by Jo Bailey
I’d never had to do anything like this before. Darren was a master at turning his hand to practical things like this. I’d never imagined I would need to escape-proof the garden when we’d bought Chester. I scanned the shelves searching for wire mesh, cable ties, and anything else I could think of to stop him from getting out. I left the checkout with my arms full but with a lighter conscience – at least I was doing my bit to stop Chester leaving our garden.
I told the boys what my plan of attack was as we were driving home. Sam had stopped staring out of the window and was now listening intently – anything that involved Chester caught his attention.
‘You can help me if you like,’ I said, peering in the rear-view mirror to check on their enthusiasm. Will started clapping his hands in response.
It was 4 p.m. on a Monday afternoon when we started work on the fencing. I needed to block off the whole bottom part of the gate so that there would be no chance of Chester squeezing under any more. I locked Harry Houdini in the living room – I could do without his input on this one. I’d carefully selected a white plastic grating with holes so small a rabbit couldn’t fit through. Will was going to hand me the cable ties and Sam was going to hold the fence in place while I measured up.
I knew Sam wanted to be involved in anything to do with Chester but, because his gross motor skills were so poor, he struggled with his task.
‘Arrrrrrrrgh!’ Sam yelled, frustrated at himself every time he lost his grip on the fence.
‘Sam, it’s OK.’ I tried to reassure him.
It fell on deaf ears, though. Just as Sam needed to get his drawings just so, he couldn’t rest until the fence was perfectly horizontal. He tilted his head and lined his eye up with the wood.
‘Won’t work!’ He started smacking his face, punishing himself for his body failing him.
I was quicker off the mark this time than when he’d hurt himself before and I knew what to do. I threw my arms around Sam, pinning his hands by his side. It was one of the few moments of late when I wished I hadn’t locked Chester in the house as he always had such a calming effect on Sam.
‘Shh, it’s OK.’ I rocked him gently, using my presence and my tight hug to soothe him. Will hung his head; he couldn’t bear to see his brother hurt himself. A lot of children would have run a mile when they sensed trouble, especially when they had been on the receiving end of Sam’s rage, as Will himself had. Now, though, he wrapped his arms around his brother’s back, mirroring my movements, so we had Sam locked down in a family hug.
It was just the medicine Sam needed to help him calm down. He stopped fighting us and allowed his brother and me to take care of him. It wasn’t just Sam’s mood that had darkened, though: so had the sky. It looked like a storm was brewing. But I’d started so I was going to finish – it wasn’t in my nature to give up. I wanted to put an end to all the dramas I was having with the neighbours.
I led the boys inside, threw on my raincoat and then went back out. I pulled out Darren’s tape measure and got to work on cutting the plastic grating to size.
A loud thunderclap rolled overhead.
Next, I needed to attach the grating to the existing gate with the cable ties. It had to be rock solid so Chester couldn’t barge past it.
The rain started pelting down. I ignored it. It was running down my cheeks and dribbling off my nose but I determinedly hammered the corners into place. As I staggered to my feet, what felt like hours later, I felt a huge sense of satisfaction. I looked up at the living-room window – and there were two pairs of eyes blinking down at me. The boys had been watching my heroic efforts in the rain. I did a little victory dance and then made a run for it. I was drenched through but at least I could rest tonight knowing I had put the matter to bed.
For one whole week we had our perfect pig back. Chester didn’t put a trotter wrong and there were no more grumbles from the neighbours. Then, one day, just as I was on the phone to Darren, excitedly telling him about how my DIY skills had put an end to all the mischief, I spotted something out of the corner of my eye.
‘Hang on a minute!’ I exclaimed, bringing the portable phone with me across the living room. In the corner of the room was a bookcase, full of my favourite reads. I’d brought them over from Spain and each book had enormous sentimental significance. I was now staring down at three of my cherished novels, all of which had been chewed: they had the mark of Chester all over them.
‘That pig!’ I screeched in outrage. Poor Darren probably had to hold the phone away from his ear.
‘What’s happened?’ He tried to get an answer out of me but I was too busy examining the leftovers. Chester had taken a nibble from the spines and chunks from the covers. My poor books!
I told Darren the pig was in the doghouse again. Darren was chuckling away, able to see the funny side of it as always. He then launched into a series of nostalgic stories about how, when he was growing up in Yorkshire, his pet puppy Charlie had eaten the legs off his mum and dad’s kitchen table before destroying the chairs too. Darren clearly thought Chester was just behaving like a naughty pup and would grow out of it, but I struggled to share his optimism. I had a bad feeling about our ‘dog pig’ and felt that this was more than just a phase.
I was right. The chewing incidents became more frequent, and more severe. Every morning I’d wake up to find that something else had been reduced to remnants. He tore his dog basket to shreds – there was not one thread of fabric intact by the time he’d finished with it, just stuffing and fluff everywhere. He used his snout like a lever to turn over his dog bowl; I lost count of the number of times I had to scoop all the pignuts from the floor. He snuck down into my bedroom and pulled out everything from the wastepaper bin so my carpet was littered with shredded paper. It was one thing after another. I’d turn my back for a second and he would destroy something else. It was like having a small child on my hands.
