I Got A “Mini Pig” And It Was A Terrible Idea 

It was mid July and 20 year old me was working a brand ambassador event at a county fair . Our client was Chevrolet and we were giving away free Chevy crap in return for getting surveys from drivers. I was so fucking bored, per usual, and spent my very long break browsing the fattening food and animals. Across an open area, behind a small ferris wheel, I saw a small sign outside of a barn that forever changed my life: “$100 Mini Potbelly Pigs”.  You know the super sly looking emoji smiley? That one that says “a lil’ naughty”? That’s how I looked when I got the bright idea to bring one back to my dad’s suburban home.

Once I got off work, I approached the man selling the the pigs and asked for the smallest one. That was my first mistake. This unpleasant man had to wrangle an equally unfriendly pig from the back of the herd (herd?) of piglets. The pig screamed and squirmed and eventually made it to the back seat of my car, but not after jumping thru the trunk of my Acura hatchback and having to be chased by me, the man, and 20 kids across the fairgrounds.

Did you know that pigs can use litter boxes? They do. At the time the pig’s name was Maple (it changed later to simply PigPig). I bought Maple, my little black piglet, a litterbox. I also bought Maple a harness but it did not go well. See, Maple didn’t want to be a house-pig. In addition to that, Maple was pretty evil.

Let me take you back to 1996.  I had a pink shelf on the wall with a collection of pig figurines. Typing this out actually makes me realize how weird that is, but I swear it was my mom who encouraged this hobby. Pigs were my favorite animals, that’s why I mention that. Piglets are easily one of the most adorable of all the baby animals. A pig as a pet was literally a dream come true for me and I use that as an excuse for my lack of judgement in this whole situation.

Did I mention that my dad didn’t know I had the pig? Well, he didn’t until one day he chased the pig around the basement thinking it was a rat. Lucky for me, after that everything was cool because my dad really came to enjoy PigPig and they became great friends. “He’s just a shy pig. That’s why he was in the back of the group. He has emotional problems,” my dad said as he stood up for PigPig after he ejaculated so many times into my dad’s living room chair that it started to smell and had to get thrown out. No, he was pretty fucking evil.

PigPig was only nice for one activity: feeding time. He was very manipulative and would put on an adorable nice-pig act whenever we had food. He would shake his little curly tail and come within one foot of you so you could rub his head, which otherwise he’d never allow. I fed him anything he wanted to try to buy his love. One time I accidentally fed him ham by habit and I felt terrible. After all, I loved him, even if he was such a little shit.

All of the YouTube videos always show happy house-pigs. They love affection from their owners and hangin’ with the family. PigPig was not like those pigs. He ate our speakers. He ate our houseplants. He ate our carpet. He ate the stuffing from pillows. He ate literally everything. He’d escape and we’d have to chase him around the neighborhood. He would scream at the top of his lungs if you tried to pet or hold him. He hated us. But, none of thos things compare to the fact that he fucked my dad’s chair. It really all just comes back to that (by the way, pig penis’s are one of the strangest, look it up, they look like cork screws).

Anyhow, the realization that getting a pig was a terrible idea, the realization that hit you when reading the first paragraph of this story (or even perhaps just the title), finally sets in for me at this point in time. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t George Clooney. I couldn’t afford to drop 10k on a damn mini pig.  I settled for some farmer selling piglets at a fair and bought him a litterbox. I am a dumbass.

This is where the the story ends. We could not keep PigPig.  My boyfriend cornered PigPig after, I kid you not, having to prepare himself with a conversation (with himself) that went “you are smarter than him, he’s just a pig, it’s mind over matter.” We somehow managed to to get PigPig to a local shelter that had a petting zoo with barn animals. He probably isn’t the biggest hit as he totally hates people, but at least there’s plenty of hay bails for him to hump.

PigPig, if you’re reading, I wish it could have all worked out. Pigs are still my favorite animals. I love you, still.

 

 

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