...needs your help.

When he arrived at CAS two years ago, I could hold Franklin in one hand. A few weeks old and the runt of his litter, Franklin weighed only four pounds. He'd been set aside to starve to death. A kind neighbor spotted him, and brought him to us.

Two years later, Franklin weighs probably 400 pounds. If ever there was one, he's a people pig. An excerpt from my book Where the Blind Horse Sings will help you understand him:

Franklin is angry. At six months old,he’s finally become WAY too difficult to manage as a free-range pig. Yesterday, he broke into one of the chicken yards and ransacked the coop, gobbling up eggs as if he hadn’t eaten in a week, screaming like a banshee when we kicked him out, and then again when Walt placed him in time out (his cozy stall) for the fourth time that day. In theory, as much as we’d love for Franklin to be a permanent part of the Underfoot family, he is a 250-pound mischief maker: an exasperatingly willful, exceedingly bright, unrelenting whirling dervish. Franklin is all pig, all the time.

So today, in the field right next to the barn in full view of all the goings-on, Franklin has been turned out with the goats and is none too pleased. In fact, he is so intent on indicating his displeasure that a) we all need ear plugs and b) Alex is a nanosecond from letting him out because he can’t bear the thought of our little man being unhappy. Franklin knows this, you see. He knows that if he acts insane for a few minutes, one of us will give in, the way we always do.

Out there in the rest of the world, pigs have little chance of happiness. Humans believe that we’re entitled to use animals for our every need, desire, and whim, with virtually no regard for how the animals might feel about such arrangements, or for their welfare as they’re being raised to feed, clothe, or entertain us. But at CAS, our roles are so clearly reversed. We humans are the servile ones.

At the moment, Franklin is pacing the fence, perfecting his “I’m a crazy pig” routine. Pacing, in fact, is the wrong word to describe the behavior. Motionless at one corner of the pasture, he is suddenly a jet-propelled pink blur until he reaches the far corner, where he slams to a halt, erupts like a volcano, then hurls himself back to where he came from. He does this a few times until…wait…what’s that…does Franklin smell sympathy?

Though we’re hidden from view, somehow the little hellion knows we’re watching him. He lifts his snout to the air and sniffs, then, cutting diagonally through the field, runs directly to the gate
and waits, “harummphing” loudly, looking toward the barn with the big brown eyes we are always and utterly unable to resist.

“Can I pleeeeeease give him a pumpkin?” volunteer Allen Landes pleads. Allen Landes is a hospital biologist during the week, but devotes his weekends to working tirelessly for CAS. Allen loves the entire CAS crew, but if pressed, might whisper that
Franklin is his favorite.

“Oh good grief, okay,” I say. We’re defeated once again.

Secretly, I can’t wait to watch our little imp bite a hole in the baby pumpkin so that he can race gleefully around the field (the field that just moments earlier was his prison), holding the pumpkin in front of his snout like a bulbous appendage, exclaiming, “Look, world! I have my favorite treat! A pumpkin! It’s my favorite!”

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I am devastated to say that Franklin's life is not what it was. Yes, he still gets praise and attention and affection and an exceptional diet and cozy, roomy shelter. But Franklin is terrified of his house and pasture mate, Miss Piggerty. We certainly didn't anticipate this or we wouldn't have accepted her. But we've tried every possible pig combination imaginable and have run out of options.

Piggerty has issues: extreme food aggression (aggression period) and unpredictability, and Franklin is often her victim.

We're wracking our brains to come up with a solution. CAS wouldn't be the same without the omnipresent love-on-four-pink-legs Franklin. In the meantime, though, he needs better. If there's an exceptional family out there with LOTS of pasture and LOTS of pig experience and LOTS of people at home to manage and love this most wonderful being, we'd love to hear from you...even though, if he leaves us, Catskill Animal Sanctuary will never be the same.