Cute piglet now his 50-pound pet project

It has been said that owning a pet pig is like raising a child through the terrible twos, except that a pig never outgrows them.

Inquisitive, pleasantly noisy, constantly hungry and eager to root into the least desirable locations of a suburban home, these cute little guys should come with a warning label.

Our little porcine friend, now 10 months old, was an impulse buy from a Fayette County farm. One of my daughters was so overwhelmed upon seeing the piggy, she almost cried. She had always wanted one, she said.

Having allergies, I grew up without cuddly pets, in homes where even the carpet was removed at the pediatrician’s suggestion.

So as an adult, aiming to compensate, I have tolerated pets: cats, a dog, a hedgehog, rats, turtles and various other critters.

A piglet is one of life’s cutest creatures, a sweet armful of cuddly warmth. But they grow — along with their appetites,

tempers and tusks.

Our little Ruby is now a robust 50 pounds. And we’re not sure how big she will get. I consider her an experiment that way, like a barnyard science project.

Nothing in our Worthington home has yet been seriously damaged. Nor have our other pets been injured. And pigs are clean and quick to use a litter box. So it’s working out — so far.

There are upsides. Ruby’s cylindrical snout scours the floors for crumbs better than a Roomba. And she will seek out clutter with precision.

Shoes, books or toys Ruby the pig

concealed behind a table quickly are scattered. Need help to declutter? Get a pig.

Ruby and I have found long-lost sunglasses, power cords and keys. It’s her mission. The challenge is stopping her from chewing them.

Pigs chew with abandon.

Sometimes, they will chew when they’re asleep. Perhaps that will end when the tusks fully develop. It’s part of the science project.

Worthington, like most towns, allows pigs as pets. The pigpen is a fenced-in

portion of the porch. And she sleeps inside.

Both of us are learning, I think.

When Ruby found a set of oil paints, she gnawed it wildly. I saw the mess and chased her. If you encounter a pig in your home with a jaw-full of Van Dyke Brown, don’t chase her into a living room with white carpet. Same goes for glitter paint.

A pig is considered one of nature’s smartest creatures, not far behind crows, elephants and dolphins, none of which make great house pets. Ruby won’t sit and talk politics with you, but she is a good listener. And her wide array of vocalizations, from delightful squeals to frenetic barks, carry nuanced messages.

Mealtime is seared in a

pig’s memory: a bowl of oats and grain twice a day. Late by even 15 minutes and her “squee!” will remind.

Although her head hangs heavy to the floor, she is an energized data collector. At the slight crackle of a snack bag, she will come running, nostrils flared and ears twitching.

Unlike our cat, who magically appears on tabletops and ledges, the pig slings her heft like a bag of potatoes.

Ruby, and I suspect all pet pigs, are a challenge. But with patience and understanding, they also are rewarding, kind of like a 2-year-old.