pig dream could turn to reality

Today in our cubicle pen, we got to talking about my desire to own a pig.

Long-time blog readers will remember my love for pigs ("Piggy") and concern over how large they get ("Show Me the Pig").

As we were standing around, I rehashed the same sad story that potbellied pigs grow to be 60 to 175 pounds, and I want a pet that I can carry around.

A coworker then pointed me toward Royal Dandies, a new breed of miniature pot bellied pigs!



From their web page:

Royal Dandies are a product of a 21 year breeding program.

We have combined small, intelligent and affectionate miniature pigs to create a consistently small pet pig with good confirmation.

Dandies average from 20 lbs. to 65 lbs.

I got very excited, as I read through the web page. When I got to the section about how they just released a new litter May 11, 2007, I exclaimed, "Oh my God, they have a new litter as of today! I could put down a $400 deposit and buy a pig right now! Should I do it?"

"That is the weirdest impulse buy I've ever heard of," said my coworker.

...

Buying a pig from these breeders costs $1500. If I bought the pig, I would drive to Oregon to pick it up. They offer the option of flying my pig to me on Alaska Airlines for $400, but driving would be both cheaper and a symbolic journey of crossing the California plains to meet MY pig.

Imagine it. I could do it today! On Monday I could carry little Oinksy into work, a pink piglet wrapped in a baby blanket.

"Team," I'd say, "I'd like you to meet Oinksy."

Oinksy would sniffle and make soft honking noises.

I would make a nest for Oinksy out of newspapers and blankets, adjacent to my desk. Oinksy would nap, bathed in sunlight from the nearby window, while I typed away at my computer.

Unfortunately Dan says Google's pet policy clearly states Dogs Only. "A pig is better than a dog!" I protested. He claims Google is a dog company. No cats either, even though cats are quieter than dogs.

In the evening, I would take Oinksy to the dog park. Other people would be walking their German shepherds and Golden retrievers, and I'd be walking my pig. I'd have him on a leash.

A friend would call me, and I'd say, "Just a minute. I'm walking my pig." Then I'd get the joy of hearing their reaction. "Your -- I thought you said -- What did you say you're doing?"

...

Now that the idea of owning a pig could be reality, I am growing worried. What if the pig isn't smart? I imagined the pig as a brilliant little companion. It would greet me with joy as I came home from work, with an intelligent appreciation rather than the blind loyalty of dogs. The pig and I would sleep side by side, walk together side by side, over-eat side by side.

But what if the pig is poker-faced? What if it just stands there, only occasionally shifting its hooves (scratching my hardwood floors in the process)? What if its only movement consists of bending its head to eat the feed I give it? I would grow to resent the mute beast, while still feeling the obligation to feed it and house it.

Yes, I know I could just eat it if that happens. But I'm not going to turn my $1500 pig into ham sandwiches.

What if the pig is perfectly smart and adorable, but gets lonely at home while I'm working long hours? Poor Oinksy would move from room to room, sadly poking pillows with his little snout, missing me.

And what, oh, what happens if Oinksy dies?

I should look up the life span of potbellied pigs. Googling...

Oh.

:(

Pot-bellied pig info page:

Plus, other breeders may tell you that their pigs are a 'special' line or 'special' breed. Here is a tip for you: ALL pot belly pigs in North America and Hawaii come from the same line. Period!!

Perhaps the dream is too good to be true.

Or perhaps I should just get a regular-sized potbellied pig! They say a 100-pound pig is only the size of a 35-pound dog, because the pig is more compact.


A happy pig owner.