by Jo Bailey
The comforting smell of the straw, combined with the rocking motion of the car, worked a treat on Chester and he fell asleep straight away in the cat carrier on my lap. He lay on his side with his trotters stretched out in front of him, sticking through the mesh in the carrier.
‘He’s so sweet.’ Will couldn’t stop grinning.
Sam stared at his new friend for the whole car journey home. Every now and again he would lean forward, keeping a watchful eye over him.
The first thing we did when we arrived home was to carry Chester upstairs to the living room. He was now wide awake, his pink snout pushing against the grate, trying to pick out the new scents in the air. I carefully placed the cat basket on the wooden living-room floor and opened the carrier door.
Chester was far from timid about being in new surroundings and shot out like a greyhound released from a trap. The boys chased after him as he ran around the big open-plan living/dining room, sticking his nose in every nook and cranny. And then he did a wee on the floor.
‘Oops!’ I yelped, running for some kitchen towel. Because he was so little, it was only a tiny puddle, but I didn’t want it leaving a stain on the landlord’s designer floorboards.
‘We will need to get him house-trained, pronto,’ I said, mopping up the mess.
I spent the next hour following Chester around armed with a roll of kitchen towel. And following Chester around meant following Sam around – because they refused to leave each other’s side.
If Sam sat on the sofa, Chester wanted to sit with him. If Sam needed the bathroom, Chester insisted on following him. The pair ended up setting up camp underneath the long dining-room table – which wasn’t the easiest place for me to reach if a puddle were to appear. I couldn’t bring myself to get them to move from their den, though. They looked like long-lost friends who wanted to spend every last second catching up.
I remembered that horrible day when I’d looked out of the classroom window and seen my son playing alone, apart from all the other children. It was almost as if Chester knew Sam needed a friend, and that’s why he wouldn’t leave his side. Sam’s way of thanking Chester for this unconditional love was to stroke and cuddle and smother his friend in kisses.
Their budding friendship was more than I could have dreamed of.
Being a baby, Chester soon ran out of steam and fell asleep in Sam’s arms. Sam crawled out from under the table, cradling his ‘baby’. He looked worried because Chester was shivering a little.
‘Don’t worry, we will get him a blanket,’ I reassured Sam.
We wrapped Chester’s tiny quivering body in a cream fleece blanket. Now he really did look like a newborn baby. We all took turns rocking him to sleep and I couldn’t resist pulling out the camera when it was my mum’s turn to hold him because he looked adorable with just his snout and ginger hair peeping out from the top of the blanket.
‘I’m going to send a copy of that to all my friends in Spain and tell them you’ve had another baby,’ she joked, referring to the fact that Chester had exactly the same hair colour as me.
Darren was also concerned for the piglet’s welfare and decided to light a fire to keep him warm. Chester wasted no time making himself at home. As soon as the fire was roaring, he trotted over to the rug and stretched his little body out in front of the flames, belly on show, soaking up the warmth.
Sam lay himself down alongside his friend, gently stroking Chester’s soft ginger fur. Every now and then Chester would let out a small grunt of happiness. As the evening wore on we all migrated to the snug, where the TV was, and left Chester by the fire in the living room. Sam cuddled into me, his face the picture of calm and contentment. I could not believe he was the same boy who had had a meltdown just a few months ago about coming to the farm in the first place. I didn’t want the day to end, but sadly that time of night crept up on us.
‘Time for bed,’ I said to the boys, tapping my watch.
‘Oh Muuuuum,’ Will moaned.
We made our way back into the living room to say goodnight to our piglet – but Chester had gone.
‘Oh my God, where is he?’ I panicked.
But there was no need to fret. Chester had simply taken himself off to bed already. The clever little pig had worked out that the dog basket under the radiator was where he was supposed to sleep and he was already snuggled up in there, exhausted from his busy day.
Unbelievable, we thought. It seemed almost too good to be true.
