AN EAR-PIERCING SCREAM cut right through me. I didn’t have to see Chester to know he was in trouble.
‘Hang on, I’m coming!’ I shouted as I bounded out of the Land Rover towards the field. He’d only been in his new home for a few days but it seemed we had already hit a crisis. Luckily I’d just dropped the boys off at school before coming to check on Chester, so they weren’t around to hear his cries.
As I ran full pelt into the field I saw what the trouble was at once. Chester’s mouth was hooked on some barbed wire. The poor thing had somehow managed to get it trapped between his bottom front two teeth. He was screaming and wriggling, caught on the fence, desperately trying to set himself free.
I didn’t know how long he’d been suffering for – possibly all night. I didn’t know if the barbs had cut through his tongue. I didn’t know what to do.
I tried pulling the wire free – but Chester was so agitated that he fought back. Every time I tugged, he pulled backwards, the wire becoming even more embedded between his teeth with every movement he made. It was simply awful to see him so distressed.
‘Come on, Chester.’ I tried to get him to move forward to loosen the wire, as his backwards motion was pulling it taut, but he was tugging too much in the opposite direction and all the time the wire was slicing deeper. I didn’t have anything to hand with which I could cut him free. I had no choice but to get behind Chester and push his rump forward to create some slack.
I squatted into a scrum position and bulldozed with all my might. Chester screamed, trampling further backwards, knocking me to the ground. I felt helpless, the two of us all alone in the field, and me unable to cut him free.
But I couldn’t give up. I had to save Chester.
I tried pushing him again, and again, and forty minutes later I was still pushing. Every muscle in my body was burning under his 15-stone weight.
‘Come on, Chester!’ I shouted for the umpteenth time.
Suddenly, he lurched forward and I grabbed the loosening wire. I tugged, he pulled, and somehow, between us, it became dislodged from his mouth. I fell backwards into the grass, exhausted.
I looked over at Chester – to see him bouncing in the air: he was literally jumping for joy. He rushed over to me and smothered my face in pig kisses. His oinking was deeper and more breathless than usual, like he couldn’t thank me enough for helping him.
I lay like a starfish in the middle of the huge field, staring up at Chester’s big orange face. I gently stroked the fur on his cheeks, telling him how happy I was that he was OK.
The whole incident really shook me up, though. It was the first time I’d had a real scare about Chester. It made me realise how vulnerable our enormous pig actually was and that I would have to keep a closer eye on him. It made me realise just how much I loved him.
‘What if something happens to him again and I’m not there?’ I asked Darren when I called him later that day.
‘He’ll be fine; he’s as tough as anything.’
Rational as ever, Darren reminded me that Chester would only be in the field for one or two weeks. We would soon have him back under our watchful eyes again and everything would be fine.
Unfortunately, things didn’t go quite according to plan.
A few days later, we found out that there were some problems with the sale of my house in Spain. The paperwork needed to be redone – and it would take time. Chester was going to have to remain where he was for months rather than weeks.
This news meant that I wasn’t now just anxious about Chester, but about Sam too. How was I going to break this news to him? A couple of months didn’t seem like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it could tip the balance in terms of Sam’s progress. I had told him that he and Chester would only be apart for a few weeks. How would he cope not only with the change of plan, but with not having Chester around all the time?
Darren gave me another pep talk. He told me Chester was happy because he had a big field to roam around in and Sam would rise up to the challenge rather than melt down. And Darren was right. Sam more than coped with the long-distance relationship – he actually flourished with the additional responsibilities that Chester’s new location brought. For he was determined to carry on caring for his pig.
Sam took great pride in lifting the straw bales over the fence; he delighted in carting the bags of pignuts and buckets of water through the field to Chester’s house. All this physical work had a positive effect on Sam’s strength, too – every time he heaved, lifted, carried and climbed, he was working out his upper body and arm muscles, helping him build strength in those particular areas.
