Day 9 - Olive

Sometimes the greatest gifts in life come in the most surprising shapes. I came back from my trip through North Carolina almost three weeks ago and had my first chance to meet 'Olive'. Kerry temporarily adopted Olive from her cousin Elizabeth's farm. Olive was the runt of the litter, and no one was sure if she would make it. She was almost stepped on by her mother, and she was unable to get any milk because she was so tiny. Kerry asked Elizabeth if she could try and take care of her until she was big enough to return to the farm. Elizabeth said yes, and Olive became a part of our lives.

Kerry sent me pictures of tiny Olive while I was on the road. She was sitting in Kerry's lap wrapped in a blanket. When I walked in the door I was excited to meet her. She squeaked and ran around the house, constantly falling down because her tiny little hooves would slip on the wooden floors. We fed her milk mixed from a powder that we heated in the microwave. She let us know when she was hungry by squeaking and rubbing her snout against our legs. She squealed in joy when we set the milk on the floor of our kitchen and she hungrily thrust her tiny snout deep into the dish drinking thankfully.

I never knew how cute a tiny little pig could be, and I immediately fell in love with Olive. I sat on the couch in the evenings and she curled up with her legs tucked quietly underneath her body in my lap while I let her suckle in the palm of my hand.

We took Olive with us every day when we did our last camp of the summer with four little kids from the area. The kids loved Olive. They picked her up, petted her, and fawned over her every minute of the day. Olive stayed in the car while we tubed down river or picked blueberries, but we returned a few hours later and the kids got the chance to feed her.

Nine days ago Kerry and I arrived at the River. We slowly set up a home in the white farm cottage sitting on the banks of the St. Lawrence. It is a paradise for our dog and our pig. The first few nights were windy, and we built a huge bonfire in our newly constructed fire pit. We sat beside the river watching the waves lap against the shore and the moon rise in the distance over the small town of Clayton. We set Mogul's dog bed beside the fire and he and Olive curled up beside each other. Olive followed Mogul wherever he went, back and forth on the trail between the Cottage and Rockledge. Olive loved to stand beside me while I built the fire, and as soon as there was a flame and heat, she would nuzzle her tiny nose and body against the rocks so she could get warm. She sat in my lap and I snuggled her head while she fell asleep night after night. Many people imagine pigs as rather smelly animals, but not Olive. She smelled sweet and soft, a mix of vanilla and lavender.

I opened my eyes this morning. I felt my leg and ankle still swollen from being stung the day before. The swelling was so bad last night I believed I was likely having an allergic reaction and took some Benadryl. Sleep came quickly. I had strange dreams last night. Dreams of being transported through another dimension. I opened my eyes and I heard a quiet voice.

'Your Pig. Your pig'.

Kerry jumped awake. I was not quite sure what going on. She ran downstairs and I followed after her. She threw open the screen door and a woman sat on the creaky old wooden steps. She was covered in blood. She was crying.

'I am so sorry,' she said.

Olive wandered down the trail, following Mogul this morning. He was following Eliza who was out on her morning run. We did not know there were vicious dogs just down the trail on the neighboring property. The dogs played with Olive at first, but when she turned and playfully ran, they attacked.

Her wounds were mostly superficial, but one of the dogs bit through her chest and punctured her lung. I took Olive from the woman and held her in my lap. I could tell she was in shock. The conversation clattered around like a dusty old breeze. Telephone calls to local vets were made. I held her in my arms and knew the terrible truth. Her breaths were becoming more labored and shorter by the minute. I stared into her eyes, but they were listless and vacant.

I put pressure on the puncture wound, but knew there had to be a way for the air to escape. I attempted a makeshift occlusive dressing out of saran wrap, but it was useless. She was fading away. We headed toward the dock at Rockledge. I stopped in the middle of the trail. Her breaths were short and drawn. In a small space where the sun filtered through the trees and speckled the ground, I sat with her. The ants crawled beneath my feet. The flies buzzed around my head. I held her wrapped tightly in a kitchen towel. The blood soaked through and stained my shorts. I stared out into the hazy morning, and she took her last breath. Kerry cried beside me. The hot summer haze filled the air like smoke.

We loved our tiny pig named Olive. She was a special animal. She had personality. She loved you back. You could feel it in the way she nuzzled your leg and curled up in your lap besides the fire. I like to believe she was grateful to Kerry for taking care of her and giving her a little more of a chance in life than she had.

There is a violence in life. We all live on the edge of the sword, kneeling precipitously between life and death. Reaching out to love something is in turn reaching out to know pain. There is not love without loss.

I chipped away at the pale crusty brown soil under the apple tree. I felt that burying her there would at least allow her body to be absorbed into the tree, and that perhaps when we see the apples we may still feel the light of her life.

My sweat dripped from brow and mixed with Olive's blood. I closed her eyes and placed her body in the hole. We chose a flat stone from the river and placed atop her grave with a few stems of goldenrod. We said a prayer and asked God to keep her safe.

I am thankful for the gift of Olive while she was alive, and angry that she is gone.

We walked solemnly back to the Cottage. Our small family felt torn.