It’s common enough knowledge, even among non-farmers, that pigs are pretty clever. Experts tell us they can play video games, outsmart dogs and even chimps, and, despite popular myths, are the cleanest animals in the barnyard.
Not news to me. You grow up on a hog farm, it doesn’t take long to notice your inhabitants can be social and mischievous. And tack sharp. I have proof.
But First, Understand the Setting
To appreciate the exact proof, you first need to appreciate the normal cycle of life for a Momma Pig. After her latest litter of piglets has been weaned, the poor thing is worn out. She’s skinny. She’s tired. She deserves a rest. So she’s invited to a special, small feeding lot where the feed troughs are always full, and water is only a few paces away. She’s got a few of her fellow momma pigs to hang out with. It’s a cozy setup.
In the middle of the particular feeding lot where our drama takes place, there was a shed like the one pictured here, from a family photo circa 1970. The actual shed in this story had three sides, not two. But very much like the one pictured, it consisted of sturdy oak 1-by-6s nailed up horizontally on three sides. A corrugated tin roof provided shade. Over time, the boards in these sheds warp and crack, but they serve to keep out the searing summer sun and the ragged winter wind.
Once Momma Pig has regained weight and strength, and, uh, well, after conjugal visits with Poppa Pig, she’s ready to leave the feeding lot and make the journey to a field where meals are served once a day and water is from a pond or an automatic watering tank (which will feature in a future remembrance). She still has one of those sheds, but she’ll be sharing it with a dozen or so others.
At these transitions, here’s the usual procedure: The Farmer stands at a gate leading out of the holding pen. The Farmer’s Son finds the designated Momma Pig and heads her toward the gate. Once she’s exited the pen, she has a quarter mile jaunt following Farmer’s Son, who is conspicuously toting a small bucket of feed to encourage Momma Pig to keep up. Through a gate into the field we both go, where she earns her treat, but also now has several months of hanging out as a new generation of piglets grow in her belly.
It’s not hard to imagine that a veteran Momma Pig who has been through this lifecycle a few seasons can spot the telltale signs when the good times are over.
And Thus Our Story Begins
On one particular morning, the Farmer took his position at the gate and the Farmer’s Son went after the Momma Pig nominated for the day’s journey. Momma Pig sees Farmer’s Son coming. She leaves the shed, disappears around the corner. Farmer’s Son follows. Momma Pig … where did she go? Farmer’s Son waits, then doubles back. All he sees is Momma Pig’s rump disappearing around the corner of the shed. Farmer’s Son lies in wait for her to make the circuit of the shed. Nothing. Farmer’s Son pursues, changing direction frequently. Momma Pig is one step ahead. This goes on for several minutes. Farmer’s Son chases. Momma Pig escapes. Farmer (who has a clearer view of the pursuit) is amused. Farmer’s Son, not so much.
And then Farmer’s Son (as you can guess, that’s me) clearly, so clearly even a half century later, remembers thinking these exact words: “This is ridiculous. I’ll just peek through the crack in the side of the shed, see which direction she’s going, and head her off.”
And so I do. And through the crack between those warped 1-by-6s you have already guessed what I see: the brown eyes of Momma Pig peering back at me.
All her fun now ruined, Momma Pig emerges from the shed and trots out the gate, Farmer’s Son trailing behind.
Two Facts Burn Brightly In My Head After All These Years
First fact: I clearly remember the logical spark of thought that lit up my brain. I will see where she is going, and I will head her off. So I know for an inescapable fact that Momma Pig, in her own pig brain, must have experienced something like the same spark of logic.
Second fact: She thought of it before I did.