My first foray into parenthood began on a cold spring day in 1914.  Until then, I’d been in parent training, a mother only to my dolls.  But everything changed when Daddy came into the house holding a squirming burlap bag.

“What have you got?” I asked. 

He bent down and opened the bag. There was a newborn piglet inside. 

“Oh Daddy, where did you get him? He’s so beautiful! ”

 “I know where you got him. The old pig finally had her babies” Mother said with a smile.

“Yes, she did. Her litter is so big that she didn’t have enough nipples to feed them all.  She won’t have anything to do with this little runt, so I had to take him away from her” Daddy explained with a rueful expression. 

“What are you going to do with him?” I asked. 

A grim look passed between Daddy and Mother.

“Daddy NO! You’re not gonna kill him are you?”  I was horrified.

Daddy sighed.  “I don’t know what else to do with him. I’m overrun with work as it is. His mama won’t feed him, and there isn’t another sow nursing at the moment that might help us out.” 

“You’re not gonna kill him!  Give him to me!”

“Honey, you don’t want to bother with him,” he protested.  “Raising a piglet requires a lot of work for a little one like yourself.  You’d have to get up and feed him in the middle of the night, and look after him as closely as a human mother looks after a human baby.”

“I do want to be bothered! Please Daddy! I’m old enough, and I promise I’ll take good care of him! ” I insisted. 

After all I was nine years old, hardly a little girl anymore.

Daddy looked at Mother. She shook her head no.

But I could tell that he was going to give in to me because I wanted the pig so badly. His mother, my Grandma Clay, had raised pet pigs for years. Refusing me was like refusing her, nearly impossible. Daddy probably brought the piglet to me in hopes that I’d want him, because he didn’t have the heart to drown him in the river.

“I’ll make a deal with you” Daddy replied. “You can have him for a short while; maybe a week and we’ll see how it goes.  If you can’t take care of him, we’ll have to make other arrangements.”

Then he gently placed the wriggling newborn in my arms.

“There you are baby boy. This here is your new mother,” Daddy said. 

My heart swelled with a mixture of pride and disbelief as I cradled the tiny helpless creature in my arms.  I was a real mother!!! 

He was very small, only about three lbs or so.  His eyes were the color of warm molasses, set in a sweet little head flanked by droopy ears, and attached to a body covered with auburn fuzz.  I fell hopelessly in love with him as he grunted and snorted, nuzzling his tiny snout under my chin endearingly. With a heart full of adoration, I christened him, “Billy”, a name that seemed perfect for him.

Mother placed a box behind the stove in the kitchen for Billy’s bed.  When it was time for him to go to sleep, he always staged a comical production of pulling at his blankets to create a comfy nest to snuggle in. My bedroom was next to the kitchen, so I could hear him when he fussed in the early hours of the morning.  I’d stagger to the stove, heat his bottle, and feed him.  It didn’t take long, but on nights requiring multiple feedings, I was usually very drowsy the next day. More than once, someone caught me catnapping while standing at the sink washing dishes, or dozing soundly while slumped over a book I’d been reading.  Motherhood wasn’t an easy job, especially when one was attending to the needs of a demanding Duroc Jersey piglet.  But I never doubted for a moment that he was worth every minute of lost sleep.

When Billy was old enough to eat out of a trough, he was relocated outdoors to the pen where Grandma Clay used to keep her pet pigs.  It was a pleasant spot, underneath a shimmery maple tree.  He even had his own little whitewashed house to sleep in.  An added bonus for me was that nighttime feedings were no longer necessary, allowing me to catch up on some rest. 

But mealtimes still presented a certain challenge.

As he rapidly approached his goal weight of 350 lbs or more, he evolved into a powerful force to be reckoned with when his internal dinner bell was clanging. I’d enter the pen

with his food pail, and Billy would be so excited that he’d rush toward me, bump the pail with his snout, causing his supper to fly out of my hand.  Mother was terrified that my big enthusiastic boy might unintentionally squish me in his zeal for nourishment, so she took over dispensing his food.

Billy and I had such wonderful times together.  Every afternoon when I got home from school, he squealed with delight and ran to the gate of his pen to greet me. As I hugged him and scratched around his ears, he’d lean against me, snorting contentedly. He behaved more like a dog than a pig as he tagged along behind me while I roamed the landscape. He also loved to play fetch, which was a very doglike activity.

One of our favorite pastimes was reading aloud.  He didn’t mind when I mispronounced words, or skipped paragraphs.  He just liked hearing my voice as he sprawled in the grass next to me, the sun warming his skin. 

With the optimism of youth, I believed Billy and I would be together forever. Unfortunately forever only lasted for a year.

