinterest. Yet there I was, innocently standing next to the only thing I knew how to make.

  I couldn’t have made my guilt more obvious if I’d tried.

  Derek had a show bag in one hand and a rabbit carrier in the other. In less than fifteen seconds, his face betrayed his suspicion. He knew we had a situation.

  “What’s going on?” he said. I tried to hand him a glass of wine, totally nonchalant, as if our entire life weren’t about to completely—and drastically—change. My heart was in my throat as his What’s going on? echoed in my head. I tried to come up with my answer. So much for all of my run-throughs. You would have thought I’d be prepared for such an obvious question, but all my preparation seemed to have suddenly evaporated.

  The notorious boxer Mike Tyson has a saying: Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth. And while I wouldn’t call myself a fan, I must admit to feeling something very similar to what Mr. Tyson said. I just didn’t expect those narrowed eyes and furrowed brow right off the bat! It made me wonder if maybe Derek had spoken to Erin and Wally. I had told them not to tell, but how could I know if they really hadn’t? What if Erin had given him a heads-up? I had no idea.

  “I changed my mind,” I said. “Just didn’t want to go away. Wasn’t really in the mood to party.”

  “Really,” Derek answered, the tiniest hint of a smirk creeping onto his face, like he believed that as much as he would have believed me if I’d just told him the Food Network wanted to give me my own cooking show. (Which, by the way, would be hilarious if they ever decided they were interested in comedy.) He knew I loved going to Kincardine. He knew I always looked forward to this particular weekend.

  He knew I was lying.

  But before I could even continue to unwind my well-rehearsed string of lies, something caught his eye. He looked down the hallway and noticed Shelby and Reuben perched outside the office, looking through the French doors into that room. That door is never closed, and the dogs are never seated at the end of the hallway.

  Derek knew then and there that whatever situation I was trying to butter him up for was happening at the end of that hallway. I scrambled for the right words but in that moment, my mind went completely blank. And he wasn’t the type to sit tight while I worked up the courage and worked down his defenses—undoubtedly using several glasses of wine for both strategies—to divulge something he wanted to know now. I just stood in horror, knowing he was seconds away from seeing our newest family member.

  Derek charged down the hallway, with me protesting and chasing a
fter him, and trying not spill my wine.

  He swung open the door to the office and just stood there like a statue, one hand on the door frame, the other still on the handle. Every emotion other than happiness flashed across his face in a matter of seconds. He didn’t even look at me. I’m sure he wanted to; I saw his eyes darting around as he took in the situation, but for the most part he kept his eyes on the pig, his body stiff with tension. He looked like he was a combination of shocked, horrified, and furious. I had known he would be upset, but I didn’t know how upset. I was partially bracing myself for him to say she had to go. I wasn’t sure how the next few minutes were going to play out. His family has always had a flair for dramatics, so I wasn’t sure if there was going to be a blowout that ended with his storming out, or if he would admit the fact that it was super cool and be as excited as I was. (Yes, the latter was an entirely optimistic and almost certainly unbelievable scenario, but one can hope, right?)

  “Huh,” Derek said. “There’s a pig in my home. No way on earth was I expecting that.”

  And there she was, a wee little pig, her little tiny feet scurrying around.

  For our new addition, this was a brand-new environment, and she was pretty sketched out. Every time I opened the door she would try to run, but her little hooves would slip around on the floor and spin out like the Road Runner’s before takeoff—just a blur of tiny legs, flying in every direction. She’d done this a few times when I checked in on her as I was cooking. She’d fire up those little legs, sprint in place for a second, and then slide around the room until she found a safe place to hide: the chair, her cat carrier, my filing cabinet. Then moments later, that little snout would lead the way as she peeked out to say hello. It was adorable.

  I was just hoping Derek would realize how much adorable was happening right before his very eyes.

  Of course, it didn’t take more than a half-second for him to know what I had done, why she was here, and what I had planned. Another pet, another addition to our home—and a pig, no less.

  He was furious. Before I could get out a single syllable of explanation, he turned to me.

  “No way. There is no way whatsoever we are having another animal. There is no fucking way that we are keeping a pig. There is no more room at the inn!”

  His shouting turned to laughter. Like he started thinking, This must be a joke. Steve’s just pulling a prank, right? He can’t possibly be this foolish.

  (Oh, believe me, I can.)

  And then the reality set in for Derek: Shit, Steve really is this foolish.

  “We just got Delores nine months ago!” he reminded me, as if I didn’t know. “Are we on a cycle? Were you gestating this pig from the day I finally said yes to the cat?”

  That might sound like a joke, but he was not joking; he was furious. He slammed the door and went straight to our bedroom to change out of his show outfit, throwing his clothes on the bed, yanking shirts off hangers, slamming dresser drawers. This was the dramatic flair that definitely didn’t skip a generation in Derek’s family.

  I approached the door, attempting the tried-and-true “Babe, it’s fine” routine, but he just ranted and raved about how irresponsible I was and how disrespectful it was for me to do this without asking him. He also (correctly) pointed out the fact that neither of us knew how to care for a piglet. The only positive thing I could say that wasn’t a lie was, “She’s a mini pig! She’ll stay small!”

  Well, at least it wasn’t a lie as far as I knew at the time.

  Derek didn’t wake up any happier the next day. He didn’t want to look at her, hold her, or have anything to do with her. It was two days before he would even touch her, and he only did that because I shoved her into his arms. He made threats: “It’s me or the pig.” He didn’t mean it, of course: He’s always said he would never leave me, and I believe it. It was just a scare tactic, and it didn’t work. But things remained tense. To put it mildly.

