Wilbur and Us Chapter 11 "Wilbur's Bitch"

We were at our wits end, and really didn’t know what to do. Wilbur was too big too transport in the truck, and we couldn’t afford to pay a vet to make a house call, tranquilize a 300 pound pig, and perform the surgery. At the moment though, I felt like getting a sharp knife and doing it myself.

Rhea mentioned the possibility of giving Wilbur to one of the local farms in the Redlands about four miles away. There were a couple of problems with this idea, one we couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get slaughtered, and two, we had heard stories of pot belly pigs being given away, then dying in a month or two of a broken heart. “No,” I said, “I have never got rid of a pet before, and I am not getting rid of this one!” “Really,” Rhea said, “You’ve never given a pet away before?” “No, once I take an animal, they stay with me until it dies.” I replied. “One way or another, we will work this out.”

The fact that Wilbur had been spoiled so much prior to this did not help the situation. Wilbur was as they say, pig headed, and used to getting his way. We decided to work out a compromise solution; Wilbur would be an outdoor pig during the daytime, when he was frisky, and allowed to go to bed at night when he was sleepy. This arrangement worked rather well unless Wilbur got into the house unnoticed. Most people don’t know this, but pigs are very intelligent, as smart, or, smarter than dogs. Wilbur is very adroit at being sneaky, so he had to be watched like a hawk, and the bedroom doors had to be kept shut tight.

Most of my spare time was spent on my back patio, watching my TV, and chilling out with a beer. It was just natural that Wilbur and I spent a lot of time together. Wilbur was (and still is) a very loving and affectionate pig. He was always coming up and rubbing against me much like a cat does, except Wilbur being 300 pounds, would almost knock me over if I wasn’t ready for his affection.

On the back patio I had this old hassock footstool that I would  put my feet up on when I was relaxing. One day I got home from work and my footstool was gone. I looked around for it on the patio, but couldn’t find it. I then looked in the back yard, and there it was; Wilbur had it and was humping it! I guess Wilbur took a liking to it, and just pushed it into the backyard with his snout. I was not happy, but after Wilbur got done with it, I didn’t really want it back anyway. So, my hassock footstool became Wilbur’s first “bitch”.

This turned out to be a win-win situation, Wilbur got all the action he wanted (at least twice a day), and he left our furniture alone. Wilbur was once again happier than a pig in the proverbial poop, and we were delighted.

Unfortunately after a couple of weeks of Wilbur’s hammering, and the rain, the hassock fell apart into a pile of straw. We were frantic; we had to find Wilbur another bitch. We went to every store we could think of, but not one of them carried that once popular item anymore. We went to yard sales, and garage sales, but could not find an acceptable replacement for his lost love.

About that time we had Hurricane Wilma blow through the area. A neighbor down the street lost his entire shed, and it contents to the 100 M.P.H. winds. The next day I found a thirty gallon water container sitting in my front yard. I took a good long look at it, and came up with an idea. I took it into the back yard, filled it up with water, and glued an old area rug to the top. Wilbur saw this thing, and it was love at first sight! “Bitch” number two was born! After a year or so, the container got a crack and wouldn’t hold water anymore; so I filled it up with dirt, and stuck it in an old bean bag chair. This is the “bitch” you will see in the pictures.

So, Wilbur was happy, and we were happy; another calamity diverted with love, and a little American ingenuity.

Next: Wilbur gets narc’ed out by a neighbor.

Be the first on your block to read my dumb posts! Follow me on twitter, Twitter.com/muley12; and facebook, Michael A. Muehleisen

Wilbur and Us Chapter 12..."Hog Heaven"

I really didn’t know that there were restrictions about having a pot belly pig for a pet, but I later read how a school teacher was fighting the City of Homestead to keep her pet pig. The City had lumped together all pigs in the classification of “livestock”, and banned them from residential areas. The lady fought City Hall, and eventually won, keeping her pig; but this was not something I cared to go through. Wilbur’s days as a front yard pig were short lived. We did eventually find out which neighbor snitched to the authorities, after we had another visit from the authorities about a pig, (that they never found) and a couple more about our dogs. It turned out that the cops hated this guy (because he complains about all the neighbors), and told him he better not to bother them again with stupid complaints, and so far, he hasn’t.

There was one big problem that had yet to be solved, and that was Wilbur’s weight. His belly was getting so big that it literally scraped the ground as he walked. Since we couldn’t get him leg extensions, we decided to put him on a diet. Rhea and I drove to the Redlands and visited a feed store there. We told them of our problem, and found out that we should not be feeding a pot belly pig dog food, cocoa puffs, bread, meat, and a host of Wilbur’s other favorite foods. We left the feed store with a bag of pot belly pig food, and a bag of corn to mix with the food.

Wilbur had always been raised as a junk food junkie, and he did not take to his change of diet well. The first couple of days were really tough for the poor pig. Wilbur was used to getting a bowl of cocoa puffs every morning for breakfast, and several snacks throughout the day, topped off with a dish of dry dog food for supper; but now he was just getting a dish of pig food mixed with corn once a day at supper. Like any junkie, Wilbur spent a lot of time trying to secure a fix. He started rummaging through the kitchen garbage can, and raiding the dog’s dishes, by pushing the dogs out of the way. This did not go over well with the dogs, and every night a fight would erupt. To solve this problem we had to start feeding the dogs inside, and Wilbur outside with the doors tightly closed.

