Schrapnel- the Sexy pig

Now that you have some important pig info, back to the stories of my herd.
As mentioned previous, I had adopted two brothers from Critter Corral; Licorice and Schrapnel. Both had big enough personalities that I see fit to each give them their own post. :)

Schrapnel, like his brother, was all black but I called him my punk pig because of his mohawk and head crest. As he settled in, he became a very self assured pig who though smaller than Licorice, was obviously the alpha. He wasn't an alpha in a mean sense, as in biting or fighting. He was more the "I know I'm sexy" type, and carried himself as such. He was also a practical jokester.

One of my favorite memories of him was when Licorice was made the target of a joke while placidly stuffing his face at the food dish. The dish we had for them was a gravity bin feeder, meaning it hung from the side of the cage and we put it up at a height where they had to get some exercise. They would stand up on their hind legs and rest their paws on the edge of the bin to eat. (a term we later named candy caning, because they'd form that shape when eating)

So, here's Licorice, nose deep in food, minding his own business. Cue Schrapnel, who is quietly lurking on the cage floor. He suddenly runs up to Licorice and noses him in the stomach. Licorice's eyes pop and the whites show, in a comic expression that could only mean "Oh Crap!" and he falls over and rolls away.
If guinea pigs could laugh, Schrapnel was surely doing it at this point.
I was too, although I felt bad for poor Licorice.



Schrapnel loved to mess with his brother, and Licorice loved to goad him into messing with him. I mentioned earlier the noises that would come from the cage that one could equate with the conversations of young siblings taunting each other. Whenever there was loud purring and squeaking, I knew trouble was afoot. I'd reprimand them, then after a moment of silence, the teasing would continue at a lower noise level until it would build again, and I'd have to break up their fun.



Schrapnel loved to mug for pictures. At first, he wasn't sure about the camera, and didn't like to be posed (I posed him with his feet up on a marble skull), but once he figured out he was getting attention, he loved it. He also loved to watch TV, but mostly video games. I'd be sitting next to my husband who'd be on the playstation, and Schrapnel would be entranced. Several times he even went over to gnaw on the controller as if he wanted to play, chewing and then looking up at the screen.



Schrapnel was a drinker. We had two bottles in the cage, both clear plastic but one had a red bottom and the other was green. Schrapnel loved to drink loudly and a lot from the "red" bottle until it was empty. He would then rattle the bottle and stare at me, wanting me to refill it- never mind that the green one would still have plenty of water in it. The red one was HIS. I'm not entirely sure why he did this, but I suspect he must have liked the color. I know that guinea pigs are good at seeing bright primary colors, so my reasoning may have been correct. In any case, I maintained that he loved red. :)

I called him the King Pig sometimes, as his relaxed foot dangling and smiling from his litter tray showcased his natural pig charisma. He also got the nickname "Sexy Pig" because of his natural charm, and even some of his doctors recognized his confident personality.



He loved his brother, even with all the sibling torment, as whenever I had them both out they would snuggle with each other, and lay on my lap facing in opposite directions to look out for each other. They would follow each other on the floor, steal each others food, even conspire together not to poop for 45 minutes at the vet when we needed a sample and had forgotten to grab one. (We had to grab a poop snack out of Schrapnel's mouth finally. He was NOT happy about that.)



He loved to run and play on the floor and outside in the grass, enjoyed snuffling my bare toes as I was trying to clean their cages, sleeping on or under pillows, and chomping carrots. One time I was doling out carrots and was trying to give him one, but had caught him in a grumpy mood as he had been trying to sleep in the cave of a pants-leg that I'd hung in the cage. He made a noise that directly translated to " GO AWAY I'm trying to...oh, carrot. Thanks!:)" He had a classic groggy expression when I'd drag him out of the cage to be petted after a hardcore nap.

I danced him (he was not too fond of that) pretended to use him as a phone, fed him carrots just to watch his ears flop, bought him and Licorice crunchy treat baskets and watched them systematically demolish them, built them mazes and buildings out of cardboard...Schrapnel, like his brother, was spoiled.



At one point he was showing signs of being sick, so upon taking him to the vet, we started him on reglan- as he seemed to be having digestive issues. They filed down his teeth, thinking that they might have been part of the problem. Little did we know that he was one of the few pigs who has sensitive teeth and they were hurting after the filing. I remember his little face after I offered him a carrot, which he tried to bite, but couldn't. We got him some critical care, which is an oxbow product used for sick pigs who are having trouble eating or digesting. It's basically powdered hay with extra vitamins and nutrients that you can add water, juice, or baby food too, and put it in a syringe to feed to your pet.

We learned how to "burrito" him in his hot pink towel, and feed him. He loved the critical care so much, that after a short while the burritoing was just a formality and became the snuggly part of the feeding ritual. I continued to feed him like this for some time, as he was having trouble keeping his weight. Whenever I was getting the syringe ready to feed him, he made a happy chewing face and could not wait to get the stuff. We bonded a lot of over this. Licorice also loved to eat the crust off of the towel where Schrapnel had dribbled.

There was still something going on with Schrapnel, but we weren't sure what. We noticed at some point there was something odd going on with his eye- like a scratch- and we took him to a pet eye doctor and got ointment to put on his eye. That certainly wasn't fun for him. We also put him on a medicine to help calcium from leaching out of his system, as he seemed to be having some odd problems with that.

