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| Waiting for treats at the back door - 2013 |
Izzy the Pig
I am sitting in a mud-filled pen, strewn with straw in
various stages of decay. The sun filters
through the alder leaves above me, being swayed gently by an early Fall
breeze. A plane rumbles off in the
distance, a few cars rush to catch the next ferry off the island, and I am
listening to the belabored breathing of one of my most beloved old friends – my
pot-belly pig Isabel. She is elderly and
impossibly fat; she can no longer move any further than a few feet forward and
a few feet back. She has been greeting
me with friendly grunts every day when I have called to her on my way out to
her pen, the one that has not had the gate on it closed for most of the 15
years that this wonderful being has been in our lives.
I’ve always said that Izzy the pig served no useful purpose except
to make me laugh every day, which was enough as it turned out, although it
would have been nice if we could have persuaded her to plough where we needed
her to rather than exactly where she wanted to.
But that laugh every day when I would call to her from across the yard,
and I could see her huge body heaving in reply with a friendly grunt…..that was
worth every bit of expensive ‘all-breed’ animal food or left over birthday
cake.
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| A nap on a sunny afternoon - 2012 |
Come to think of it – that’s the other useful purpose she serves –
that leftover food that you can’t face using but it’s too good to throw away,
or the cheap beer that someone left from a party months ago – pigs are great
for easing one’s conscious about the guilt of wasting food.
And now she is immobile, and uncomfortable. And if it’s true that you become more
yourself at the end of your life, it proves that under that sometimes crabby,
short-tempered demeanor that was so often in evidence, she has actually proven
to be a sweet, humble and appreciative character. She audibly encourages the belly rubs and mud
baths she receives (like a sponge bath, but with mud!) and sighs with
appreciation when you scratch her tummy with a stick.
As she lies before me, breathing heavily, her sweet face
poking out from her house, resting on a pillow of straw that she has carefully
place just so, her fluffy ears twitching in her sleep, and her huge belly
shuddering with each breath, I am amazed at the curiousity and delight and love
she has brought into so many people’s lives.
The number of people I’ve run into over the years who have asked after
her, even if they had only met me once or twice and the subject of my pig had
come up (it often does, especially when you are at an event that involves food
being thrown away that I know would be so welcomed at my house, even all mixed
together in a big mash).
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| A mud blanket on a hot day |
As I watch her sleeping I feel a mild sense of panic. There seems to be so much more I could have
learned from her if I’d taken the time to listen and be present, which is
exactly where I have found myself more and more moved to be over the past few
weeks – in the present moment, where the
key to all life is said to lie, even when it is in a smelly, uncomfortable pig
pen with an ancient sow I recognize as an incredibly ugly specimen in most
people’s eyes but to me she is a thing of unequivocal beauty. A magnificent being who is intelligent,
intuitive, patient (and often impatient), sensitive and full of wisdom. I also notice how the writing on the laptop in
this unusual setting flows like the smooth spaces in between Izzy’s labored
breaths. Is it because she is passing
on? Or because it is only at this point
I have discovered that she could have been my muse all along?
I think of the stories of her life and the antics she got up
to and I realize that there may well be a story or two of her life that needs
to be told, about mischievous rebellions and chaos caused, but also of
unconditional love, good humour and extraordinary intelligence. And that laugh every day will still be there…
just thinking of her will do the trick.
No doubt she is enjoying a great big mud
bath somewhere, with a young, agile body in which to roll around. She had a special kind of spirit that was in
evidence right to the end.
Thanks for the memories Izzy. You will be in our hearts forever…
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| Staying cool... |
