"Have you seen a pig before?" Judy Woods founder of Pigs Peace Sanctuary asked the group at the start of our tour. "Yes," I replied along with others. Then, as we approached the barn, I began to question: Yes, of course, but where? When? At the fair, as a child, naturally. The odd animal a neighbor kept in his backyard? Sure.
The first barn had a narrow entry and we filed in two at a time. On my turn, I came face to face with Oscar, an American Yorkshire pig. He had ears larger than my hands, which flopped over at the ends like a pedigree Sheltie. He had a wrinkled snout and huge wet nostrils, which tilted up, snuffling us at bellybutton height. He was enormous. Full-grown pigs weigh 300-500 pounds, although even this seems an underestimate. Oscar, was also, well, surprisingly, cute. There was something lively in those little, blue inset eyes. As I exited the barn, I turned to the people nearest me. "I thought I had seen a pig before, but I don't think I really had." They nodded in agreement. Oscar was some pig.
Pigs Peace Sanctuary in Stanwood, Washington offers tours seasonally at 4 p.m. on Sundays — and don't be late. Arranging the tour, Judy sent clipped emails and I imagined she might be rather gruff, a person who is better with pigs than people. Instead, she was a bright-eyed, vivacious host with welcoming energy. Taking care of 190 pigs on 39 acres, however, requires efficiency.
To be honest, I was nervous about meeting the pigs. After all, as we all know, pigs are smart and savage. Pigs will eat anything and that's why pig farms, in pop culture and in Canada, are a good place to dispose of dead bodies. Even in a novel with a sympathetic animal rights theme, the dark comedy The Ethical Assassin, the bad guy gets trampled and eaten by pigs. Of course, it's noted that the pigs have been driven mad by heat, hunger and close confinement, but its still a scary scene. Also, I had one lasting memory of pigs — a visit to a cousin's Ohio pig farm at age 10. I don't remember seeing pigs then. Note: It didn't come to mind when asked, "Have you seen a pig before?" But I'll never forget the stench of the place — asphyxiating sewage. Horrific. We weren't there long. There's no way I'd eat pig, I've been vegetarian for 25 years, but I wasn't sure how much I'd appreciate the live ones either. That was part of the reason I wanted to take the tour.
Pigs Peace lived up to its name. The sanctuary smelled of sweet hay. In the barn, I climbed bales of it to look down at three large pigs snuggled together on a giant cushion of hay. Outside, pigs wandered free in the fields. "Anyone could walk safely among those pigs," Judy said. Of course, both the smell and the contentment were due to great ongoing efforts by Judy and any available volunteers. Daily tasks at the sanctuary include scooping waste and spreading fresh hay. On arrival, most of the pigs are biters, Judy said. She earns their trust with consistent treatment until they are at ease. Oftentimes, pigs arrive malnourished, but obese. Fat grows over their eyes, blinding them. Judy takes pains to slim them down so they can see again. She talks about the joyful behavior of pigs who have had their sight-restored. "There's nothing like the gratitude of those pigs. You can just see they appreciate each day and make the most of it," she said.
As she shows us around, Judy tells us which pigs have special connections: "You probably didn't notice, but those two came out of the woods together."; Ramona and Isabelle came together from confinement at SeaWorld; and, "He never goes anywhere with out her." She tells us about the hundreds of rescued pot-bellied pigs who came to the sanctuary by the trailer-full and the one pig who waited by the gate until her special friend arrived. Then they ran off together. When someone asks, "Does that one have a name?" Judy replies, "All of the pigs have names."
Next Judy takes us in to an enclosure to meet Baily, a blind rescue pig. Although he's often gregarious, on this day, Baily doesn't move from his spot in the hay while we 10 tourists hover over him in awe of his girth. Again, full-grown pigs weigh from 300-500, but it's hard to find even that information at the top of a Google search. The most often cited number is 250 pounds, because that's the weight at which pigs are typically slaughtered, when they are only 6-7 months of age. In fact, Baily, the sanctuary's peaceful ambassador, weighs an intimidating 900 pounds. But he's sleeping this afternoon. He doesn't wake up when we place our hands on his flank or even when we scratch behind his ear feeling the soft skin covered by coarse hair. He doesn't wake even when Judy lifts his jowls to show us his yellow tusks. "He doesn't need anesthesia when the vet comes to trim them," she said. He's that gentle.
Now, this I know I had never seen before: acres of pigs standing in a field together with their tails spinning — the pig happy dance. A group of wild pigs is called a sounder. Judy has us roll wheelbarrows full of apples beside the field and begin to throw them over the fence as treats for the pigs. "Make them work for it!" she yells, encouraging us to throw apples further afield for the pigs to run and eat. That's right, run. Pigs can clock seven miles an hour. Even Ziggy, the three-legged pig, moves quickly toward those apples. At the end of the tour, it's time for more treats for the pigs. We stand over the field and throw carrots down onto a concrete pad (so the pigs won't also take in mouthfuls of bark). There are a few squeals from the smaller pigs when the larger ones claim the gold, but for the most part its sonorous grunts and waves of munching.