We tucked Chester in by draping the cream blanket over him, so just his little snout and ears and eyes were sticking out. Sam placed the pig toy next to Chester, in case he got lonely in the night. He leant down and gave his new best friend a kiss on the nose. I felt my eyes well up with tears of happiness.
Chester being around was clearly having a positive impact on Sam. Our new pig seemed to have slotted straight in – it was as if Chester had always been one of the family.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Meet the Neighbours
CHESTER WASN’T AN early riser. In the morning we found him fast asleep in exactly the same position we’d left him in, with his nose sticking out from under the ‘duvet’. We all peered into his dog basket, watching his eyes flicker and his snout twitch – he looked like he was having a good dream.
It was Sunday morning so the boys were able to spend a whole second day with their new pet before they had to be back at school. While Chester slept, Sam drew. He emptied his tub of felt-tip pens across the kitchen table, scrutinising each colour in turn as he searched for the perfect one. Every inch of me was willing him to break his obsession with aeroplanes and draw a pig this time.
I pretended to busy myself around the kitchen, casually strolling past Sam every now and again, checking the lines he’d made on the paper. My heart sank – he was drawing a plane. I guess it was too much to hope for a change overnight. I knew I could take nothing for granted when it came to Sam’s autism; that I should box yesterday away as a happy memory and not expect the same contented boy to appear today.
Sam tilted his head as he lined up his eye with the wing on his model plane. He knitted his brows together with frustration.
‘Grrrrrr!’ he roared as he stabbed the paper with such force the tip of his pen snapped.
He was turning. I braced myself for the onslaught.
But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of ginger. I had no idea a micro pig could move that quickly! Especially one that, just moments earlier, had been fast asleep. The next thing I knew, Chester was sitting at Sam’s feet, looking up at him adoringly. He must have heard Sam’s distress and wanted to help his friend. The storm cleared, just like that – Sam reached down and scooped Chester into his arms and the piglet reciprocated with a squeak and a nuzzle.
I now had a different sort of problem to worry about, though. Chester had been storing up his pee all night; it was only a matter of seconds before he would let it out.
I snatched Chester out of Sam’s arms just in the nick of time.
‘Oh no!’ I yelped, carrying the peeing micro pig at arms’ length across the living room.
‘Open the doors!’ I called out to Darren. It was all hands on deck.
Darren threw open the French doors which led out on to the decking that overlooked the garden. Mum was squealing in horror, Will was roaring with laughter. I placed Chester outside on the wooden slats and he was still going – and there I’d been thinking that, as a little pig, he would have little pees!
‘We are starting toilet training today!’ I announced as I got down on my hands and knees to mop up the mess he’d left all across the living room.
But Chester wasn’t in the mood for learning anything. Recharged after a good night’s sleep, he was full of beans and ready to play. Sam picked him up and carried him down to the lawn.
It was a beautiful spring day. The daffodils were in full bloom, craning their big yellow funnel-heads towards the light. There was a burst of colour in every corner of the garden. The place was aliv
e with sounds – from the singing birds to the gushing water in the brook at the bottom of the garden.
Sam carefully placed Chester down on the lawn. We hadn’t had a chance to mow it yet but we didn’t have to worry about Chester getting lost in the long blades of grass – he stood out like a sore thumb with his ginger coat.
Sam started flapping with excitement. Unlike the children at his school, who may have thought Sam’s behaviour odd, Chester saw the flapping as his cue to play a game. He started running towards the stream, his little ginger body charging through the long grass. Sam chased after him, yelping with delight. Every now and again Chester would stop and wait for Sam to catch up and then, just as he was about to be grabbed, he would take to his trotters again. Sam was squealing more than the pig.
We all stood on the wooden decking, watching the performance play out below us. Will wrapped his arms around my leg.
‘Do you want to play too?’ I asked Will, perceiving he might feel left out.