Lynda Russell was quick to remark on the changes. She noted how much more energy Sam had at school. Typically, he would have been slumped in his chair by the end of the day because he was so tired from holding himself up. But in just a few weeks Sam had gone from lethargic to full of beans.
His caretaking responsibilities had also given him another surge of confidence. He was talking even more about Chester at school, proudly telling the other children on the CAIRB about Chester’s new home and how he had to look after him.
As the spring days changed into the summer of 2010, I now looked forward to our early-morning rises. Not only were our pre-school visits to Chester precious bonding time with the boys for me, but it was also a magical time in the countryside. Chester’s field was an oasis of calm away from the rest of the world. The musical chatter of the birds, the dew on the cobwebs, the smell of the wild flowers and grass – it was divine. On a clear day you could see for miles below.
In those moments, it felt like we were the only people on the planet: me, Sam, Will and, of course, Chester.
Every morning without fail, Chester would belt towards the gate to greet us. His tail would be wagging and his nose twitching as he got a whiff of Sam’s bag of pignuts.
‘We’ll bring him some apples on the way back from school,’ I told the boys one morning as I leant on the gate, breathing in the fresh country air. Sam flapped with excitement at the thought of treating Chester.
We all climbed back into the Land Rover, and I dropped the boys off at school as usual. I had a lot to get on with that morning: I had to speak to my lawyer in Spain about finalising the deal on the house, I had to organise a removal van to move our things from the rented barn to our new house, plus there were still some outstanding bits of damage to fix in the barn.
The day was going really well until Richard, the gardener who’d returfed our lawn and owned the field that Chester was staying in, called me partway through the afternoon.
‘There’s something not right with your pig,’ he announced.
‘What do you mean?’ Chester had seemed fine that morning.
Richard, who lived only a few hundred metres from the field, said he’d just stuck his head over the gate and seen Chester lying motionless in his Wendy house.
‘He was probably just snoozing,’ I said. Our pig did that a lot, so I dismissed Richard’s worry at first.
‘No, Jo, he couldn’t get up, something is wrong with him,’ he said gravely.
I fell silent. I could hear Richard breathing on the other end of the line, waiting for me to say something. But I didn’t know what to say. I imagined Chester lying helplessly in his home. Maybe a fox had attacked him and left him for dead? Had he somehow hurt himself? My mind was conjuring up all sorts of dreadful images. I suddenly felt sick with anxiety.
‘I’m on my way.’ I hung up and raced to the car.
I didn’t want to take the boys to see Chester without finding out what was wrong with him first, but I didn’t have any choice. They needed collecting from school. I picked the boys up and then headed straight to the field. I forced myself to take some deep breaths, as I didn’t want to alarm Will and Sam.
‘Mummy, did you get apples for Chester?’ was the first thing Will asked as we drove, a little faster than usual, towards Chester’s field.
Damn. In my panic I’d forgotten to swing past the shop to pick them up. I looked in the rear-view mirror – Sam looked upset at the news he wouldn’t be able to treat his friend, as had been timetabled in his ordered day.
‘We’ll feed him apples and carrots next time, I promise,’ I said, in an attempt to salvage the situation. Thankfully, it worked. I checked again in the mirror and Sam was now smiling at the thought of bringing Chester extra treats.
I weighed up in my mind whether I should warn the boys about Chester. Sam couldn’t handle surprises at the best of times, let alone the news that his best friend might not be well. I decided that I had to bite the bullet.
‘Listen to me, Sam and Will, Chester might not be feeling very well, so we need to check if he’s OK,’ I said carefully.
As I spoke, I was glancing in the rear-view mirror, waiting for Sam to explode. But he didn’t. In fact, Sam stayed perfectly calm. As we pulled off the lane and on to the grassy verge by the field, Sam grabbed the bag of pignuts, ready to carry out his usual duties. If I hadn’t been so worried about what state we’d find Chester in I would have praised Sam for how well he’d taken the news. My boy was learning how to deal with stressful situations.
Will and Sam raced ahead of me to the gate. Sam’s face dropped.
