Drunk Pigs (or pig, since we only got one drunk)

Our pig is an alcoholic. But I digress. A while ago, Janine and I observed that our female pot-belly pig, Gráinne (pronounced Gronya - named after an Irish pirate princess[1] [2]), was walking rather gingerly.  On further observations, we saw that her hoofs were longer than desirable.  So, ipso facto, we decided that we need to take (in our minds, young) Gráinne to the vet to get her nails done.

This would not be the first trip to the vet for a pedicure for our little Gráinne. 

About a year and a half ago, we had undertaken the monumental task of taking her to the vet for a hoof trim.  Our thoughts were that (then as well as now) she was not walking around much, so her hooves were not being worn down (as should be the case) and therefore, it was time for a pig pedicure (or should that be a mani-pedi since all four hooves needed treatment?).  Let me tell you how frick’en hard it is to move a 150-pound pot-belly pig who does not want to be moved.  Since the only vet we could find at the time who would trim a pig’s hooves was over an hour away[3], we had to transport Gráinne in a very large dog kennel.  In the cold. This meant that we had to, oh, so lovingly persuade her into the kennel (i.e., push and shove a screaming, pissed off pig into a box she did not want to enter), load the now 180 lb kennel into the back of the pickup truck (e.g., pushing the kennel up a ramp onto the bed of the truck since we were not able to lift a 150 lb. pig, in a very large kennel, who was not willing to sit still while we moved the kennel around, up onto the back of our pickup truck), then tie down the kennel so it would not move while we traveled one hour to the vet’s office.  In the cold. Did I mention it was a cold, wintery day?  Then we had to unload the kennel from the truck and drag it into the vet’s office, which was a big event, given they  usually only get cats and dogs.  Given her size, the vet told us that they would have to anesthetize her so she wouldn’t hurt herself or the vet while she was getting her spa treatment.  So, we had to kill several hours before Gráinne would be ready to be picked up.  THEN, we had to load her back up, put the kennel back onto the truck, drive an hour to get home, take the kennel off the truck and then release Gráinne back into her yard, dainty nails for all to see.  And it was still cold.

So, this year, given the royal pain getting a mani-pedi for our pig was not something we wanted to repeat the process if we could avoid it!

Luckily, we found (or re-found, we lost her number after she put one of our alpacas to sleep the first winter we were here) our outstanding large animal vet who would do a home visit!!  The vet was more than willing to come out to the house and trim Gráinne’s nails in the comforts of her own home.  Outstanding!!  Could not be easier!!  Our dreams come true[4]!!!!  HOWEVER, the vet told us that we had to get Gráinne drunk.   That was a new one.

First of all, I must stress that getting the pig drunk was under doctor’s orders – I am not one to push alcohol on a poor unsuspecting Sus scrofa domesticus (i.e., pig).  Apparently, vets are always looking for safe ways to anesthetize animals without using actual anesthesia, and a drunk pig is easier to get onto her back for the pedicure, so the vet can trim her nails with her legs pointed straight up into the air[5].  The vet recommended either beer or hard cider to get our little Gráinne drunk.  Of course, we probably could have gotten Gráinne drunk on wine, but that is my wine and I am not sharing my chardonnay with an ingrate, albeit adorable, freeloading pig who does not appreciate the finer things in life.  Boxed wine doesn’t grow on trees (well the grapes grow on vines), but you know what I mean.  It is MY wine; she needs to get her own!

So, cider it was.

I wanted to “test drive” the “get the pig drunk” plan, so I started giving her a little Angry Orchard cider[6] about a week before the vet was scheduled to arrive.  My thoughts were that Gráinne may not particularly like hard cider, so I wanted to ease her into the “drunk pig” mode.  (As an interesting side note, Gráinne’s mate, Stuart, started his life as a fraternity mascot, so he may have been very use to the “drunk pig” mode – or so I would assume since my experience with fraternities consisted primarily of drunken parties, and because I am from Texas, there was usually livestock involved). 

