When I say ‘ kissy, kissy’, they offer up their snouts
THe most devoted of partners, they did everything together, from eating their breakfast in the morning to spooning when they snuggled up in bed at night.
At times she could be a prima donna, but he was the perfect gentleman. If she couldn’t be bothered to go for a walk, then he wouldn’t go either, staying loyally by her side and keeping her company no matter what.
It was the perfect romance. Although that’s maybe not the right word, because this relationship was the one enjoyed by my pet pigs, Peter and Paprika, two of the three full- size porkers given the run of my house near Cobham in surrey.
Anyone who doubts that pigs are both highly intelligent and deeply emotional creatures should have seen Peter’s grief when our darling Paprika died unexpectedly last week.
At first, he didn’t seem to know what had happened when I found her motionless and cold in her bed with one of her little front legs bent up slightly, as it always was when she slept. But when I threw my arms around her and started sobbing, Peter began crying, too — a heart-rending, high-pitched whine that went on and on.
The local vet couldn’t collect Paprika until the next day and Peter continued to whimper all night, until finally I found him fast asleep, curled up around her.
The next morning, he refused to eat and when I tried to coax him out of his bed to go for a walk, he nuzzled Paprika snout-to-snout, as pigs do.
When she didn’t respond, he started nudging her face and body as if to say, ‘ Come on Paprika, it’s time to get up’ until he finally seemed to accept that his beloved companion had died.
I’ve since cried as many tears for Peter as I have for myself, but I’m brokenhearted, too. The pigs have become as much a part of my life as any of my other cherished pets. They wander freely in and out of the house and when I say ‘kissy, kissy’, they offer up their snouts to touch and bump my nose. SomeTImes
I return from a day out and realise I still have mud on my face from when I greeted the pigs that morning. But hygiene is something you never have to worry about. They do their business as far away as possible from their living quarters and are generally very clean animals. Although they may mischievously knock over the occasional waste bin or lamp, or root through my handbag, they are generally wellbehaved around the house and have learned many of the tricks I taught my dogs.
These include ‘sit’, ‘give paw’ ( or trotter, in their case) and their favourite, ‘ tickle tummy’, rolling on their backs with their legs in the air in anticipation.
The one thing they can’t do is negotiate stairs: they are very good at going up but not at getting back down. This caused quite a problem when George, the youngest of the three, decided to have a little snoot around my bedroom, then found himself trapped on the landing.
even if you are strong enough to pick up a pig weighing more than 7st, it’s hard to know what to grab on to. But my then housekeeper and I hit on a solution, luring him into a big dog basket with his favourite treat of bananas and staggering downstairs under the load.
It wasn’t easy, but he seemed grateful for the lift, trotting off with his tail wagging from side to side, as sure a sign of happiness in pigs as in dogs.
I have since installed a child gate to piggy-proof the house — but if it wasn’t for the stairs, I’d actually be quite happy to let George onto my bed, providing I’d cleaned his trotters first. He is very cuddly, although he does snore incredibly loudly, which disturbs visitors staying in the guest room above the kitchen where he sleeps.
The pigs didn’t come into my life until after my divorce from my second husband, the TV presenter Chris Tarrant, in 2008. But I’d wanted pigs even while we were still together.
early in 2006 we’d lost our beloved golden labrador, Bimbo, who was such an exceptional character that it seemed disloyal to replace her with another dog.
Pigs seemed an acceptable alternative but there was no chance of getting even the miniature ‘teacup’ variety I had my eye on because, unlike me, Chris was never much of an animal-lover and I practically had to smuggle new pets into our house. my four children call me Dr Dolittle. When they were younger, I’d collect them from school and tell them ‘ look on the back seat’ and there would be a rabbit or some other furry little creature I’d taken in.
‘ You never know what mum’s going to come home with next,’ they used to say. And despite my heartbreak over Bimbo, I’d soon given in and got a rescue dog — a black labrador that we named Barclay.
over the years, my menagerie has also included a British bulldog named Colossus, a saluki called suki, two horses, two rabbits, two guinea-pigs, three cats, three ducks, two pet quails, 18 chickens and Jackie the goldfish. Fortunately, there was plenty of space for them all here and, I decided, some pigs too.
In 2013, I heard about some piglets born on a nearby smallholding. I only went to have a look but the inevitable happened and I fell in love with Peter. And because pigs are friendly creatures that need companionship, I also took pity on his little sister, the runt of the litter, and took her home, too.
I have always gone for the underdog — I once owned a three-legged rabbit I named Tripod — but I knew from the start that, as the smallest and weakest piglet, there was a very high risk of Lois, as I called her, dying young. And, sadly, so it turned out.
The house was being renovated at the time and there was no way the pigs could live indoors, so I installed Peter and Lois in a pig ark — a purpose-built pig shed — in the garden.
Lois was a particularly feisty little character, so happy and smiley (yes, I really do believe pigs smile) and she always rushed out to greet me at feeding time. But one day, when she was about a year old, I found her in her bed at the back, struggling to get up. she died in my arms soon afterwards.
With Lois suddenly gone from his life, Peter became very depressed, this crumpled little barrel on legs. Normally, he would play with my dog Barclay, shuffling a ball around the garden with his snout, but he had no enthusiasm for that or anything else.
I cosseted him, spending as much time with him as possible and even asking the local charity shop for any bedding they couldn’t sell to give him a bit of extra comfort. But I knew he was desperately missing Lois, so finally I decided he should have an arranged marriage and set about finding him a wife. PAPrIkA,
aged about five at the time, came from a local petting farm and I happened to get in touch with them on the day before she was due to be sent for slaughter, so I literally saved her bacon. she was cream-coloured and I hoped Peter might like this beautiful blonde.
I had been warned that pig relationships are very violent for the first three days. sure enough, there were frequent bloody attacks and on the first night I discovered that Paprika had ousted Peter from the ark, Lady muck reclining in luxury while he had to bed down under the stars.
Fortunately, everything did change on the third day. From then on they were inseparable.
Not long after I got Paprika, a group of celebrities including miranda richardson, richard e. Grant and Jamie oliver spoke out in support of the Turn Your Nose Up campaign to highlight the plight of pigs in intensive rearing units.
Cruelty to any farmed animal is abhorrent. Although I’m a meat-eater myself and enjoy bacon and pork as much as the next carnivore, this struck a chord, knowing what kind, caring and sensitive creatures pigs are.
People talk about ‘ piggy eyes’ as a bad thing. But if you really look into a pig’s eyes,