CAMP SKIPPING PIG  SANCTUARY

Snickers' story is one of our saddest, but I like to think her few years with us made her as happy as she was able to be. She arrived July 9, 1999, after being purchased for $2 (as a joke for someone) thru a local livestock auction. She was about seven and her story was that she'd been a beloved house pet up until her owner passed away. She then was passed from home to home, until she ended up at the auction. In the sale ring  she was kicked, struck and jabbed with a cane and severely mishandled by a kid, who to put it kindly, is about four eggs short of a dozen.  After she sold, she was picked up BY HER EARS and tossed into the back seat of a car. (Let this be a warning to anyone who thinks the way to sell a pig is thru an auction!) The people who took her thought they'd just take her home and put a harness and leash on her, (it was still a big joke at this point) but she was terrified, very aggressive, in pain and unmanageable. Snickers was put into a barn next to their market pigs and immediately went on the attack, so she was shoved out the back door, off a two foot drop, tossed a bedsheet for the night and left on her own. Early the next morning I got the call from a crying and frantic woman who didn't know what to do with the terror they had in their barnyard. When I went to pick up Snickers I was on my own to capture and load her. The people wouldn't step foot in the pen and all I had was a large kennel and a small pig board. I thought I'd at least need help getting her near the kennel, but she took one look and went straight for it. I was at the door with the pig board, expecting to have a scrap on my hands, but she went right in. I tossed in a few pellets, locked the door behind her and breathed a huge sigh of relief. I think the crate reminded Snickers of a safe haven from her past. The amazed people thought I was some sort of "pig whisperer", but I was simply shocked and grateful that it had gone so smoothly. Home I came with Snickers...wondering just what I was getting myself into.

 Her adjustment at our house wasn't as easily accomplished as the getting her here. Snickers attacked anything or anyone that came near her stall, even our Belgian cross horse who stuck a curious nose over the door. Once a startled goat jumped over the door into her pen, thinking it was a safe place away from a nosy pig, only to find he'd made a huge mistake. As he cowered in a far corner, Snickers took aim and charged. Jar Jar jumped over her as she went for his front legs, bolted back over the gate, and landed in the aisle just as the angry little pig hit the other side of the gate. If there was any activity near her stall, she'd beat her face bloody trying to bite. For such a little package, she caused an enormous amount of turmoil.  After about a week, I made a rule that in order to eat, all she had to do was stand beneath my hand, which I held out of reach about three feet above her back. Even that was a struggle for her. When I finally began to gently touch her she'd either attack or tremble and hyperventilate. I can't even imagine what she'd suffered in her life to be so terrified. It was six months before I could touch her and she wouldn't react with aggression or extreme fear. Even so, I was limited to a quick touch and it could never be near her head, neck or ears. It took a year before Snick actually laid down for a quick belly rub, and even longer before I could touch her feet. It was almost two years before I could gently rub her ears, and by then she was my "buddy", softly "woofing" and talking when I spoke to her or gave her a gentle scratch. Once, after I was away for about a week, her happiness to see me was obvious. Pigs know who their friends are, and by that time I'd worked very hard and long to win her over. Recieving a happy greeting from her when I got home was rewarding beyond words. But for the whole time we had her she absolutely hated men, even Don who made a good effort to befriend her. If I got her down for a belly rub he could take over, yet if he said even one word and she heard his voice, she'd be up and trying to bite him. Snickers never did adjust to going outdoors. The first time I had her outdoors it took over two hours to get her out the door at the end of the barn. I was determined not to stress her too much, but even so she was miserable and terrified. On the few occasions I did take her out I had to stay within four or five feet of her...not too close, or she'd attack, but close enough that she knew she had company. Otherwise she'd be frantic to go back inside. She never ventured more than about twenty feet from the barn doors and was always very relieved to go back inside, no matter how nice it was outside. We kept a sign to hang on the gate that announced when she was loose in the barn. Rather than force her outdoors, I gave her run of the barn, but had to warn anyone who might venture in that she absolutely would bite, and she'd seem to come out of nowhere. We always did a scan for her whereabouts before entering and made sure any visitors were behind a pig board if she was loose. 

We lost Snickers January 15, 2005 when we had to have her euthanized due to severe arthritis in her elbows. She had become very crippled, and after trying different meds, there was nothing that really offered her any relief. She got up only to eat and had difficulty standing long enough to complete her meal. Her quality of life was very poor and she'd suffered enough in her life that I didn't feel it was fair to try to keep her going on any longer in the hope of finding the "miracle drug" that could make her comfortable. She came a long way in her years with us and when I look at her red and black checked blanket that she had for all that time, it brings back a flood of memories about this special little pig that worked her way into my heart. She'd have had quite a story to tell if only she could have. I hope she'd add a happy ending for her last few years.