  I knew I was in the wrong, so I went out of my way to stay upbeat, be on my best behavior, and remain positive. Whenever a new situation arose—and let’s face it, this was all new—I’d just be lighthearted and try to reassure Derek that things were totally copacetic. My internal and external mantra was a steady course of It’s okay and It’ll be fine, alternately applied to me trying to convince Derek to accept the pig, and me trying to convince myself this would all work out.

  Derek hadn’t signed up for this, and my hope that he’d come around to thinking a pig was an awesome idea was dwindling as each day passed. This wasn’t a simple “I’m mad at you” situation. There was nothing typical about this scenario. Derek’s anger wasn’t abating anytime soon. The way I’d originally figured it in my head, he would get just a little bit upset with me, but then he’d fall in love with the pig. It was not falling into place as I’d hoped and anticipated. I knew I was pushing my luck, but I hadn’t expected him to be anywhere near as angry as he was. This was as angry as I’d ever seen him, and I was starting to think he might actually force me to give her up without even giving her a chance. Then that spiraled into me imagining my reaction to him kicking our new baby pig out into the cold, heartless world, and I was suddenly creating scenarios that got worse and worse.

  But the worst part of it all was the one thing Derek kept saying over and over: “It’s not ‘the pig.’ It’s how you did it and that you did it behind my back.” It was the whole “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed” thing, except he was mad and disappointed and he had a right to both of those feelings. It was brutal. I knew I was wrong and I felt awful about it, but I tried to maintain at least a glimmer of hope that I could smooth things over. I loved Derek and I loved our life together, and I believed that once he got over the shock and annoyance of the initial deception, he’d eventually come around.

  And then in the midst of all the drama and the fighting, maybe a week or so later, Derek fell in love. He was head over heels for a pig, of all things, experiencing all the firsts you have with a new pet.

  Back when I had sprung Delores on Derek, he refused to give her a “real” name at first. In the same way, he started off referring to the pig as Kijiji. He wasn’t going to give a name to this animal we weren’t keeping (or so he thought). But two weeks in, he stopped calling her Kijiji, and we gave her a real name. I’m not sure why we chose it, but we wanted a name for a wise old soul, and “Esther” felt right. And she responded to it well, so it stuck.

  I knew Derek would fall in love with Esther. He talks a good game, but he’s really a softie. And come on, who wouldn’t love Esther? Here was this two-pound little wiggler with what we could already tell was a giant personality. Thankfully, she was a mini pig and wouldn’t grow that big.

  At least that’s what we thought. Wow, were we naïve.

  Okay, I was naïve.

  But in hindsight, I’m glad we didn’t know. I don’t think we would have kept her if we’d had any idea what was in store for us. For starters, we were taking on a task that didn’t follow any kind of rulebook. I mean, you won’t happen upon Raising Commercial Pigs in Your House for Dummies in your local Barnes & Noble, because it doesn’t exist. With good reason. There’s nothing simple about having a pet pig—it’s not like having a “normal” domestic pet, or even a child. We had no idea about the complexities of “piggy-proofing” a house (pigs are far more ingenious than you’d ever expect) or how to find a pig sitter when we needed to travel. It’s pretty easy to ask someone to check on the cats every day or so or to put dogs in a kennel. But there isn’t a ready chain of piggy play centers one can rely on in a pinch. And don’t even get me started on pigs’ personalities and piggy mood swings (or PMS!).

  If someone had told me up front all the life changes that were coming, I might have thrown my arms in the air and said, Forget it! But Esther had us under a spell. We fell more in love with her every day, so every time something came up, we found a way to deal with it (or justify the things we couldn’t change) and just carried on. Once we fell for her, that was that: E
sther was part of the family.

  It’s a funny thing how the official decision was made. We were having dinner one night and Derek just started talking about things that were much more long-term sounding than anything we’d ever discussed: “Where will her litter go? Where should we build her a pen?” These things definitely sounded permanent. You don’t “build a pen” for someone you’re getting rid of. That’s when I started beaming inside. That’s when I knew he was really on board.

  “So we’re keeping her?” I asked with a big dumb smile on my face, but I had my answer, and I was ecstatic.

  Of course, even when we all thought Esther was a mini pig, our parents were entirely confused by the situation. Derek’s parents had had to come around to our being a couple, and now this family of hunters and farmers were supposed to accept that we were living with a pig? As a pet?

  They thought we were insane. Pigs are food! Pigs are dirty! (In truth, she’s not really dirty—she actually smells pretty amazing.)

  They tried to be supportive, but they really didn’t get it at all. Derek’s family said things like, Grandma can’t believe you have a pig and Grandpa is rolling in his grave that you have a pig in the house.

  I can’t pretend this didn’t sting a little at first. Life presents enough challenges without having to worry about whether you have the support of your families. I tried really hard to get the approval of Derek’s parents, and I know their opinion meant a lot to Derek whether he showed it or not. More than once I wanted to talk to Derek about it, to push him. To get him to stand up for us and defend what we were doing. But I never did. Looking at the big picture, Derek’s family had come such a long way and accepted so many things about us—like the fact that we were gay—that I just accepted this would take more time. And I had to admit that it was easy to see why people would think we were crazy. We let them say what they wanted. We knew they’d eventually come around.