And Chester’s destructive behaviour was not limited to the house – one of his favourite pastimes was to pull the clean washing from the line, drop it on to the grass and roll around on it. One day, he got hold of my mum’s best white lacy nightie during one of these washing ‘games’ . . . and somehow managed to get it wrapped around his head. He then spent half an hour charging around the garden like some kind of pig bride, as the boys howled with laughter from the upstairs window – not just at the sight of Chester, but also at their grandma, who was shrieking in horror.
And, of course, the more he vandalised, the harder Sam laughed. Yet my stress levels were increasing by the day. I was terrified Chester would turn his attention to the landlord’s furniture – then we really would have a problem.
My mum had a theory on the matter. She said Chester was merely at a loose end. ‘He’s a clever thing; he gets bored easily so he starts chewing.’
If that was true, how was I supposed to deal with it? I could hardly throw him a bone to distract him – he wasn’t that much like a dog.
I turned to Google to ask it how you kept a micro pig entertained. I was shocked to see how many horror stories were out there about misbehaving pigs. This didn’t bode well. One website said: ‘Pigs are social animals who enjoy interaction with their owners. Providing toys for your pig to play with will help keep her occupied indoors. Pigs tend to cajole their way into getting what they want, so keep this in mind when setting boundaries with your pet. Much like dogs, pigs follow a pack hierarchy, so it’s important to establish yourself as the leader.’
I needed to set more boundaries. I had to show Chester who was boss.
‘No, Chester!’ I wagged my finger at him when he had turned over his bowl of food for the umpteenth time that day. He looked up at me, grinning, without the slightest trace of guilt. He then raced off across the living room and dived on to the sofa. The phrase ‘pig-headed’ was created for a reason, I began to realise – because pigs are extremely stubborn. If Chester wanted to do something, then there was nothing we could do to stop him.
I was now having second thought
s about saying yes to Lynda Russell’s idea of bringing the CAIRB children to meet Chester. I could just imagine him misbehaving and the whole morning being thrown into chaos.
I warned Lynda that Chester had turned into a hooligan. Of course, she found the whole thing hilarious too. She felt for me but said that Chester must be doing something right as she’d seen a transformation in Sam over the past few weeks.
Lynda revealed how Sam had finally started to talk about Chester with the other children. He was speaking about his pet with pride. ‘My pig’: he would tap his chest whenever Lynda mentioned our micro pig in class. Chester had given Sam a surge of confidence, which in turn had helped his vocabulary. He could now string six or seven words together in succession, which was a vast improvement on when he had first joined Manor Primary.
‘That’s why I suggested we take the children to see Chester,’ she explained.
For Chester was not only helping Sam come out of his shell, he was uniting all the children in the CAIRB – Chester was the glue holding everyone together, it seemed.
The children were due to arrive at our house mid-morning, partway through the summer term, which gave me just enough time to whip up a lemon drizzle cake after I’d dropped the boys off at school first thing. It also gave me a chance to give Chester a little spruce up; I couldn’t have him looking grubby for Sam’s big day. I managed to bribe Chester to sit still for a few minutes with some pignuts, while I used a dog brush to groom his thick ginger hair.
‘Now, you be a good pig today,’ I warned him.
Chester gave me his usual cheeky grin and then scuttled off into the garden.
I didn’t realise how anxious I was for Sam until the cars belonging to Lynda and the TAs pulled into our courtyard. My stomach clenched. Sam was going to be showing off Chester and I worried how he would react to being in the spotlight. Was he ready for this?
‘Hello!’ I greeted the children as they were helped out of the cars. All seven from the CAIRB had made it – six boys and one little girl called Mya. The first thing that struck me was how much support there was for these children. Three teaching assistants had come along – that was almost one TA per two children. It couldn’t have been more different from how Sam had been looked after in Spain. It filled me with joy to see so much love and attention being poured into helping them.
Sam was leader of the pack – he flapped his arms with excitement as he led the children towards our garden. They looked adorable as they followed in an orderly line. The protective mother in me wanted to make a fuss over Sam and check he was OK, but I reminded myself that this was Sam’s time to shine. Just as I couldn’t intervene in the playground when I’d watched him flap alone by the tree, it wasn’t my place to interfere now.
I needn’t have worried, though, because Chester was there to look after him. The ginger pig was waiting at the gate for his best friend, wagging his tail and oinking with happiness. I was terrified that, as soon as I opened the gate, Chester would run off into the neighbours’ garden. He must have been missing his chicken feed, after all! I was shifting from one foot to the other, getting ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble.
But Chester didn’t show the slightest interest in escaping: he was loving the attention far too much. As all the children crowded around to pet him, Chester stood perfectly still, posing like a show pony. I had to hand it to him: Chester was a great performer – which was just as well, as I’d bought a couple of punnets of grapes so that Sam could show the others all the tricks he’d taught Chester to do.
‘He’s gorgeous!’ Lynda Russell cooed over our micro pig.
She wouldn’t be saying that if she’d seen him last night, pulling all the contents of my bin over the floor again, I thought. That was the thing with Chester, though – he looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, so it was hard to stay cross at him for long.
