A brief introduction, by way of a four-legged friend

It's hard to know how to kick off a blog, but starting any new friendship with a story about how I first met my four-legged friend Gertrude has always seemed to work for me.

I was six years old when I first met Gertie. It went like this: Dad and my auntie Helen had gone to a livestock show in New Hampshire the night before. Before you get any ideas--we weren't farmers or 4-H club leaders. We've simply always been a family crazy about animals.

At the time, I had been ceaselessly asking my parents for a puppy. My pet gerbils, bunnies, newts and birds were great, but they never seemed all that interested in me. I wanted an animal that would do things: stick its wet snout on my face lovingly and follow me around. I said as much to my parents, and to the Fates. Perhaps I should have been more specific with my request.

The morning after the livestock show, Mom roused me out of bed in the morning. "Dad's home--and he has a surprise for you," she said.

I couldn't decipher the look on her face. Nonetheless, I felt sure that the surprise would be the puppy I'd been hankering for.

"He and Auntie Helen are down in the basement," she said.

I raced down the stairs connecting the second and first floors, then zoomed around the corner, throwing open the door that led from the kitchen to the basement.

Then I stopped at the top of the wooden steps, confused. I had heard a strange noise coming from the basement, and it was decidedly un-canine-like.

I looked up at my mom who was standing behind me with the same inscrutable look on her face. "Go on," she said.

I walked down the steps, the old musty smell wafting up my noise, and saw my dad and aunt crouched over some tiny shadow of a thing. Grunt, grunt, grunt, the little shadow said.

I stepped closer, and all hopes of Fido, Rex or Spot were dashed. "Is that a pig?" I asked.

Gertrude settles into her new bed amidst the hay in her pen. Photo by Mary Dyer — Gertrude settles into her new bed amidst the hay in her pen. *Photo by Mary Dyer*

Grinning and clearly pleased with themselves, Dad and Auntie Helen said yep! I walked over to the little thing--the piglet had deep, shining, black eyes and coarse black hair.

"This is Gertrude," Dad said. "She's a potbellied pig and she's your new pet."

Fulfilling the two parameters I'd sent out to the gods with my request, Gertrude stuck her wet nose on my face and followed me as I walked the perimeter of her wooden enclosure that was padded with hay. I'd been swine-dled, but as I sat with her in my arms amidst the hay in our basement, it certainly didn't feel so bad.