We had him on meds for several months, the vet not really sure what was wrong. There were good days, and bad days. But most of them were good as he got to eat grass outside and was treated to every veggie and fruit known to man. After a very good vet visit, where he seemed to have gained back his energy, things started to go downhill fast. I picked him up out if his cage, and he looked sad and weak. He was making pathetic little squeak noises, and I was scared for him. The vet was already closed, and we weren't sure what to do. I fed him, gave him syringes of water, and kept him warm under his towel. In my heart I knew that he probably wasn't going to come back from whatever this was.

The poor guy seemed half there, like he was falling asleep in the middle of eating lettuce, but he was still burbling for whatever veggie he got. I hugged him, and spoiled him, and could hardly stand to go to sleep, but was so tired myself and my husband had to herd me to bed, telling me we'd done all he could, and he knew we cared for him. When I was finally able to put him down, I talked to him in his cage, and he looked at me with these sad eyes.

I woke up at something like 5 in the morning and suddenly felt the need to check on him. I felt in the cage, and found him laying on the floor, with Licorice snuggled up next to him. He was still warm, but gone. I'd only missed him by a few minutes.

So I bawled my eyes out, feeling guilty that I hadn't done enough for him. We took him to the vet to find out what had been wrong. We discovered he had died of cancer that started in his spleen and spread to his liver. So, in truth, I had done everything I could do, and more. He died two months short of his third birthday.



I hugged my other pigs, Licorice and Connor, and cried a lot. This was the first pig I had lost since Brownie, and although I wasn't there to see him go, it was pretty awful- perhaps worse that I wasn't immediately there for him. But Licorice was, and I took comfort that Schrapnel wasn't alone.

Licorice was grieving also. He was very attached to his brother, and whenever we took Schrapnel out of the cage, Licorice would do high speed laps. Licorice continued this behaviour for quite some time after Schrapnel passed. I had removed the blue tube from their cage at some point to make room for new toys, and tried to put it back to give Licorice more to do in his cage, but because he smelled Schrapnel on the tube, he got visibly sad, so I had to remove it. Licorice was not lonely however, because of the fortuitous acquisition of Connor in the first year we got the brothers.

There was no replacing Schrapnel though, and I was heartbroken in a way I hadn't felt in a long time. He was a very sweet pig, and parts of his personality reminded me of Brownie. I have plenty of photographic evidence though, of how much he was loved, plus recordings of his voice. Now that I'm second herd, I realize there's no real forgetting of any of my pets. Every one has been unique, every one memorable in so many ways.

My...Step-pigs?

Feta

Gaby

Houdini

Minerva

I have pictures of pigs that aren't even mine. One of the first friends I made after moving to Chicago had a whole herd of guinea pigs, and after not having seen any since Pumpkin, (my last childhood guinea pig) died when I was around 14, I naturally was very excited.

She brought over a couple to my apartment to visit, and I was hooked on them again. I'd forgotten (well not really...) how comforting their noises were and how funny their antics. I ended up being the pig sitter whenever they went out of town, and whenever I came over I found myself with a pig in my hand before a customary guest beverage.

My friend had been indoctrinated into life with pigs from another friend who had introduced her to Critter Corral a local Chicago rescue. She described the lady who ran Critter Corral as "her dealer", mostly because picking up a pig sometimes involved a rendezvous in a McDonalds parking lot or somesuch. :)

I've gotten all but one of my pigs through Critter Corral (Voltaire) and they too have become my dealer. I only had one parking lot rendezvous to pick up Connor (got the money? got the pig?) and my other visits have been to the "tower of piggy" to choose a friend. I also attended some of their events- such as their pignics or open houses where they always been a selection of adorable pigs that are up for adoption as well as raffles, gifts, and races or contests. They really do a great job of finding homes pigs, and taking care of senior piggies.

My friend had four adopted pigs all at once, three girls and one boy (fixed). There was Gaby- a tricolor with a great half and half face. Minerva- the"queen pig" is the silver pictured at the bottom. Feta is the cute toupee looking one at the top- part texel part teddy and finally Houdini, the lucky boy with the white new wave hair and brown triangle face.

I adored them all, but I have to mention Houdini because he was the Hugh Hefner of piggy. Fixing a male pig gets rid of the smell, but not the desire for love. Now, Houdini didn't get the normal kind of love. He lived with three strong minded women, so the kind of affection he got involved target peeing, ear humping, eyeball licking and hair eating. And he loved every minute of it. He lived to be over six years old, and although he was a rickety old man pig, he was an old man pig who got ALL the girls. Mostly because they were a captive audience, but he didn't much mind. For the record, his original name that he came with was Jim, but changed to Houdini when he decided to escape from a box by jumping vertically out of it. :)

I loved pig sitting for them because I could let them all run around on the floor, take pictures of them, pet them, and spoil them with veggies. My friend said she could tell what time of day I had been over, because the pigs would squeak for food at the same time every day for about a week after.

My friend's last pig was named Garrotxa (after a kind of cheese) who was a cute little black and red abyssinian who apparently thought my Connor was hot stuff and was flirting with him through the cage bars at a pig event we went to. I sadly have no pictures of her, but took care of her as well.

The Christmas after I got married, my friend took me to Critter Corral as a gift to pick out a couple friends of my own. I came home with two squirmy little black baby pigs, who were only a few weeks old and were small enough to both fit in my husband's hand. They had both been born at the rescue. These guys were Licorice and Schrapnel, who are the background picture for my blog.

I still pig sat for my friend's pigs, but was so enamoured with my own. :)
I was sad to hear when they finally passed away; I felt as sad as if they had been mine. Little did I know just how attached I could get to these squeaky, wiggly rodents.