God was so unfair to pigs when he made them so tasty… they are as intelligent as any dog, make great companions, and if only roast crackling wasn’t so delicious, they might have a far happier life.

Nigel did…

Nigel was a little black piglet that arrived in a little box, a gift from my father supposedly to be fattened up and dispatched for Christmas dinner.

Named Nigel Gnasher after the Pam Ayres poem, when he bit my father while being unloaded, he proved to be so charming that his fate as Christmas dinner was never going to happen.

To my mother’s eternal chagrin – she kept estimating how much he cost us to feed – he had free range of the property, trotting round with the dogs, waggling his little tail switch, scaring the daylights out of unsuspecting visitors, and very much enriching our lives.

He grew to be a VERY large person… and we got very tired of people asking us when we were going to eat him, that was never going to happen, and he was far too big to be kidnapped and wind up on someone else’s plate so he was safe.

He slept in his pen overnight, and romped with the dogs when let out of a morning, with his silly little tail held up, skipping and oinking with a smile on his face.

We all had Nigel stories; the time, my daughter in law first met him… they startled each other meeting coming round the corner of the house… she fled, he followed at a trot, thinking it was a game, and she hid inside until rescue came in the shape of my younger son, who bopped him on the bum with the straw broom and sent him on his way.

The tale most told is about the time we were minding a Miniature Pony stallion, all 32 inches of fire and brimstone.

We kept the little devil yarded of a morning until we had moved our pony mares into their own paddock to prevent rape and pillage.

My husband – like all husbands – one day, took no notice of me when I told him that the stallion was not to be led out until the mares were down the hill in their paddock and to use the nose chain on the lead rope to control him…

He didn’t listen – or wait – like I told him. He thought how strong could something so small be? And just held the headcollar and opened the gate… men!

He soon found out. The stallion lowered his head and charged, with my husband water skiing alongside with his heels dug in. The stallion had seen mares passing his pen, and standing just 50 metres from the pen, grazing on dropped grain, was a large – black- backside… The little horse thought it must be one of the mares.

Full of lust, he dragged my protesting husband to the large rear end and mounted… Nigel.

I truly don’t know who got the bigger shock, Nigel, who was almost violated by a horse, or the tiny stallion, who realised his mistake and jumped down, and screaming at the top of his lungs continued to drag my husband up the hill.

My daughter in law could see what was happening and fled with the mares to safety.

So much noise! I swear every bird in the district took off…

When all the ruckus died down and daughter in law and I could focus, we found the little stallion was safely in his paddock, and my husband – much worse for wear and feeling like his arms had grown three feet longer – said sheepishly, “Strong little bugger isn’t he”. We just glared at him.

Nigel lived to a great old age, and was put down when his arthritis got too much for his old legs. A great friend, a charming animal and I would have another in a heartbeat. It’s very easy to get personal with a pig.