"It sounds like a river," a woman beside me says, and it is like standing watch on a peaceful bank.
It reminds me of nothing more than one of my favorite wildlife watching moments, when I had the chance to see a herd of elephants grazing in Sri Lanka. A feeling of peace, tranquility and awe swept over me in the presence of those beasts. I'm glad I came to Pigs Peace to witness a sounder and meet Oscar the 655-pound pig with the snuffling nose and keen eyes. Now, I'm sure I've seen a pig, and truly appreciated these animals for very first time.
This year, I'm walking in the Walk for Farm Animals Sept. 21 in Seattle - changing hearts and raising funds for farm animals.
The first barn had a narrow entry and we filed in two at a time. On my turn, I came face to face with Oscar, an American Yorkshire pig. He had ears larger than my hands, which flopped over at the ends like a pedigree Sheltie. He had a wrinkled snout and huge wet nostrils, which tilted up, snuffling us at bellybutton height. He was enormous. Full-grown pigs weigh 300-500 pounds, although even this seems an underestimate. Oscar, was also, well, surprisingly, cute. There was something lively in those little, blue inset eyes. As I exited the barn, I turned to the people nearest me. "I thought I had seen a pig before, but I don't think I really had." They nodded in agreement. Oscar was some pig.Pigs Peace Sanctuary in Stanwood, Washington offers tours seasonally at 4 p.m. on Sundays — and don't be late. Arranging the tour, Judy sent clipped emails and I imagined she might be rather gruff, a person who is better with pigs than people. Instead, she was a bright-eyed, vivacious host with welcoming energy. Taking care of 190 pigs on 39 acres, however, requires efficiency.
Pigs Peace lived up to its name. The sanctuary smelled of sweet hay. In the barn, I climbed bales of it to look down at three large pigs snuggled together on a giant cushion of hay. Outside, pigs wandered free in the fields. "Anyone could walk safely among those pigs," Judy said. Of course, both the smell and the contentment were due to great ongoing efforts by Judy and any available volunteers. Daily tasks at the sanctuary include scooping waste and spreading fresh hay. On arrival, most of the pigs are biters, Judy said. She earns their trust with consistent treatment until they are at ease. Oftentimes, pigs arrive malnourished, but obese. Fat grows over their eyes, blinding them. Judy takes pains to slim them down so they can see again. She talks about the joyful behavior of pigs who have had their sight-restored. "There's nothing like the gratitude of those pigs. You can just see they appreciate each day and make the most of it," she said.
As she shows us around, Judy tells us which pigs have special connections: "You probably didn't notice, but those two came out of the woods together."; Ramona and Isabelle came together from confinement at SeaWorld; and, "He never goes anywhere with out her." She tells us about the hundreds of rescued pot-bellied pigs who came to the sanctuary by the trailer-full and the one pig who waited by the gate until her special friend arrived. Then they ran off together. When someone asks, "Does that one have a name?" Judy replies, "All of the pigs have names."
Next Judy takes us in to an enclosure to meet Baily, a blind rescue pig. Although he's often gregarious, on this day, Baily doesn't move from his spot in the hay while we 10 tourists hover over him in awe of his girth. Again, full-grown pigs weigh from 300-500, but it's hard to find even that information at the top of a Google search. The most often cited number is 250 pounds, because that's the weight at which pigs are typically slaughtered, when they are only 6-7 months of age. In fact, Baily, the sanctuary's peaceful ambassador, weighs an intimidating 900 pounds. But he's sleeping this afternoon. He doesn't wake up when we place our hands on his flank or even when we scratch behind his ear feeling the soft skin covered by coarse hair. He doesn't wake even when Judy lifts his jowls to show us his yellow tusks. "He doesn't need anesthesia when the vet comes to trim them," she said. He's that gentle.
Now, this I know I had never seen before: acres of pigs standing in a field together with their tails spinning — the pig happy dance. A group of wild pigs is called a sounder. Judy has us roll wheelbarrows full of apples beside the field and begin to throw them over the fence as treats for the pigs. "Make them work for it!" she yells, encouraging us to throw apples further afield for the pigs to run and eat. That's right, run. Pigs can clock seven miles an hour. Even Ziggy, the three-legged pig, moves quickly toward those apples. At the end of the tour, it's time for more treats for the pigs. We stand over the field and throw carrots down onto a concrete pad (so the pigs won't also take in mouthfuls of bark). There are a few squeals from the smaller pigs when the larger ones claim the gold, but for the most part its sonorous grunts and waves of munching."It sounds like a river," a woman beside me says, and it is like standing watch on a peaceful bank.
This year, I'm walking in the Walk for Farm Animals Sept. 21 in Seattle - changing hearts and raising funds for farm animals.
Yay! I love Pigs Peace. It's so great that they just get to be pigs--they don't have to be livestock or pets. They have names, but they are their own people! I'm a regular donor for exactly that reason.
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