Phil Junior at his Terrace.

This is Phil Junior emerging onto his terrace overlooking the pond. He's getting used to the light and can't wait to dig into the peanut butter I left for him. But before he actually digs in, he looks around for any signs of danger or uninvited guests like Scoopy the squirrel who also has a hankering for PB. Notice the PB on the rock "table" that he dug up and placed there for my benefit, no doubt--that way, I don't have to go through the trouble of putting it in a piece of paper towel that I would throw inside his tunnel.

Fishes are People too.

I thought I'd say a few words of about that much maligned branch of the tree of life: fish. Specifically, Koi and Gold Fish. I'll not go into that horrid episode where I killed the first population in my pond by pumping them full of fresh water--OVERNIGHT. That's a terrible thing to do to fish; but I swear to you, it was an accident.

My pond was leaking water something serious and I left the hose on overnight. What is most heinous is that I have a degree in biology and should have known better.

Fast forward to the restocking but with the problem not assuaged by Winter--two Koi and a dozen or more goldfish at PetLand or some such outlet but the water level kept going down and I tried to keep up with it. I did, but the water level went down to where the local cats had access to the fish. The first fish to go were the Koi (they are somewhat sluggish in cold water). One was eaten outright and the other was injured to the point where he died in the pond. I fished him out and left him as road kill--some scavenger was appreciative). The goldfish succumbed one by one to the point where there were only 5 left. I fished out 4 and couldn't locate the fifth. I set up the four goldfish in a 10 gallon (you can put as many goldfish in a 10 gallon as you like but you must be sure to properly oxygenate the water--they will let you know they are suffocating when they breathe near the surface).

I had the fifth goldfish up for lost when my son spotted him and we managed to bring him back to the fold--I named him Sacco. Now I have the five chilling in my 10 gallon tank while I await the repair of the pond by my twin boys who insist--having inherited their mother's OCD--that there must be a continuation of the pond that they constructed. Ok, so here I am with Sacco, Sacco2, BuglyEyes, BuglyEyes2, and Psycho (being as 20% of people are psychopaths, and there is no reason to believe such a characteristic is not biologically conserved across species. lol)

The more I study animal life around me, the more I see a crazy ass intelligence that makes me wonder why we don't exhibit a greater intelligence by a factor that lends some credence to the ratio of our respective brain sizes. These little guys know when feeding time is (6Am, 12Pm, and 6Pm) and have developed a behavior that clearly communicates expectation to me (they line up side by side and look in my direction). They also play (well, at least Sacco2 does) with the bubbles; but all chase each other around in some sort of mating game (or so Google tells me).

Phil, Our Local Groundhog

We've had Phil (what else can you call your first groundhog?) or some reasonable facsimile ever since we moved into our present home in Hudson County. At first, being a working stiff, I didn't pay much attention to Howie our then German neighbor to the west and his constant trapping of the (same?) groundhog. The story was that the rodent was "very destructive" although I don't remember Howie and Helen having either flowers or vegetables.

Fast forward to my semi-retirement and I see that my German/Ukrainian in-laws also seem to consider Phil-like creatures a plague (being from Jersey City, neither knew diddly squat about yard maintenance and they learned everything from Howie and Helen). They didn't try to trap them like Howie did but if they had I think they would have dropped him off at the meadowlands which are nearby. What my in-laws did was to try to outwit Phil by plugging up his entrances with all manner of debris but mostly rocks. Phil just dug around them. That a boy, Phil!

Over the last 2 or 3 years, though, Phil has encountered another human nemesis--our Palestinian neighbors to the east. They said they actually had some damage to their vegetables and said that they were going to poison Phil. I quickly summoned forth the name of Allah, saying that Phil had every right to this Earth or else why would Allah have created him if he didn't fit in with his plan. OK, the Palestinians acquiesced and decided to trap him with a homemade trap. In two years, they have not succeeded.

It's not that Phil has squirrel or crow blood in him--he's quite the lumbering beast and you wonder how he avoids traps and the pit bulls to the east. The reason why Phil doesn't venture into untrodden territory is that I, not wanting to see Phil come down with PTSD, have kept him happy with that perennial and most sought-after food, peanut butter.

I butter the bird feeder with it and slap some on a tree for Scoopy (our squirrel) and, for Phil, I take two tablespoons worth and put it in a small piece of paper towel making a giant "kiss" which I then proceed to throw into one of Phil's tunnels. Sometimes, though, I forget to do that but as I go about my other chores, his highness pokes his head from one of his tunnels and silently asks, "did you forget something?"