‘Where’s Chester?’ he asked. He looked so disappointed that his pig was not there to greet him as usual, especially as he had a bag full of food for him.
‘Chester!’ he called out, his voice echoing across the valley.
We all waited by the gate for Chester to show his smiley face.
‘Here, Chester!’ Sam shouted again.
Nothing. I felt very uneasy.
‘Chester!’ we all called out together, our voices breaking the peaceful country silence.
Still nothing in response.
I felt a shudder run down my spine. Richard was right: something was seriously wrong. It was so unlike Chester not to greet us.
We all climbed over the fence and waded through the long grass and nettles towards Chester’s Wendy house. As we drew closer we could see his back trotters poking out through the door. Then we heard a noise – it was loud, rasping breathing, like an old man’s dying breaths.
Something was terribly wrong.
Sam squeezed inside the Wendy house while Will and I peered through the windows. Chester was lying on his side, groaning with pain. Every small breath seemed like a gigantic struggle. Tears started to collect in Sam’s eyes as he lay on the straw beside his friend and started to stroke his belly gently.
‘It’s going to be OK,’ I said to the boys. I was lying to myself as much as them. I couldn’t bear the thought that there could be something seriously wrong with Chester. Will and I squeezed inside the Wendy house too and we all huddled around our pig on our hands and knees in the straw, as if we were crowding around a hospital bed.
‘Chester, what’s wrong?’ I asked our pig. Silly, really, as he couldn’t answer, but at that moment I felt like I was addressing a person – he was one of the family, after all.
He grunted.
‘Oh, Chester!’ We were all stroking his belly now.
He gave another heaving grunt. I had no idea what was wrong with him; I just knew I needed to get help immediately. I reached for my mobile phone. Thank goodness I had mobile reception at the top of the hill.
I didn’t know if I needed a vet who specialised in farm animals or if one who dealt with cats and dogs would do; pigs in general don’t need veterinary care so I’d never had to call one to attend to Chester before. I phoned the local practice and prayed that, if they couldn’t help, then they would at least be able to point me in the right direction. The receptionist said she would send a vet up right away.
‘Can I have your address?’ she asked.
I looked around at the big open expanse before me and wondered how I could describe where I was. Somehow I managed to cobble together a description of lanes, crossroads and features along the way.
‘How long do you think they will be?’ I asked, anxiously looking back at Chester.
It was going to be about an hour before they could get anyone to me. We were going to have to sit tight and hope that Chester’s condition didn’t deteriorate. The minutes dragged by. Sam didn’t leave Chester’s side once; he kept stroking his tummy, doing his best to ease his friend’s pain. Despite being in terrible agony, Chester clearly appreciated being soothed by Sam. With every gentle stroke and soft murmur Sam made, Chester grunted back his appreciation. It was a beautiful thing to watch.
I don’t know how the vet managed to find us but he suddenly appeared at the gate carrying a bulging leather bag full of equipment. He looked like a typical country vet in his corduroy trousers and checked shirt as he threaded his way through the grass and flowers towards us.
We all held our breath as he examined Chester. Sam watched the vet’s facial expressions carefully, searching for an answer, perhaps mentally flicking through Lynda’s ‘emotions’ book as he tried to decipher what the vet’s frowns meant. The vet checked Chester’s tummy, gently pressing on different areas. Our poorly pig let out a groan of pain as he felt the vet’s fingers push on one particular area. The vet looked worried and turned to us for help.
‘We’ve got to get him on his feet,’ he said, without any explanation as to what was wrong yet.
‘Come on, boys.’ I rallied Sam and Will to help.
Chester’s belly was so long we all managed to fit our arms underneath him. I took the front, the vet held Chester underneath his back legs, and the boys hooked their arms underneath the fattest part of his belly.
‘One, two, three!’ We hoisted him on to his trotters. Chester squealed in pain, poor thing. We managed to get him standing for a few moments before he fell back on to the straw, groaning.