I was about to ask Sam if he wanted to show the other children how to make Chester sit, but he beat me to it. Without any prompting, without any encouragement, Sam took a handful of grapes and called Chester over.
Lynda and the teaching assistants rounded up the rest of the children and got them to form a semicircle. All eyes were on Sam and Chester.
My heart was in my mouth: I knew Sam must have been feeling the intensity of everyone’s eyes on him. I was very anxious that he would hate being the centre of attention and then not be able to cope. I was worried that he might lash out at himself.
I was waiting for the bomb to explode.
But it never happened and instead Sam rose to the occasion.
‘Sit, Chester!’ Sam held out a grape. Just like a dog, Chester sat for his master.
Sam took five paces backwards and held out another grape. ‘Here, Chester.’ He beckoned his friend over. Chester wagged his tail and obediently did what was asked of him.
My heart just swelled with happiness. There was my boy, who used to hate being the centre of attention, with enough confidence to feel able to show his peers what Chester could do. I felt so incredibly proud of him. Sam had transformed from a lonely, sad child who could barely say a single word to a self-assured boy giving orders, pointing and directing.
And he wasn’t the only one who had been transformed. Chester had gone from naughty to well-behaved overnight. It was almost as if Chester knew Sam needed his help. He wasn’t going to let his best friend down on such an important day. It also suddenly dawned on me that Sam was using Chester as a means to communicate to the other children. Chester had given him the confidence to help him find his words – a way to untangle his sentences. It was incredible.
I’d originally bought Chester because I thought he would lift Sam’s spirits. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he would help him speak and make friends.
When I say ‘friends’, I’m using the word loosely, as Sam wasn’t playing and kicking around a ball with the other children like Will would have done with his classmates, but he was interacting with them, and wanting to show Chester off, which meant he cared about what they thought.
He was also allowing the other children to have a go at teaching Chester tricks, which I know would have been very hard for him because Chester was his pig and Sam found sharing difficult. My son had learnt how to take turns with his brother, but only just, so this was a huge leap forward in his development.
Being very in tune with the children’s needs, Lynda Russell knew when it was time to take a break and gathered the boys and Mya together for food. I’d laid a little spread out on the white patio table: there was the lemon cake, sandwiches, orange juice and lemonade.
It was a wonderful moment, as the children sat together like one big family. Lynda Russell pulled out her camera and started snapping away. She revealed that she would be making a picture book of the day for the children to remember it by.
Meanwhile, Chester rummaged under all their feet, hopeful for any leftovers. It was reassuring to see he hadn’t completely changed. He oinked away as he threaded his body through the dangling legs. Every now and again you’d hear a yelp as his coarse hair tickled their skin. His ‘poor starving me’ routine worked a treat, though, as one of the boys threw him a corner of his cake.
Chester hoovered it up from the grass and there wasn’t a crumb left after he was done suctioning it into his mouth. He lifted his snout, checking to see if there was any more where that came from.
I’m not sure if Mya was shy because she was the only girl of the group or for some other reason, but she was much more withdrawn than the other children. She hid her face behind her long brown hair; a few strands dangled in front of her eyes, concealing her cute, button-like features. Her expression reminded me of Sam when he was drawing his planes – total concentration as she carefully dissected the cake, scooping out the icing and leaving the sponge to one side. Mya was a tiny little thing, much smaller than all the others. She had a vulnerability that made you want to wrap her up in your arms and protect her from the world.
I wasn’t the only o
ne to pick up on this.
I’d noticed that Sam couldn’t stop checking on Mya to see if she was OK. He would glance across, look away, and then check on her once more. It was very sweet. Just as he had sensed his classmate’s unhappiness not long ago, Sam instinctively knew Mya could do with some cheering up.
Sam put his food down and got up from his chair. I watched in awe as he gingerly made his way over to Mya’s side.
I would never have predicted what Sam did next.
First, he called Chester to his side. Incredibly, the pig stopped everything he was doing, namely looking for scraps, to be with Sam.
He then took Mya’s little hand in his and led her to the apple tree, with Chester acting as their escort. Watching the three of them walking in a row across the lawn was the most adorable sight.
Just as Sam had once used his drawings to cheer up the boy in his class, he now wanted his pig to bring a smile to Mya’s face. Sam went about this the only way he knew how – by performing tricks.
‘Sit, Chester,’ he said.
Once again, Chester didn’t put a trotter wrong. He did everything Sam asked of him, ignoring the delicious smell of cakes and treats that must have been wafting across the garden.
And it was when Chester moonwalked that Mya finally let out a bubble of giggles.
Mission accomplished! Although he would never say it, I could tell Sam was incredibly happy and relieved that he had made Mya’s day. Lynda snuck up behind me with the camera to show me the pictures she’d taken. She’d made sure to capture the magical moment for their storybook.
‘I told you Sam showed the most empathy for others,’ Lynda said proudly, as if he was one of her own. I guess when you put that much love and care into helping children, you can’t help but get involved. I didn’t know how Lynda did it; her passion and commitment were extraordinary.