Now, to the present. As some may have read elsewhere on this blog, I had problems with the Palestinians and I couldn't help myself thinking that they had redoubled their efforts to catch Phil in retribution (I can't help it, I go through periods of misanthropy that first surfaced during the Bush Administration). Why did I think this way? Well, Phil had made a trail across a section of the lawn between the drain pipe bordering the Palestinian's property and the tray that my mother-in-law used to feed bread to the birds (mind you, the woman is also highly fond of cats and every so often I'll see feathers on the lawn). That was Phil's trail and the other day I noticed that it wasn't that well-worn any more. I shuddered, and Phil, to make matters worse, hadn't surfaced in 3 days. I told my wife that I was hoping that, being that it was Spring and all, Phil was just out poking his dirty, filthy, worm crawling . . . er, you get the idea. And while I'm on the subject of groundhog parenting, the fathers, actually prefer empty nests and read their scions the parable of the three piggies first chance they get. [I saw it firsthand as two "teenagers" thought they were entitled to their pop's tunnels--Phil went after them like a lion hooking up with a divorcee lioness and looking at her sons as if they were morsels. Yea, such is the animal kingdom.]

There was hope, however, yesterday I looked at his entrance by the pond and low and behold, two rocks had been excavated from God knows where and were there adorning his hole. I knew it had to be Phil but were these rocks that I just had not noticed before? I went about my business after having left Phil some Peanut butter by his drain escape. The peanut butter went uneaten for 2 hours. It was then that I spotted his highness, the grand rodent, peering out towards me seeming to ask if I thought a groundhog didn't dig on his stomach (you know, like soldiers marching on theirs). I said, hold on Phil, I'll get you some PB . I buttered his excavated rocks with PB, he came and, I don't know if he thought it was wrapped in paper towel but he snatched it all up in one scoop as if it had been and off he went.

I was most happy when I spotted the civil engineer's handy work and knew Phil or a reasonable facsimile had returned. I wish I can tell them apart. I'd collar the bugger if I thought he'd let me.

BTW, if your property has flooding problems, my advice is that you begin feeding the groundhogs because they make the most wonderful drains in the world--think, they don't like to be flooded either.

A few paragraphs on the lengthy history of two once-abandoned cats.

Spotos and Tiger were two prematurely weaned and starving--and soon to be lucky--animals when our family found them in autumn; in a local park; 21 yrs ago. They were given names that logically branded them as apt as "Red" or "Slim." Of course, being that our family's Dysfunctionality Index hovers around 7.8, Spotos would come to be known as Sasha to all except me. Sasha. What does that convey? The way she walked? No, she moved like any other feline; might as well have called her Strayos. Why not? It sounds like Stavros and that's legitimate. Anyway, Spotos settled down with us and Tiger went to live on the first floor with my in-laws (that reminds me, I got to pick up a costume).  There, Tiger stayed with no contact from Spotos. If they knew of each other's existence they kept it to themselves.

Now, Spotos had a relationship of mutual respect with our Jack Russell (ground rules were those of the top cat and they were set day 1).  Tiger, on the other hand, would recoil in horror at just the thought of seeing the dog. However, life is changing and fleeting. Towards the end, the dog would come to enjoy napping close to Spotos, the now ancient cat who was no longer desirous of apartheid. After dying in her sleep, she was interred with as much fanfare as possible without attracting any neighbors--I played Chopin's "Funeral March" as my daughter found that there were higher levels of embarrassment that could emanate from dear old Dad.

Tiger too towards the end, stopped his aversion to our dog and would walk in front of him as if the dog had gone into another dimension. The strangest thing that's very personal to me is that Tiger, after 20 years, decided to visit me towards the end of his life. I've heard it said once that near the end of life, many regress to childhood behavior. Had old olfactory kitten-hood memories kicked in to direct him to the human that adopted him and filled his newborn belly with God-knows-what-it-was I concocted. Or, there's another explanation; one that a priest or cat-whisperer medium might give me: Tiger was playing peacemaker by trying to bring me closer to my in-laws from whom I've kept my distance a while.

Tomorrow might shed some light on the latter as I've been delegated to bury Tiger next to Spotos on top of the hill where the dog is himself too old to climb the hill and go digging up bones. 