One night during dinner, Daddy suddenly announced that we were moving to nearby Butler, Indiana where he was opening a grocery store. After more than twenty years of running a thriving farm, the physical stamina needed for daily chores was becoming harder to summon.  It was time for him to try something else.  Not only was our farm to be auctioned, but also regrettably, Billy would have to be put up for sale with the rest of the animals.

I was terribly upset.  I begged Daddy to allow me to take Billy with us.  But of course it wasn’t realistic, or even fair to expect a big pig to live in town.  He needed to be in the country.  Yet, the mere thought of giving him up was more than I could bear. 

During the weeks prior to the auction, I was in a constant state of tears. The more I thought of never seeing Billy again, the more I’d cry, bereft at the thought of leaving him behind. I had nightmares that a slaughter-happy farmer bought him with intentions of turning him into breakfast meat. I’d wake in a panic, and begin crying all over again.

There had to be someone out there who could love him as much as I did.

Auction day arrived.  It was well attended by many rural families from surrounding counties. Our farm was on extremely fertile land nestled alongside the St Joseph River in northeastern Indiana. Each spring the melted snow and rain would cause the river to overflow its banks, depositing rich minerals onto the soil. As a result, Daddy earned an enviable reputation for his prize-winning produce and staggering yields. When the word got out that our land was for sale, there was no shortage of farmers willing to pay top dollar for the privilege of carrying on in my father’s footsteps.

Early that morning before everyone arrived, I bathed Billy and tied a big red bow around his neck. He looked irresistible. I wanted his appearance to send a clear message to anyone interested in acquiring him, that he was not to be regarded as ham hocks and bacon. Billy was a special pig, and could only go home with a very special person. As I led him around on a leash, many people stopped to pet and admire him. 

Later that afternoon, Daddy came to find us.  The auction was about to begin, and it was time to say goodbye.

 “Honey, I’ll have to take him now. You’d better go in the house.”

The moment had come that I’d dreaded for weeks. Heartsick, I handed the leash over to Daddy and threw my arms around Billy’s neck for one last hug. Laying my head against his cheek, I silently prayed that whoever bought him would treat him well, and give him all the love he deserved.

Then I walked toward the house, holding back a bitter flood of tears until the door was shut behind me.

However it wasn’t long before Daddy returned to the house with great news.

The man who bought our farm, bought all of our pigs too - including Billy. He intended to give Billy to his youngest daughter Clara as a pet!  What a tremendous relief!  Clara and I were close friends from school, so I was certain she’d be very good to him.

And she didn’t disappoint me.  She was good to him…and to me. Throughout the winter, Clara frequently provided me with “Billy updates” after class. Of course I should have been grateful for her kindness, but instead I felt uncharacteristically jealous when hearing her laugh and talk about my pig with such familiarity.  Then I felt awful, berating myself for thinking such uncharitable thoughts. I should be thrilled by Billy’s good fortune. 

I only wished that I could be as happy as he and Clara were.  I was still suffering dreadfully, yearning to turn the clock back to a time when Billy was still mine.  Daddy bought me an adorable Skye terrier puppy named Rags, hoping a new pet would make me less lonely for my pig. But as much as I liked the new puppy, I still felt like a huge part of me was missing. 

The following summer, Clara invited me spend the weekend at our old farm. As Daddy drove me out to the country, I was very excited to at the prospect of seeing Billy again, but a bit worried that he’d forgotten me during the long months I’d been away from him.

But I couldn’t have been more wrong!  His whole body wriggled in delight as I let myself into his pen.  He snorted contentedly and he leaned against me like a long lost friend, while I hugged him, kissed him between his ears, and rubbed his cheeks. It was just like old times.  It was foolishness to think anyone could ever replace me.

Then Clara came outside with a Billy’s brimming food pail.

“Here pig pig pig!”

At that moment I was abandoned.

Clara poured his supper into the trough, and scratched Billy between his ears while he ate. His eyes closed in pleasure as he slurped and gobbled.  I felt as though I were an intruder.  So much for no one replacing me.

And throughout the weekend it was abundantly clear that Billy’s first loyalty was to Clara.  As he followed us down the lane, he walked behind Clara, not me.  When the two of us entered his pen, he ran to Clara first.  I was an afterthought. 

But oddly enough, as the hours passed and the reality of the situation sank in, I became more accepting of my role change.  I guess it was important for me to see that life had moved on in my absence, and that it was all right for me to move on too.

I’d wanted someone to love Billy as much as I did.  And someone did.

I’d wanted him to be happy, and healthy.  And he was.

Billy never looked better, and the mutual adoration between he and Clara was obvious.  All was well. 

It was an answer to prayer…a mother’s prayer for her son.