Magic Moments in the Barn

Looking after multiple companion animals can be hard work, costly and worrisome. But every now and then there is a “magic moment” that touches one so profoundly that all the stresses of the day disappear and an intense sense of contentment and happiness starts somewhere near the heart and radiates out through the soul.

Today was like that.

Ever since the piggies trashed the barn a couple of weeks ago, I have been promising them that I will let them into the main part of the barn, supervised, for some fun and exercise. Today was the day – supplies were low, and the barn floor needed to be swept of the last of the straw and hay and alfalfa before I brought in new bales. I figured this was as good a time as any to let the pigs have some fun while I swept and cleaned and puttered around.

The moment their gate was opened, in they ran. The sound of 48 little trotters (well, 40 little ones and 8 big ones) racing around the wooden and concrete floors brought the first smile to my face. The smile broadened and the laughter began as I watched them race here and there, checking out every feed bin, every garbage can, every pallet to see what goodies might be accessible. I could almost hear they saying “WHEEEEEE! What fun!!!!” as they squeeked and squealed and grunted and oofed and oinked and arfed and had a wonderful time.

The piglets were very well behaved. Scotch was very well behaved. Soda, not so much. Our Ms Piggy shoved – hard – at every bin and garbage can she could get to, trying in vain to knock them over and pull off the lids. Piggies have wonderful memories, and she knew full well exactly which bin she had been able to open on barn-trashing day and what it had held – yummy molasses soaked alpaca food. And she was not going to leave that bin alone until she had it on the ground, open, and the contents inhaled.

She shoved the bin. I shoved her shoulder and yelled “NO!”. She shoved the bin again. I shoved her shoulder and yelled “NO!”. She turned around, swore at me (yes, pigs can swear) and shoved the bin again, twice as hard. This time she knocked it over, though the lid stayed on. I shoved her shoulder and yelled “NO!” once more, and then sternly explained that she would not be welcome in this part of the barn if she was going to continue that behaviour.

Averting her gaze, she decided to try another tactic. She ambled off, supposedly to check out the other bins and cans and snuffle the floor looking for stray pieces of alfafa. I turned back to my work of sweeping and cleaning and as soon as my back was turned she high-tailed it over to the alpaca bin again. Ha! Caught ya, Soda! Back to the shoving match once more.

And so on it went. Shove, yell, curse, divert, shove, yell, curse, divert. A few more grey hairs for me, a little more of a stubborn streak in Soda.

Meanwhile the other piggies were having a ball, chasing the broom, playing with my jacket, some milling around my feet, others keeping a little distance but every so often coming over to say “Hi! This is FUN!”. Several of the piglets put their front trotters as high on my leg as they could reach and nudged my hands and pockets to see if I had any special treats ready for them.

I took down Scotch’s hairbrush and ran it over his bristles. Then I brushed each of the piglets in turn, and even the most timid seemed to welcome the touch. The warm happy feeling was spreading throughout my body and the headache that had plagued me for much of the day was rapidly dissapearing.

Eventually, I took their feed bowl and led them back into their stalls. They ate their dinner, drank several gallons of water, waited while I pooper- scooped so they could mess up the clean potty area once more, and then headed into the sleeping stall – now piled high with swept up remains of straw, hay and alfafa bales.

And then, as the piggies began to settle and dusk began to fall, the magic moment took hold.

From the time Scotch and Soda first came to me, scared, in poor health, and not knowing what was happening to them, I have sung to them. That first night, I sang the song I had always sung to my daughter when she was an infant: ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine……”. And ever since that first night, Scotch has visibly relaxed whenever he hears the song. It is his reminder that his nightmare is over and he is home.

And so tonight, watching Scotch standing rather forlornly and knowing he is as tired of winter as I am, I sat down beside him and started singing our song. He sighed deeply, half closed his eyes, and rolled over for a belly rub.

And that’s when I was touched by one of those deeply moving, intensely satisfying, almost spiritual experiences. One of the little all-black piglets came creeping up to where I sat and lifted his little snout to peer at my face. He nudged my hand and was clearly asking to be belly-rubbed too. And as I moved my free hand to his belly, he rolled over and closed his eyes and putting his snout near his dad’s snout, let out that magical, wonderful, gentle “oooooffffff” that tells you he is one very content pig.

He let me rub his belly, his face, his trotters and bum. He moved not a muscle as I rubbed the soft little pink patches on the bottom of his feet and ran my finger just inside his gum checking his teeth. He sighed again as I picked up the brush and gently brushed his thick bristles, and when I stopped he nudged my hand to ask for more.

I leaned over and put my nose near his and he lifted his snouty and gently touched mine. Scotch then stretched and touched his snouty to the babe’s.

And there we sat. One overweight, grey haired, rather tired woman with two piggy snouties in her lap, two piggy bellies exposed for rubbing, two sets of piggy eyes half closed in bliss, and two piggy mouths curled up in smiles. Ten more piggies quietly settling down in the straw for the night. The scent of fresh straw and shavings, of wood and manure, the drip of the ever-so-slowly melting snow, the fading light through the barn window. And the soft sounds of “you are my sunshine” as all the cares of the day seep away and you just know that this is where you are meant to be.

Life is good.