It’s not exactly a state secret that I love pigs. One of my dreams when I moved to my ranchette in Chatsworth, was that I would have a porcine. I love almost everything about pigs. They are smart, adorable and surprisingly clean.

 I even went so far as to find a breeder for Kune Kunes.

My dreams crashed into reality when my brother’s rescue pig was attacked in his yard by his own dogs, aided and abetted by a neighbor’s dog. The pig was so badly injured that it had to be euthanized.

Pigs don’t have a lot of defenses. Some pet pigs have tusks and they are sharp. But most people keep them clipped so handlers and other pigs don’t get stabbed.

Pigs also scream when they are angry and upset. This sounds trivial, but the sound can reach up to 115 decibels which is three decibels less than a supersonic plane.  So their voice is somewhat effective in keeping them safe. At least from humans.

The sound is god awful, but it won’t dissuade a real determined predator. Mostly pigs screech to complain about pushed around, like when they are getting shots, or their feet and tusks trimmed.

Basically domestic pigs are very vulnerable to predators..

There is a special horror, guilt and lingering PTSD that occurs when one of your pets kills another. A newly rescued dog of mine murdered my feral kitten. I’ve never gotten over it, and will do everything in my power from having it happen again.

I have three Great Danes. Great Danes were originally bred to hunt boar. That’s the reason that their ears were cropped. Natural floppy ears are easier for hogs to stab with tusks.

All of my Great Danes have floppy ears and not one of them has a prey drive. Most of the time they can’t find a hot dog unless it is right in front of their noses and I point it out.

Recently Pen discovered a cricket in the house and was horrified and confounded to discover that every time she got near it, it leaped away. She chased it around my room for ten minutes before Tuff, the foster Brittany stepped in squished in mere seconds.

Still, I wasn’t going to take any chances. I put my piggy dreams in the rearview mirror.

Then the pandemic hit. One of my friends who runs a animal rescue got a call about a potbellied pig.  The poor thing had been dumped in a vacant lot. This happens more than you can imagine.

Potbellied pigs are not small. Adults are usually between 100 and 150 pounds. They are called ‘mini pigs” because normal domestic pigs can easily top 1000 pounds. In comparison, they are downright dainty.

In reality though, no matter what someone tells you, there is no such thing as a “micro-pig.” Tiny pigs are either piglets, or have been starved to keep them small.

That’s why, when potbellied pigs turn into normal hogs, bad owners get rid of them. Which is probably how Pepe ended up abandoned in an empty yard. For months he survived on scraps tossed over the fence by concerned neighbors. Eventually someone caught him and brought to the East Valley Shelter. Once there, he attracted the attention of a caring volunteer, who contacted my friend.

It is also no secret that during the best of times the LA Shelter system is broken. If possible, it was even worse during the pandemic.

The shelters were closed to the public. If you wanted a pet you had to choose from their website, make an appointment and commit to taking it. You couldn’t look around, temperament test them or meet it in person to see if it was a good fit. (Is it any wonder that a huge percentage of those animals have been returned? But I digress.)

Given that, it’s no surprise that no one even bothered to list the Pepe the pig on the shelter website. (Or a horse they had during that time, but once again, I digress.)

About this time, Tracy ,the owner of the ranch where I keep my horse, mentioned that she too, liked pigs. She had recently adopted three abused mini horses and three abandoned sheep and had a small flock of chickens. Tracy is my kind of person.

Naturally I put her in touch with the rescue.

Because the shelter was closed to the public, Tracy couldn’t just walk in and meet Pepe. But with a little help from the volunteer working on the inside, the Tracy was smuggled in, a la James Bond, and met Pepe.

He was a mess. His feet were so overgrown he could barely walk. His terrible diet meant his coat and skin were a wreck. His tusks were long and fat rolls covered his eyes.

It was love, or empathy at first sight. Pepe arrived at the ranch the next day.

He was quickly installed in an in-and-out stall bedded with straw located next to the goats.  A veterinarian specializing in pigs came out. Pepe’s feet and tusks were trimmed and he was put on a pig appropriate diet. Pepe knew he was safe. You could literally leave his pen open and he wouldn’t leave. He had found his home.

I began to visit him every day. Pepe was originally quite shy, and scared. But it didn’t take long before he would waddle out of his newly built house inside the stall when I called him.

One of his favorite activities is to get forked. Forking is a thing with pigs. If you want a pig to swoon and grunt with pleasure, take a fork and run it up and down their backs.

Seriously.

It took about a week for me to teach Pepe to sit for a peppermint. (I had permission to give him the snack – I didn’t want him to go off his diet.)  I admit that he does get a little pushy if I don’t give him as many mints as he wants. And there is no limit to how many mints he would like.

Not long after Pepe’s arrival, the Tracy rescued two more pigs. First came Don Julio. He is about Pepe’s size and coloring, but younger and in better condition. He does not like peppermints, but will follow you to the end of the earth for a cheerio.

The youngest member of the pack is Taco. She was raised as a house pig, but when she started growing, as all potbellied pigs do, the owners dumped her. Tracy took her in, spayed her and added Taco to the group. Taco was quite young when she arrived and has since doubled in size. I still call her the little pig.

The pigs now share a double in-and-out with the goats and a flock of chickens. They have fans to keep them cool in the summer. They used to have a wadding pool, but these pigs don’t like water. Go figure.

Now when I yell “Piggie, piggie, piggie” all of them come running. Okay, Pepe isn’t so young anymore, so he doesn’t run. But he always wakes up from his nap and meanders his way over to me.

I love them all. But my heart belongs to Pepe.