Hubert gets saved (for real, this time)

Hubert has been rescued. He has been brought to Popcorn Park Zoo in New Jersey where he underwent surgery to repair 2 broken nails and have his hooves trimmed. He will remain at Popcorn Park for the remainder of his quarantine (he can't leave Jersey) and Susan said it looks like she might already have someone interested in him. She said he was a VERY nice, and a VERY good pig! :) (Latest email from my daughter, Adrienne)

Hubert gets saved

I am married to a woman who would do anything for her mother; after all, this was the woman who pre-chewed her food for her as a young child (they couldn't afford the better cuts). Hubert, although cared for by my mother-in-law for the last year because she felt compelled to do so, would soon fall into disfavor for some inexplicable reason--or, I fell into disfavor and she took it out on him. In any event, my wife tried for a while to find Hubert a home. Being unsuccessful at it, she resorted to calling the Animal Control Department at North Bergen, NJ. I'm not sure of the details but she got the ACD to come for Hubert. She told me at the time that Hubert would be taken to a farm. It sounded suspicious so I said that I would follow the vehicle to wherever they were taking Hubert and assure myself that he would be taken care of and not used for target practice. It was a lie, they were coming to euthanize poor Hubert.

I sent off a volley of email to all eight of the Jimenez kids and one of them, my daughter Adrienne got involved immediately. She, along with her significant other, Sean Martinez, began to try to find Hubert a home. They soon communicated with Susan of PigPlacementNetwork.com who said that Hubert could be cared for while they found him a home. There were bureaucratic problems concerning Hubert's overgrown hooves and his weight problem. The vet seemed to think that Hubert's interests would best be served by putting him down. To shorten a very long story involving a cast of dozens of people, Susan did not give up and got the Animal Control Agent and the vet to turn Hubert over to her care. He's going there this Monday where a wound incurred in transport would be cared for and Hubert would be rehabilitated (put on a diet) in preparation for any possible adoption. Susan's organization has found homes for a thousand pigs so far.

Hubert was never my pig but I felt sorry for the way he got obese and fat folds over his eyes kept him blind. Even in his condition, he was always the assertive pig but never mean although to most humans he appeared mean--he wasn't, he was just being an assertive pig. I can't tell you the immense relief I felt when this woman from Pig Placement Network, this angel for the swines, came through for Hubert. The donations from our family are pouring into her charity as we speak. It costs 100 dollars a month to care for a pig like Hubert and we will do all we can to support him in his adventure at Ross Mill Farms.

Finally, I'd like to thank Adrienne Jimenez and Sean Martinez for coming to Hubert's aid. The Animal Control Agent, Jeffrey, whom I berated with outlandish insults and who took it all on the chin knowing I was irate out of frustration in having failed Hubert, is also thanked for not letting the bureaucracy get in the way. I also thank Dr. Carlos Triana for letting me bring Hubert his favorite food while he was in the vet's care.

Hubert the Introvert

Hubert has degraded to a pig. Poor Hubert, lifts his body from the bedding and poops right there. When he urinates, he moves over a few feet. We have no explanation for this behavior other than the fact that he is morbidly obese, can't see because his face squints out his eyes, and drags his pot belly on the ground. The latter may account for why he hates to walk beyond his bedding--he hates the cold of the basement floor.

We have taken steps to put him up for adoption where he might enjoy and socialize with other farm-like animals. However, we think it best to slim him down some so that he can become more "placeable."

My advice to those who may want a Vietnamese pot belly pig is this: be careful where you buy from. We bought Hubert from a breeder in Texas who gave us a breed that grew to be 3-4 times the size of an average Vietnamese PBP. Secondly, if you can't get any guarantees on size, get one only if you live in a more temperate climate like the Southern U.S. If he's going to live indoors in the winter, you'll regret it.

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.

Hubert goes into chill mode

My son started college away from home and, it seems, Hubert hasn't been the same since. He just mopes all day long and lays on his bed and just goes out to poop. He is also a lot less vocal these days even when he's hungry which isn't often. His food often goes uneaten (never his fresh fruit or peanut butter, however). We'd be worried but he really hasn't lost any significant weight. Of course, just laying around how much weight can he lose. He used to like being stroked with a brush; often lying down immediately so as to give access to his belly but that's a thing of the past.

We suspect that he may be sight impaired because he gets awfully close to objects before sidestepping them. He seems to be using his sense of smell to guide him. When walking along a paved narrow walkway, he will swing his head from side to side as if he's smelling either side of the walkway.

I want the old cantankerous Hubert back.