Yet Will seemed hesitant. He was incredibly astute for a four-year-old. He recognised that this was a big moment for Sam – he had stopped his drawing and started running – and he was also worried Sam wouldn’t want him to join in. They hadn’t played together for years. Will looked sad, gazing longingly at the fun that was unfolding in front of him.
But now Darren stepped in, lifting Will up on to his shoulders and carrying him down the steps into the garden. Will couldn’t contain himself for a second longer: once he was down he sprang into action, chasing Sam and chasing Chester. Chester was lapping up the attention, oinking with glee as the boys bolted across the garden after him.
Sam and Will had a job keeping up with him, though. Every time the boys stopped to catch their breath, Chester would tease them, standing just out of reach. When the boys couldn’t run any more, Chester was so determined for the game not to end that he started chasing them and they ended up running around and around the apple tree.
Then I heard a sound that was almost unfamiliar. I heard my older son laugh – really laugh. For so long, Sam had been so frustrated and his behaviour so dominated by negative outbursts that he barely laughed at all any more. Now, in this moment, his mind seemed to have been somehow set free as he focused solely on the fun he was having with his new friend.
It was a breakthrough moment and I hugged Darren with tears in my eyes – my sad little boy was happy! And, more than that, much more than that for me, he was finally playing with his brother, the way I had always longed for them to do; the way they’d used to do before Sam had started to regress. Sam was actually enjoying having Will by his side. Will dashed off to fetch the football and a match of Team Bailey versus Team Chester ensued.
‘Oh, look at that!’ Mum exclaimed as Chester ping-ponged back and forth between Will and Sam as they kicked the ball to each other. Chester was so quick he managed to catch up with the football and it looked as if he was dribbling it between his trotters, nudging it forward with his snout.
Sam threw his head back and chuckled with laughter again at his little football champion.
‘Look, Mum!’ Sam pointed at Chester. Sam had stopped pointing when he regressed in Spain, but the pig’s football skills had somehow broken through that particular block too.
Sam’s giggles were contagious and pretty soon Darren, Mum and I were all bent double watching the ridiculous spectacle of a micro pig dribbling a football.
After half an hour of football, Darren had an idea.
‘Let’s get the harness out,’ he suggested. We’d bought it at the same time as the dog bowl, the basket and the pig toy. Just like everything else we’d purchased, it was designed for puppies. The idea was that Chester’s front legs, or rather trotters, would go through the harness, it would clip together on his back and we would then attach the lead to the harness. The point of it was to enable us to take our pig for ‘walkies’; once we’d got Chester au fait with the harness, the plan was to get a ‘pig walking licence’ (required by law) so we could take him out on strolls in public places – maybe even to the pub!
‘Come on, boys, this is how you do it,’ Darren said as he told them to bring Chester over. Sam carried Chester under his arm and placed him at Darren’s feet. Chester gazed up inquisitively, as if to say, ‘What have we got here?’ Darren knelt down, puppy harness in one hand and his other hand ready to grab Chester.
But the pig had other ideas. He shimmied backwards, just far enough so that he was out of reach.
Darren shuffled forward, attempting to grab him again.
Chester shimmied back. He thought this was a very fun game to play.
Mum and I tried to stifle our giggles as Darren tried once more to get Chester into the harness – but Chester was having none of it, his cheeky grin taunting Darren.
‘This is not as easy as it looks,’ Darren said, trying to save face.
Will had a much better idea.
‘Daddy, let Sam do it,’ he said.
I couldn’t see Darren’s face but I knew that he would be beaming both inside and out – this was the first time that Will had referred to him as ‘Daddy’. Will had also recognised that Sam had a particular bond with Chester, which is why he’d suggested that Darren hand over the harness to his brother. It was a wonderful, poignant moment that really brought us together as a family. It seemed Chester wasn’t just changing Sam; he was having an effect on us all.
‘Good idea,’ Darren said brightly, handing over the reins to Sam.
