By Pam Ahern

Two years ago I took on the guardianship of my first piglet, Edgar Alan Pig, at my property at Willowmavin in Victoria. From that moment onwards I was firmly besotted with pigs so I welcomed the opportunity to provide sanctuary for a companion for Edgar.

Bella had been reprieved from an intensive piggery about 8 weeks prior to Christmas to spearhead Animals Australia’s SaveBabe.com campaign, highlighting the plight of her mother and sisters in the intensive farming industry. Into Bella’s shadow had come several prominent celebrities, but none could possibly hope to shine as bright as Bella. Having more than admirably fulfilled her role as ‘Ambassador For Pigs’, Bella had secured her future. No sow stall would ever confine this free spirit (and what a free spirit I was to soon learn).

Christmas Eve saw mum and I arrive home from Melbourne with Bella and E.T. (one of my many trusty canines with whom I share my home). They were both exhausted from playing together in the Animals Australia office and had slept all the way (read replenishing their energy reserves!!).

When I took Bella to meet Edgar, he appeared disinterested at first glance and ambled off to eat grass. Bella busied herself following me and investigating, announcing to all and sundry her arrival before managing to fall in the water trough. She most ungratefully accepted being ‘rescued’ from her first adventure. Alerted, Edgar started towards us (running and vocalising). I headed for the stables to put Bella down, but she began really squealing, I mean ‘someone is killing a pig’ squealing (which I was also to learn was true Bella fashion). Meantime Edgar was charging towards me grunting loudly with all the chivalry a 300kg pig can muster after his afternoon siesta.

Edgar must have thought I was harming Bella. I had never seen him behave like this.
Noting his rather large tusks, I cursed myself for not having them removed as I ran to the stables, with Bella alerting all those on the other side of the globe to her plight in the arms of her cruel oppressor. Once inside and safely on the ground Bella stopped and I was able to assure Edgar all was well.

My knowledge of pig-training techniques told me that I should not have put Bella down until she stopped vocalising, but making the 100-metre dash with a wiggling, giggling piglet had left me somewhat exhausted and forgetting my pig 1-0-1 lessons. I performed much better with my efforts to train Bella to sit, and on lead-work later in the day. Again I had the joy of enhancing my dexterity by working on the computer with a piglet dreaming in my arms and reminding me that my lap was somewhat undersized, something I had already discovered
while rearing the young Edgar.

As days went by together and I watched Bella’s antics, a new and appropriate title for this little ‘princess’ who embraced every aspect of life with confidence and exuberance became plain - ‘Miss Pompy Do’. Somewhere in between, ‘Pompy’ stuck. Pompy progressed from sleeping in her crate in my bedroom rather quickly (read thankfully). I thought pig snoring was something unique to Edgar, how clearly wrong I was.

Pompy’s room is now a stable between horses Mr Sox and Will.. My apologies to them both for the snoring piglet. She quickly established that straw is for burying oneself in. I don’t know how many times I tried to capture on video the joy of witnessing a piglet emerging from what appears to be an innocuous looking pile of straw. Perhaps one day I will be able to relay this delight. Further confirmation of my belief that anyone who suffers depression should get a pig!

Pompy’s day begins with Weetbix and walks. She is very good and doesn't mess in her stable unless absolutely necessary. Like most young girls her room is a mess, littered with playthings.

She loves to play with gum tree branches (just like Edgar does), much to the disdain of the horse in the stable next to her. Oh, and tummy rubs, yep, keep them coming! Pompy has developed a weird ritual, rub her under her chin she goes all trance-like and collapses. Strange girl! She also likes running after her plastic ball and doing the ‘Pompy Dance’ (Edgar had one in his more active years also. Today his Edgar Dance consists of spinning his tail and twisting his head. I guess the thought is still there..).

Feeding the horses in the morning is always fun for Pompy as she tells one-and-all her view of the world, which as you can imagine is always the correct one!

I have learnt so much about pigs since sharing my life with them. They love to vocalise and are indeed quite gregarious. One of Pompy’s favourite games is to run through the long grass, which is much taller than her. Parting the grass, she triumphantly emerges, bursting forth onto the world to save the day, well at least make it back to the stables in time for a snack. This game is aptly called ‘Pompy plays Daktari’.

