Jenkins Steve - Esther the wonder pig : changing the world one heart at a time

T heres little point to a life that lacks excitement. But theres excitement, and then theres a freight train hurtling toward your bedroom at 3 a.m. on a fairly regular basis.

We call it the Piggy Parade.

It sounds tame, but in reality there is nothing tame or serene about being startled awake by a 650-pound commercial pig barreling down your hallway. Its something you feel first: Theres a vibration that starts to rumble through the mattress into your sleepy consciousness and you have just moments to realize whats happening and make room for a mammoth being who fully intends to make herself at home on your bed. Over the din of pillows flying and humans and dogs and cats alike all scrambling to get out of the way, comes the sound of hooves racing across the hardwood floor, gaining momentum with every step, getting louder by the second. Once youve heard that sound, its embedded in your psyche, and your response is Pavlovian. (The term Pavlovian, having originated in reference to dogs, means that Reuben and Shelby, our beloved canines, also know what to do. Our cats, Delores and Finnegan, are on their own.) The sound is thunderous; the house practically shakes with each stepand theres the crash of the occasional piece of furniture getting knocked over. You hear it coming, you feel it in your bones, but theres nothing you can do.

Our darling princess comes crashing into the room, most likely spooked by a noise in the night. She launches into our bed much the same way she launched into our lives and while it might be a mad scramble to make room for her, its also a whole new, wonderful level of exhilarating. And we wouldnt have it any other way.

Maybe pig parenting was my destiny. Ive always loved animals. If I encountered a situation with a trapped dog and a trapped person, I hate to say it, but I feel I would help the animal first. Animals need humans to help them. And for whatever reason, Ive always felt like their protector.

My very first best friend was my childhood dog, Brandy. She was a shepherd mix, brown and black with floppy ears and a long straight tail, a nice contrast to my super-light blond shaggy hairthough I didnt have the floppy ears and tail. (I looked a little like Dennis the Menace, and some might say we shared some personality traits as well. Though Steve the Menace doesnt quite have the same ring to it.) Brandy and I were inseparable. And she followed me like a shadow everywhere I wentto friends houses, to the park, even from room to room in our home.

We lived in Mississauga, a fairly big city, but it was a different time: Life was simpler and safer then. We used to ride our bikes and walk everywhere until it was dark and thus time to go home.

Before we had any pets at our house, independent six-year-old that I was, Id explore other yards to see what pets they had and occasionally find myself trespassing to make a new friend. My parents never let me forget the time I ignored the home by dark rule. I had made fast friends that day with a neighbors dog, and at a certain point the family who lived there told me it was time to go home. So off I went, out the gate and out of sight. But when the family disappeared into their abode, I let myself back in and continued to play with the dog. When youre a kid you dont think about little things like worried parents or breaking and entering.

My subterfuge was uncovered during a heated game of fetch: The stick that was thrown accidentally hit the window. (Do you like how I put that one on the stick, like I wasnt the one who threw it? Thats just because I couldnt find a way to blame the dog.)

When the curtains opened and the couple peered out to see what the noise was, I stood very still. I tried to think of myself as a chameleon, hoping to blend in with their yard. Maybe I should have gone with ninja instead of chameleon, because that didnt work at all. Oddly, I was not invisible, and the kind woman came out and invited me into her house to play with the dog inside where there would be no fetch or broken windows.

A heartwarming story, isnt it?

Funny how that all changes when the police come knocking on the door.

Yes, thats what happened. Apparently they were canvassing the neighborhood at the prompting of my panicked parents. (At least its nice to know they cared.) Id honestly been completely oblivious to the terror I was putting my parents through by not returning home on time, but youd better believe I heard about it when I got home. Over and over until I went to sleep that night.

However, you could say that my little B&E was actually rewarded, because that very same week my parents got Brandy for me so this would never happen again.