by Matt Whyman
Via social media, where she regularly unloaded about life under siege from swine, Emma had connected with a friendly organic sheep farmer in the north of the country. In talking to him, it turned out he was looking for two pigs to turn the soil in an epic way. In an earlier agricultural age, so he told us, pigs were regularly employed to clear rough ground and undergrowth. In his view, they did a more thorough job than machinery, and were more rewarding too. With this in mind, the farmer had plans to grow what he called medicinal fields for his flock, in which sheep could graze on selected grasses and plants that were of specific benefit to their health. It was, in our view, the perfect outcome. Butch and Roxi would have more space than we could ever give them, and an opportunity to provide a useful service rather than racking up repair bills. But first, we had to break it to the family.
Throughout my time as a pig-keeper, I think our kids learned to curse from me. Emma wasn’t far behind on the bad language whenever the sound of fence panels could be heard splintering in the enclosure, or that time she returned, having slipped face down in the slurry. For all the grief they caused us, however, the children enjoyed the sunny side of pig-keeping. They would drift down to spend time with Butch and Roxi, and I’ve no doubt they provided a dependable listening ear. So it was no surprise that they became emotional as I steered the pigs out of the wreckage of their enclosure towards the waiting transport. Emma cried with them, but in view of where they were heading nobody was distraught.
Once everyone had said their farewells, I secured the rear doors of the equine trailer we had borrowed for the day, along with the four-by-four I needed to tow it, and set off with mixed emotions. It was a strange feeling as I drove out into the early light. I felt a huge sense of relief all the way there, and an increasing dread.
Butch and Roxi looked delighted by their new pig ark, and the attention from the farmer and his partner, while the sprawling moorland paddock allocated to them was carpeted in grass and reeds. I knew they would be happy there, and left without making a fuss of them. In our time together, I had come to believe that pigs can pick up on how we’re feeling. Just then, despite my cheery farewells with the farmer, I didn’t want them to see through me. Butch and Roxi hadn’t just become a part of my life, they had formed the axis around which everything revolved. It wasn’t sustainable, but I knew that for some time I would be adrift without them. When I finally returned home that night, a little bit of me expected to find them waiting at the back door with a look that questioned why I had taken so long. I even looked around before stepping inside, but they had gone.
If the children remembered anything about that chaotic time, it wasn’t the very short period when they could’ve scooped up Butch and Roxi with one hand. Hopefully, what stuck with them was the effort their parents made to give two maxed-out minibeasts a happy home. Like us, they have also acquired a soft spot for pigs, but that goes no further than remarking on them when passing a farm or if one crops up on TV. The farmer’s partner was great at keeping us updated, and I would show the family any pictures she sent of the pigs thriving in their new home. I wasn’t sure what to make of the photograph of Butch and Roxi rooting up a field amid a flock of indignant sheep, but we all agreed it was beautifully foregrounded by the smashed remains of a drystone wall.
I still keep chickens at the foot of the garden. They poke and scratch about in the weeds, darting at bugs and waltzing with each other in their own special way, but we all still call it the pig enclosure. Every time I visit them, and see the sleeping quarters at the back of the shed that I now use as storage, I think about those years when a sow and a boar uprooted our lives. It’s very quiet down there, a whole lot more peaceful, and frankly, just not the same without them.
Acknowledgements
I should like to thank my editor, Vicky Eribo, for her light touch with the metaphorical pig board. She has guided and steered this book in such a way that I feel like I got there on my own, though in truth I would’ve been lost without her. I am also very grateful to the entire team at HarperCollins for their support and enthusiasm as well as Philippa Milnes-Smith and all at LAW. My thanks also to Emma, Graham for the help and advice when we needed it and also Butch and Roxi, of course.
Finally, I would like to thank Wendy Scudamore and Professor Michael Mendl for all the qualities embodied in their wonderful contributions to this book, but above all for being great fun. Not only did they give their time, insight and experience into the world of pigs, but both proved to be fascinating, funny, charming and wise. I am grateful to Wendy for parking her fine pig transport business in order to bring me up to speed, and to Professor Mendl for showing me that academic life can be really quite cool. I am also mindful that his work in the field of pig cognition is based on rigorous investigation, and wish to recognise the following work as central to his findings: Mendl, M., Held, S. and Byrne, R. W. (2010): Current Biology 20, R796-798; Held, S., Cooper, J. J. and Mendl, M. (2009): ‘Advances in the study of cognition, behavioural priorities and emotions’, pp. 47–94 in The Welfare of Pigs, ed. J. N. Marchant-Forde (Springer).
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