Hubert, stop faking hunger!

Hubet used to get up in the middle of the night and ask my son to give him something to eat. My son, a pushover for animals, obliged but cursed the day of Hubet's transport to Jersey. But here's the clincher: last week, my son went with his girlfriend's family to P.R. on her graduation party--in that time, Hubet hasn't bothered anyone for midnight snacks.

What this tells me is that, if Hubet thinks he can get away with something, he will. If you present him with a dilemma like his customary afternoon snack never came and he cant' get at you to nudge your foot to get you going to do his bidding, he will fall back on a standard behavior like napping or taking a stroll but only if he has been well-fed. If he's really hungry, I don't think anything will deter him from his carb addiction.


Ever since learning of a pig's most "human" embryology, I have always elevated them amongst the other animals. Recently, though, I've been convinced that certain behavior is innate and nothing you do short of some Cesar Milan modification (yo, my man, don't take any grief from those University Brits who have no appreciation for the work you do), can change things. When Hubet is given food that he thinks he "found" by himself, he will, if you try to pick up any of his found food, snarl at you in such a manner that you instinctively withdraw your hand. When things like that happen, I repeatedly pound his forehead with the soft of my fist. This leviathan can hardly acknowledge it and must surely be thinking, "what the heck, I did see it first, grunt, grunt."

Hubet has gotten more respectful. Last year, he would have just plowed in to Grandpa Melnyk's tomatoes; this year, he travels a memorized route (I think he's at least partially blind). Some other animal, though, got his teeth on some peppers and Grandpa Melnyk built some barrier that the "Man against Wild" man would have built if he had been given an entire minute. Oh, you should see the ghetto in Old Man Melnyk's anti-Hubet fences: wire, old stakes, cardboard, scrap sheet metal. All personal filial people note, I really don't care if you step in front of train to save his life, I will tell the world the truth regardless of consequence--that's what writers and scientists do.

Hubert's dilemma

Hubert better watch his butt. Paranoia might set in and people who don't know better will start thinking that pigs and swine flu pandemics simply don't go together. In actuality, you are more likely to get swine flu from another person than you are from a pig but mob mentality is so hard to control.

Hubert has been demanding food at night. We don't know what to do about this behavior. Any pig-whisperers out there?

A Pig by any other name

Hubert is not a dog or cat. Anyone who dares to endow a Vietnamese Pot-bellied pig with canine/feline characteristics is in for a rude and crude awakening. Hubert cares about food and mud baths. There is nothing else this animal would entertain with his very smart brain. (This is why Russians choose to train bears and the French choose poodles. No one opts for a pig.) A pig bullied his way into a part on Charlotte's Web and I think one lead part but if you have one for a pet, he will disappoint you. He will amaze you on his many ways of manipulating you into giving him food but he will not do what you ask of him if it kills him. OK, they are too smart to piss you off that much but if there is a way to get past you, he will go for it. They can afford to do it. They are built like the proverbial Sherman Tank. Luckily, he is almost always on the defensive. Offensively, he only feigns an attack with dogs or human strangers.

I ask God every day to help me tolerate this beast and his modus operandi. I know fully well that it is not his fault that my son purchased him thinking he would remain a petite pig--what an oxymoron that turned out to be.

Hubert detects La Primavera

Hubert ventured outside yesterday on a day which may have made him think of Spring. He went to his old pooping grounds and then went back inside. I was at his side the whole time. I mentioned before that I thought he was blind. The Jury's still out. There are signs that point to blindness and signs that point to just poor eyesight. If he's blind, he sure has the map of his surroundings etched in brain. He goes from point A to B with no tripping or bumping into things but if he senses an obstacle in his way, he gets real close to it before stopping. That might show that he's nearsighted but who knows, it might just be from his very deeply-set eyes or from the reddish eye gook (sorry) that accumulates and which he delights in eating (double sorry).

I've gotten him used to a peanut butter treat at midday. I mix it with raisins and feed small globs to him with a spoon. I love plastering it on his palate. He gets back at me by wiping his snout on my pants when it's dirty. He's got some freakin nerve, this character.

Hubert hates the cold

Hubert or Hubet as my Jersey City Mother-in-law calls him (Are all JC inhabitants descended from Bostonians?), is acting like a duck out of water when it comes to the cold. He has refused to poop outside in the back yard. Instead, he has opted to use my work area. He dutifully uses the newspapers that I lay out for him and always goes within 30 minutes of being fed.

At one point, early in the Fall, I took out his rug "bed" to clean it. When I replaced it, he refused to use it and moved out of the little cozy cubicle that we had in the basement. This meant that we would have to find a way to keep his blubber warm. We have a heater going but kind-hearted family members (all of us) have taken to keeping him covered being as he is incapable of covering himself--much as he tries. He loves his Jets polyester blanket placed so as to cover him from head to toe leaving only his snout exposed (God forbid he should miss detecting the presence of a meal). Often, we'll see him arranging his bedding. It almost looks like he was creating a mud hole for himself out of ripped apart bedding (he tries to move the fabric while stepping on it; after all, he doesn't have any problem when he tries to rearrange mud ;).

He still loves to have his belly stroked/scratched and immediately lays down in order to accommodate me. He still doesn't grunt much except for extreme displeasure. Now, I can hug him without it sounding like he was having his throat slashed. My oldest son is in the habit of creating impromptu family surveys and others have taken to creating these. Ben created one: "If you can transform a family pet into a human that you could chill with, whom would it be? The hands down favorite was Hubet possibly because he seems so lonely chilling by himself all the time even though, apart from food and belly scratches, I don't think he has much need for human companionship. Proximity is something else; if we locked him out, I think he would break down the door just to get inside the basement.

Feeding him by hand would be fearful to the uninitiated because he's often so voracious; but like a dog, he knows to be totally gentle with the hand that feeds him.