More tummy rubs, then the rest of the morning lazing in a small day yard. Rhett, the cat who was besotted with young Edgar, has also taken a fancy to Pompy. He is often found sitting on her fence or even in her kennel with her with copious quantities of pig saliva on him, a legacy to what the two of them have been up to.

Pompy has also discovered the joys of mud. Pam has also discovered the angst of removing mud from a mud-drenched pig. Pompy, like Edgar, has her own personal wallow. Personal for the only reason no-one else would be seen dead in the darn thing. Pompy
relishes in diving snout first, closing her eyes, then belly-flopping into her wallow. Bonus points seem to be given for the amount of mud you can splash on those around you.

Pompy has another favourite game, it is called ‘guess this noise’. It goes like this. While Pam is working in the stables doing horse things (humpff!!), Pompy amuses herself by making things make a noise. As Pam is not present she has to guess what made the noise to determine how fast she has to run to address what Pompy has done. Get it! Fun for Bella, but not so for Pam.

Pompy now spends some of her time in the bigger yard which means she can hone in on her rooting skills, These are not quite as sharp as Edgar Alan's at this stage. She is also working out which type of grass best suits her. She is showing a liking for one of Edgar's personal favourites "hog weed". However, like Edgar, Pompy’s personal favourite treat is three fruits muesli bars.

Life for Pompy is all about Pompy. You’ve probably guessed this by now! Rub my tummy, let’s run, rub my tummy, let’s run. Rub my tummy. Get the picture? On hot days when Pompy sees fit, she merrily trots off to her wallow. As I watch her cute little “tush” trot away from me you can almost hear her singing. “Miss Pompy Do Da is going to her wallow now”. Each day I become even more enraptured with her.

Animal behaviouralist Sharon Holden has been both instrumental and inspirational in the raising of Pompy. I have learnt much from Sharon, none the least being the principals of compassionate training. Traditionally humans have taught animals by wrongly assuming animals know our language, clearly they do not.

This has resulted in cruel methods being used: e.g. “Sit Rover” accompanied by a severe jolt on the leash, jerking the animals’ windpipe. The confused animal has no idea what is going on. A few more attempts, with neither enjoying the experience, usually follows with the human resorting to pushing the animal’s rump to the ground. Bonds of trust clearly don’t emerge and it is a testament to the animal’s gentle spirit that some eventually catch on.

Sharon advocates a much more visionary and just method of training that works on the principle that the animal has no knowledge of the English language but is motivated by food rewards. Taking a reward (treat) in one hand so the animal can sniff it, finding it attractive, the hand gradually moves towards the rear of the animal, causing the animal to tilt its head backward. Its natural movement sees its rump drop to the ground.

The good behaviour is rewarded and repeated. Shaping behaviour has commenced, proving to be a rewarding experience for all. Before long the connection is made and the animal will sit, recognising the command. Training being about a relationship, not just getting the animal to behave.

Pompy is learning new concepts all the time now, such as “don’t go there boundaries”. One such instance happened quite by accident. Pompy was just hanging out doing Pompy things when all of a sudden she came charging towards me screaming, “save me, save me”. (I am getting much better at deciphering pig, it certainly is not all grunts to me now). I went to see the source of her terror.

One Edgar Alan Pig had made the journey from his day-yard and was busily devouring the hoof dressing for the horses feet and intruded on Edgar’s little feast. He quickly explained to Pompy the boundary bit which clearly says “one does not intrude when one is having naughty treats!”. She now gives Edgar a wide berth when they are together. Who says pigs are not quick learners!!

It is difficult not to anthropomorphise when one talks about pigs, and while our opponents will deride such actions as sentimental dribble, anyone who experiences life with a pig will know that they have a range of emotions similar to our own.

 

Life with Pompy and Edgar Alan continues to not only remind me of how intelligent, sensitive and gregarious pigs are, but propels me to do all I can to awaken others to the suffering these gentle and innocent animals endure just for peoples dietary preference for their flesh.

Each night as I cradle Edgar’s head in my lap or rub Pompy’s tummy I wonder how can we have got it so wrong. No doubt my days with Pompy and Edgar Alan will continue to be rich and full, for all of us, as we come to more of an understanding of the other’s world, an experience I am truly fortunate to live.

You can visit Pompy, Pam and Edgar at Edgar's Mission.