Hubert starts his Summer

Hubert has an excellent sense of timing, as do dogs. At 3PM, Hubert comes out into the yard and waits for me. I have discovered that if you stick to a schedule, you will not hear a peep out of Hubert. VPB pigs are great at figuring things out. When his food sources were random, Hubert did nothing but complain about his next meal.
When we settled into a schedule, Hubert had the patience of Job. Not only that but he seems to require less food! We've cut back on his calories and he's slimming down--well, at least his belly is not as rotund as it used to be.

If you miss his accustomed feeding times, Hubert will be very vocal but if you go up to him, pet him, and tell him some story, he'll shut up and follow you 'cause he knows you mean well. I love Hubert. A few days ago, I found out that he's illegal in our town. His owner, my son, has vowed to move into another, more progressive town in order to keep Hubert from ending up in a petting zoo.

Just a note about his "crankiness." If you chill with Hubert, you will find that he occasionally grunts and tries to "bite you." In the hundreds of times he has done this, he has never bitten me. What I think is happening is that he is frustrated over not being understood, so he feigns belligerence. That's right, he acts like a cranky bastard until you do what he expects from you.

In these situations, I merely scream out in Spanish, "Maricon, hijo de puta," and slap him lightly on the face (I mean LIGHTLY--like you might do if you had to fake it in a Hollywood movie). Hubert will quiet down and wait for you to try and "understand" him. Many of these "attacks" have come when Eddie (our Jack Russell) is around and he wants to let you know that Eddie upsets him. He never has this reaction with Abbey (our pit Bull/Terrier mix). That's because Abbey always shies away from him.

Hubbie and "the dogs"

Hubert hates Eddie. Eddie didn't really do anything to him or at least not anything that we witnessed; but, just to smell Eddie is enough for Hubert to start grunting up a storm. I actually ran an experiment where I petted Hubert with my left hand and then the second I switched overt to my right hand (that had previously petted Eddie), he showed his displeasure. WE NEED a PIG WISPERER. I actually felt Hubert's teeth on my hand.

I'm going to determine if it's Eddie or dogs in general that Hubert dislikes. I'm going to pet Abbie before Hubert and see how he reacts.

Another anecdote with regard to dogs and Hubert is when my daughter, Adrienne, the Veterinary Assistant, came by to visit after work. With her, Hubert was much more of a a "cantankerous bastard," as a friend of the family had pegged Hubert. We surmised that Adrienne, dealing with dogs all day, had--to Hubert--smelled like a dozen dogs caught in the rain.

I've never been as understanding with other animals as I've been with Hubert. I ask myself how I would feel if my only tools for conveying information to a caretaker were a snout, a mouth, and some grunts. I allow Hubert to feign biting me because that's a built in "word" for him to convey displeasure. Hubert, to his credit, always lets me "fight back." He never escalates the fight except perhaps to keep grunting for he must have the last word especially on issues that are important to him (food & chillin).

A quick note on his sense of smell. The other day I poked my head through the basement door. I looked to see if Hubert was around. He wasn't eating so he must have been in his room about 25 feet away from where I stood at the door. It was just a momentary look and I was on my way. As I ascended the stairs to my room, Hubert came out grunting for me.

Hubert shows hi s displeasure

"Dad, will you come and look at Hubert. He's acting a little strange," said my Son, Andre, this morning. I went out on the porch to look out towards the yard. "Do you think he's all right?," continued my son.

Hubert had been laying across a flower bed for about 15 minutes according to my son. It was unusual only because it was a very chilly day with a nasty wind chill added on. Hubert preferred his warmth. I said to myself that he might have had a fever; knowing that animals under God's care usually know how to take care of themselves.

I told my son I had no idea what was wrong but I wasn't too concerned because my son managed to call him into the basement

Well, a few hours passed and I saw Hubert chilling with my daughter on top of the hill at the far end of our yard. I went out there to do what I usual do with Hubert (walk him, scratch him, and bring him back for some fruit treats). On our way back, Hubert had seen me take down a rug that he had used for most of the winter and which was cleaned and laid out in the Sun for drying. At the point where the rug had hit the ground, Hubert started sniffing and refused to come with me into the basement.

I took the rug back into the basement where I was going to lay it out in his room. My son stopped me and with paint roller in his hand and said that I wasn't going to be able to set up the rug because he had moved a whole bunch of stuff into Hubert's room temporarily. Aha! Poor Hubert had been expressing his displeasure over what Andre had done to his sleeping quarters. The poor thing had no room to even turn around.