I was very much mistaken – turns out, Gráinne is a bit of a lush. She took to cider like a fish to water.  I gave her part of a can of cider and she sucked that down in seconds!  So, the next day, I gave her a full can.  Likewise, it was gone in seconds.  So, the next day, I gave her two cans, since one can did not seem to affect her much.  All of this went very well – she took the effects of the cider, if there were any, very well.  Maybe she slept a little more than normal, but since she normally sleeps 22 hours a day, it is hard to tell.

Finally, the day of Gráinne’s mani-pedi had arrived.  I have had a couple of pedicures in my life – Janine will drag me to places that I may or may not really want to go, but I have never had the opportunity to get drunk THEN get a pedicure.  Given, I am an adult, so if I wanted to get drunk before receiving a pedicure, I have a God-given right.  But Gráinne never expressed a desire to get drunk or get her nails done, so this was a first for her.

The vet was to arrive around noon, so I gave Gráinne four cans of hard cider around 10:30 AM.  That’s the equivalent of a fifth of vodka for Tony at the Barking Spider bar[7]. By the time the vet arrived, Gráinne was feeling good.  Really good. She was sacked out in her yard under a nice shady tree, sleeping off her buzz.  The vet was pleased with her condition.  (I need to again reiterate that my getting Gráinne drunk was on doctor’s orders, so I was not contributing to the delinquency of a pig). 

Since Gráinne was drunk, it was easy enough to walk up to her and roll her over onto her back, legs straight in the air.  As a precaution, and because we had guests in one of our cabins, Janine went over to prepare them for the ensuing mayhem that would occur (they were cool with it). Gráinne, of course, while reasonably drunk, was not pleased with being rolled onto her back.  Her displeasure was expressed through her 12,000 decibels eardrum busting screams.  I am talking horror movie level of screaming, times a million.  The vet, being a veteran of screaming pigs, had ear plugs inserted comfortably in her ears.  I, on the other hand, not being a veteran of screaming pigs, did not – I, like Gráinne, was not happy.

The procedure went very well.  After a few minutes of blood curdling screaming, Gráinne figured out that she was drunk, getting belly rubs, and getting a pleasant pedicure, ergo, she stopped screaming.  The vet expertly trimmed her four feet, and then she was back up on her feet – or a close proximity of being on her feet since she was not very sober.  She was able to go back to her shady tree and sleep off the residual effects of fine Angry Orchard hard apple cider[8].

As a final note, we found out that Gráinne was walking gingerly because she is much older than we thought (we got her via an ad on the internet from a woman who could no longer take care of Gráinne and Stuart) and she has arthritis in all four of her knees (or is that two knees and two elbows?).  Now Gráinne get a daily dose of pain pills and a Flintstone™ vitamins (Stuart gets a vitamin as well) rapped in a bacon-flavored pill pocket (the irony is probably lost on Gráinne and Stuart).  And once again, all was well in the barnyard.  

[1] Gráinne O'Malley, also known as Grace O'Malley, was the head of the Ó Máille dynasty in the west of Ireland, and the daughter of Eóghan Dubhdara Ó Máille. Upon her father's death, she took over active leadership of the lordship by land and sea.

[2] By the way, I really like footnotes so there will probably be more of them in this blog or the next or the next.

[3] Did I mention we live out in the sticks – lovely sticks, but still the sticks?

[4] Granted, we have simple dreams.

[5] Janine says she prefers her pedicures the same way, but the nail salon inevitably asks her to leave because she is “drawing a crowd”..

[6] Angry Orchard, we’d be happy to do a commercial for you, highlighting how you can give livestock spa pedicures while they’re ripped on your product. #HaveYourPeopleCallOurPeople.

[7] That’s a real bar in North Creek, NY. “The Barking Spider. Where the flatulence is hot, and the beer is cold.”

[8] Seriously Angry Orchard, call us.