At this time Mrs. Pulee was out of town staying at her daughter’s house in Tampa, so she wasn’t spoiling him with treats anymore, and Wilbur was becoming frantic. He started experimenting with other substances to get him by. One of his favorites was gasoline.

One day while mowing the lawn Jeff left the gas can on the back patio where Wilbur could get at it. This was a big mistake because we found out that Wilbur loves gasoline…the hard way. Wilbur knocked over the gas can and started going crazy over the spilt gasoline. Fortunately Jeff saw what was going on before Wilbur started the house on fire, or before he poisoned himself. We now know better, and keep the gas can out of Wilbur’s reach.

Slowly, but surely, Wilbur adjusted to his new diet, and within six months he had lost enough weight that there was a 2-3 inch gap between his belly and the ground. Wilbur could start going up and down the step from the edge of the patio to the back yard with little difficulty. Since it was a very hot and humid summer (as they all are down here), we decided to reward Wilbur with his own pool to keep cool in.

Rhea and I drove down to Florida City to the Super Wal Mart. There we looked over a selection of kiddie’s pools, looking for one that Wilbur could get into, and out of, and one that could stand his weight. We bought a nice five foot pool made out of a durable plastic. The pool was only a little over a foot deep, but we knew that with Wilbur’s water displacement, it would be perfect for him.

We brought it home and filled it up with water. The whole time we were filling it up, Wilbur stood by with his tail swishing anxiously. We had got the pool only half full when Wilbur decided that he could wait no longer. We finished filling up the pool with Wilbur lying in it as if he were King Farouk. Once again Wilbur was a big shot, this time with his own pool. Wilbur looked so cute in his little pool! I remarked that all he needed now was a cold beer, and a cigar, and he would be in hog heaven.

Now it was the dog’s turn to get jealous. They all wanted to get in the pool, but with King Farouk in it there was no room for anybody else.

Wilbur spent the rest if that summer in sublime ecstasy. Between his new pool, and his new “girlfriend”, he had everything he needed to be in hog heaven.

Next: The Painted Pig

Wilbur and Us Chapter 10..."Wilbur's Bitch"

We were at our wits end, and really didn’t know what to do. Wilbur was too big too transport in the truck, and we couldn’t afford to pay a vet to make a house call, tranquilize a 300 pound pig, and perform the surgery. At the moment though, I felt like getting a sharp knife and doing it myself.

Rhea mentioned the possibility of giving Wilbur to one of the local farms in the Redlands about four miles away. There were a couple of problems with this idea, one we couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t get slaughtered, and two, we had heard stories of pot belly pigs being given away, then dying in a month or two of a broken heart. “No,” I said, “I have never got rid of a pet before, and I am not getting rid of this one!” “Really,” Rhea said, “You’ve never given a pet away before?” “No, once I take an animal, they stay with me until it dies.” I replied. “One way or another, we will work this out.”

The fact that Wilbur had been spoiled so much prior to this did not help the situation. Wilbur was as they say, pig headed, and used to getting his way. We decided to work out a compromise solution; Wilbur would be an outdoor pig during the daytime, when he was frisky, and allowed to go to bed at night when he was sleepy. This arrangement worked rather well unless Wilbur got into the house unnoticed. Most people don’t know this, but pigs are very intelligent, as smart, or, smarter than dogs. Wilbur is very adroit at being sneaky, so he had to be watched like a hawk, and the bedroom doors had to be kept shut tight.

Most of my spare time was spent on my back patio, watching my TV, and chilling out with a beer. It was just natural that Wilbur and I spent a lot of time together. Wilbur was (and still is) a very loving and affectionate pig. He was always coming up and rubbing against me much like a cat does, except Wilbur being 300 pounds, would almost knock me over if I wasn’t ready for his affection.

On the back patio I had this old hassock footstool that would I put my feet up on when I was relaxing. One day I got home from work and my footstool was gone. I looked around for it on the patio, but couldn’t find it. I then looked in the back yard, and there it was; Wilbur had it and was humping it! I guess Wilbur took a liking to it, and just pushed it into the backyard with his snout. I was not happy, but after Wilbur got done with it, I didn’t really want it back anyway. So, my hassock footstool became Wilbur’s first “bitch”.

This turned out to be a win-win situation, Wilbur got all the action he wanted (at least twice a day), and he left our furniture alone. Wilbur was once again happier than a pig in the proverbial poop, and we were delighted.

Unfortunately after a couple of weeks of Wilbur’s hammering, and the rain, the hassock fell apart into a pile of straw. We were frantic; we had to find Wilbur another bitch. We went to every store we could think of, but not one of them carried that once popular item anymore. We went to yard sales, and garage sales, but could not find an acceptable replacement for his lost love.

About that time we had Hurricane Wilma blow through the area. A neighbor down the street lost his entire shed, and it contents to the 100 M.P.H. winds. The next day I found a thirty gallon water container sitting in my front yard. I took a good long look at it, and came up with an idea. I took it into the back yard, filled it up with water, and glued an old area rug to the top. Wilbur saw this thing, and it was love at first sight! “Bitch” number two was born! After a year or so, the container got a crack and wouldn’t hold water anymore; so I filled it up with dirt, and stuck it in an old bean bag chair. This is the “bitch” you will see in the pictures.

So, Wilbur was happy, and we were happy; another calamity diverted with love, and a little American ingenuity.

Next: Wilbur gets narc’ed out by a neighbor.

A big thank you very much to Benzinha, who took the time to teach me step by step how to post pictures.