In the chilly air, poor Hubert was telling us that he didn't like what we had done. When he smelled his old rug, he was telling me that he wanted his life put back the way it was.

When an animal acts strangely, when he refuses to do things he's always done, you should stand back, look at the situation and figure it out. They act differently for a reason. Find out why and maybe God will look down upon you a little less harshly for having taken an animal away from nature and into human society. IMHO.

Winterizing the Pig

Hubert, I discovered, doesn't like snow--he thinks he's going to sink into it. He also doesn't like slippery surfaces like ice-covered sidewalks--he hates it when he slides. It's related to his dislike of hills or slopes. Hubert is a pig who enjoys his low center of gravity and anything that threatens that joy soon becomes an object of scorn.

During a particularly nasty climate in NJ, Hubert had the hardest time leaving the basement to venture out to the yard to poop. I finally had to entice him with dried apricots onto the patio. He normally avails himself of the lawn but, being that it was snow-covered, he would not go there. Still, no pooping. Then I saw him trying to dig into the hard patio surface. I reasoned that he was looking for evidence of earth. Apparently, that's there main criteria for suitable defecation surface. I got some of his old poop from the compost heap, added some dirt and threw it on the patio. Hubert then lifted up his tail because, for him, or was right with world. Prior to this episode, Hubert had used his own carpet to defecate. Why? Well, it was because the carpet had not been kept very clean of mud and the smell of dirt had triggered Hubert's release of poop.

Concerning brushing, VPB pigs definitely need it to get rid of large skin flakes that stick to their hair with a tenacious static electricity. This year, we're looking into the possibility of buying skin conditioner by the gallon. Speaking of hair, Hubert is growing the most splendid "Mohawk" atop his head. His hair has grown to a length of 3 inches over most of his body.

Hubert's Frosty Winter

I thought Hubert would not venture out on the cold being that he's from Vietnam and is not equipped for the cold but that turned out not to be his main concern.

When faced with snow, Hubert apparently tests the first inch or so and decides that it may be some kind of swamp or quicksand and will not put his full weight on it. I know this because, after shoveling the snow down to the ground, Hubert determined that it was safe and went out to do his business. But, interestingly, not until I left him alone near the door to the outside to contemplate the situation. While I remained at that door, Hubert kept trying to tell me that he would prefer for me to come into the basement and give him some goodies there. I was not about to give in to him and proceeded to walk away into the yard to play ball with the dogs. Sure enough, he was soon in the yard grunting about why he couldn't have stayed in Texas where it was warm all year long. [he was born in Texas].

I also noticed on a previous day, where the ground was covered with just a dusting of snow, that Hubert needs to recognize (smell) the ground. Only after he digged around with his snout did he poop and pee.

Hubert is also terrified of icy conditions. If he detects that he may slide, he does not continue along the same path but finds an alternate route around. Aren't we all like that? Afraid of the road less-traveled.

Hubert is very good at pooping and peeing in areas that are removed from his bedding and his food dish. Yesterday, he had to "go" but Grandma, who usually lets him out in the morning, was not around to open the outside door. Hubert went into my son's (his owner's) room in the basement and pooped there. [My son's room had been left open by Grandpa who needed to make sure that my son, vacationing in Columbia, had not left any heaters on.] I should have suspected something when, later that day, when I took him for his walk, his volume of poop was greatly diminished. My son had told me that these pigs hold their poop for days if they have to in order not to do their business near their living quarters. Ha, Hubert had determined that the operative words were "out of sight" of your living quarters.
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Hubert chilling in the Fall.

This is Hubert taking his daily walk with me. His tail it not up in the air which means he's not fertilizing the bush. I don't know if it's intentional but Hubert has a preference for plants. It's almost as if he knows that if he does for them (the plants) they'll do for him (berries, leaves).

As you can see, he's kind of exotic looking--very Asian eyes.

He's become very tolerant of Abby, one of our two dogs, but he still gets upset if Abby tries to come into his "room" where he sleeps.
The weather is getting colder. It's now nearly December but the cold days that we've had do not seem to bother Hubert. He still ventures into the yard and will chill underneath his favorite table if the Sun is shining. I think his black coat keeps him somewhat warm. We'll see what the Winter holds for his majesty.

Hubert at a garden wedding.

This is Hubert at my son's garden wedding in July of this 2007. He cleared away the mulch and began to make himself a mud bath. He was the hit of the wedding and was very well behaved but then, people were feeding him food all day.