Chester seemed to know instinctively when Sam needed him to do something. There were none of the games he’d just tried on with Darren. He patiently waited by his friend’s side for further instructions.
Considering that Sam could barely dress himself, it was unlikely he’d be able to manipulate a complicated harness, but Darren helped him feel like he could do it by himself. He guided Sam through the process of how to use it and, with Sam in charge, Chester became like a floppy rag doll, happy to be bent this way and that. He clearly trusted Sam implicitly.
‘Ta-da! We got there in the end!’ Darren looked up proudly at me and Mum, who were leaning over the bannister of the decking.
With Chester securely in his harness, it was showtime. But unlike the set-up at any dog or animal show, where the owners lead their dogs around the arena, Chester led the boys. Sam and Will took it in turns to do laps of the garden.
Not only did this instigate a lot of laughter but it was also a very good exercise in teaching Sam to share – something that didn’t come easily to him.
Sam was very good about handing Chester over to Will when I asked him to – much better than I would ever have expected him to be, considering how he had been over the past few months. When Will had the lead, Sam would go and have a little flap to let off steam; when Sam had the lead, he giggled with happiness.
Meanwhile, Chester was lapping up the attention. He was a natural-born show pig, prancing around the garden with his snout held up high. It was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I’d ever seen in my life. If anyone had turned up at that point, they would have thought us mad!
I started laughing.
‘What’s so funny, Jo?’ Mum asked.
‘My autistic son, a ginger micro pig, moving house so we can have a pet pig, and then putting said pig on a leash and parading him round the garden – you couldn’t make it up if you tried.’ I shook my head in disbelief.
‘Well, I’m proud of you, love.’ She took my hand in hers and gave it a gentle rub. ‘You fought so hard for this and I’m proud of you for that.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ I hugged her tight.
If I’d learned anything over the past few years, it was that you could never predict what was coming around the corner. You never knew what tomorrow would bring so you should enjoy what you have today.
Right now, I was having the best weekend I could wish for.
After a morning of running around the garden, both the piglet and the boys were filthy. I suppose you would normally associate pi
gs with mud, but not our Chester. I didn’t like the idea of our precious micro pig going to bed mucky; and there was also the worry he might get our show home dirty. I suddenly remembered the paddling pool I’d brought over from Spain. If I could get the boys and Chester in it together, I’d be killing two birds with one stone.
‘Mum, would you pop the kettle on for me, please?’ I asked. It was Operation Clean Pig. We were going to have to make a bath in the yard, mixing hosepipe water with hot water from the kettle.
While I was rummaging around in the shed looking for the old blue pool, a thought occurred to me. How do we wash a pig? I couldn’t have Chester coming out in a rash from using the wrong shampoo.
‘Darren, would you mind phoning Pennywell Farm?’ I shouted out to him.
Darren made the call while I set everything up. He emerged into the courtyard carrying a bottle of Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo he’d found in the bathroom.
‘That’s OK, is it?’ I queried, reading the back for the ingredients.
Darren recounted his conversation with Katie at the farm. Pig skin is similar to human skin so we could use our cosmetics on Chester. Katie had also made Darren aware that, because of Chester being ginger, he would be prone to getting sunburnt in summer, but we could use our regular sunscreen on his pink skin to protect him.
‘I thought it best to pick out a gentle shampoo, though.’ He smiled sheepishly. He really was macho on the outside but a big softie underneath.
Finally the paddling pool was full of warm water and we were ready to go. We didn’t fill it very deep as Chester was so small – we didn’t want there to be any danger of him drowning in it. Mum had helped Sam get dressed into his swimmers and he raced Will to the paddling pool. It was so warm outside it could have been a summer’s day.
‘Now, listen, don’t splash too much as you don’t want Chester to be frightened or get water in his lungs.’ I gave the boys a stern warning.
‘Yes, Mum!’ Will said, groaning a little as he loved to splash at bath time.
