The Mast-Head: ‘Tea-Cup’ Celebrity

Almost every time I go out these days, someone I run into wants to talk about our pet pig, Leo, who has been the subject of a disturbing number of columns in these pages. Leo, the height of indifference except at mealtime, could care less, but he has become a bit of a subject of interest, from appearances.

To refresh: The pig came to us, as most bad things do these days, via the Internet. My wife, Lisa, and eldest child had (quote-unquote) researched the subject for months, settling on a breeder in Texas who specialized in (again, quote-unquote) tea-cup pigs that would not grow tusks or exceed 10 pounds. I said it was bunk.

Four years later and hitting the 100-pound mark on the bathroom scale easily, and with sharp curving tusks poking from his mouth, Leo is a living, grunting reminder that Daddy is always right. Or at least that’s what I wish the takeaway was.

Leo doesn’t do much. This is one reason why I think it is amusing that my columns about him get the most attention. His days begin at 5 a.m., with shuffling around the kitchen, hoping to be fed. This wakes the dogs, the largest of which comes down from his bed on the second-floor landing, which in turn vexes the pig, who whines and wails to great effect. By effect I mean that I get up, and before doing anything else give him a bowl of feed on the porch.

Lisa says I baby him and that when I am out of town Leo sleeps in. Truth is, I think, she throws a sneaker at him when he tries to rally her at 5 and tells him to get back to bed. Yeah, I don’t mess with Lisa at that hour either.

After that, Leo might go outside for his morning constitutional or, if he is feeling lazy, go back to his bed and sleep till noon. For the amount of water he drinks, I think he must be part camel. 

Then, around 5 p.m., it’s feeding time again. Then bed. When the weather’s warm, Leo varies the plan by doing his daytime sleeping in a sunny spot in the yard. Other than that, his is the model of contented life, all but oblivious to the varied dramas that surround him. 

It is perhaps this lack of activity that makes him fascinating. Maybe readers — and I — are just a little bit jealous.