Every morning, my pet pig, Pip, greets me not with a squeal, but with a soft, knowing nuzzle against my hand. He’s a Gloucester Old Spot, with pink cheeks and dark, gentle eyes that seem to hold more curiosity than any animal I’ve known. But it’s his intelligence that truly astonishes me.
Pip has learned to nudge the back door with his snout when he wants out, and he even knows the sound of the fridge opening from two rooms away. His cleverest trick, though, is puzzle-solving. I bought him a dog’s treat puzzle sliding doors and flip lidsand he mastered it in under a minute. Now he solves three in a row before breakfast, snorting with satisfaction each time he unearths an apple slice.
Beyond his smarts, Pip is wonderfully loving. He follows me from garden to kitchen, flopping down at my feet with a contented grunt. When I’m sad, he rests his heavy, warm head on my knee and stays perfectly still. Some people laugh when I call him my pet. But watching him trot proudly across the yard, a leaf stuck to his ear and pure joy in his step, I know there’s nothing funny about loving a creature so lovely and so brilliantly smart.
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