‘This isn’t good, is it?’ I asked nervously, half of me not wanting to know the answer. The vet rooted around in his leather bag and pulled out a needle and a vial of clear liquid.
‘Just going to give him some painkillers,’ he explained. I held Sam and Will’s hands as he stuck the needle into Chester’s neck. A trickle of blood ran down his dusty skin and on to the straw. The sight of his blood suddenly compounded the seriousness of the situation.
The vet flashed me a look as if to confirm how serious it really was. I gestured for him not to mention anything in front of the boys and to follow me out of the Wendy house so we could talk outside. The vet dusted the straw from his knees and clambered out into the sunshine. My heart was thudding in my chest as I waited for him to deliver the verdict.
‘He has an obstruction,’ the vet whispered.
‘What? How could that be?’
‘He’s eaten something he shouldn’t have and it’s blocked his intestines.’
‘But all we’ve been feeding him is pignuts,’ I said, confused by this news.
I started to worry that we had put him in a field with some poisonous plant or flower, but the vet reassured me that the blockage wasn’t caused by something he’d eaten in the wild. It would have been caused by him eating something processed, like bread.
I was thrown. I just couldn’t think how that would have happened. I didn’t have time to think about it further, though. I needed to find out what I could do to help Chester. ‘So, how do we get rid of the blockage?’
The vet went very quiet and shook his head.
‘If we can get him walking, we might be able to get the blockage to shift. But it’s by no means certain. And,’ he hesitated, clearly not wanting to go on. I gestured to him to do so and he jutted out his chin as he continued bluntly. ‘Blockages can be fatal for pigs. I can give him some painkillers but I don’t think he will last the night.’
My mouth fell open, but no words would come.
As I absorbed the enormity of what was happening I glanced back at the Wendy house, at my boys stroking Chester. Chester wasn’t just a pet. He was like a person. He was one of us.
I started to panic. I couldn’t imagine how Sam would take this news. ‘Oh my God, how am I going to tell my son, who has autism, that his pig is going to die?’ I blurted out to the vet.
‘How can you tell any child their pet is about to die?’ he countered.
His words made me realise that I was always going out of my way to protect the more vulnerable of my children. He was right, though: Chester was just as much Will’s pig as Sam’s. If Chester died, we would all be grief-stricken.
It was at that moment that I decided we were not going to let Chester die. I was determined to save our pig. The vet had said if we could get him walking there was a chance we could shift the blockage. Walking it was!
I started marching back towards the Wendy house with the same determination that took me over whenever I had a battle to fight. I’d battled to protect my son and give him the best possible life, and now I was going to fight to save Chester.
‘Come on, boys, we’ve got to get Chester on to his feet,’ I directed. We all leapt into action.
It must have looked like the most absurd sight, the four of us with our arms around this giant pig as we tried to heave him up. I think we were grunting and groaning under the weight just as much as Chester was groaning from the pain! But it was worth all the effort: Chester eventually got to his feet and staggered out of the Wendy house with all the grace of someone who has had a little too much to drink.
I knew if there was something Chester couldn’t resist it was chasing the boys, so I turned to my children and told them to run. Sam bolted across the field with his brother in tow. And Chester immediately started to follow them. He only managed a few steps before he collapsed – but at least we’d got him moving. And then, in a sign of just how poorly he was, even the draw of playing with his Sam wasn’t enough and he staggered back into his home and lay down on the straw, grunting.
But I wasn’t done yet.
‘Again, again!’ I beckoned the boys back to the Wendy house.
The vet commended my determination. He could see I wasn’t going to give up on Chester so he handed me a huge syringe and a bottle of liquid paraffin, explaining there was only a small chance it could help, but it was worth me trying it.
‘Inject a shot of this down his throat twice a day and feed him anything that might get his bowels moving, like fruit,’ he said. ‘I can’t make any promises. I hope it helps.’
I thanked him for everything he had done and then returned to Chester’s side. The boys and I sat next to our poorly pig for as long as we could, getting him up on his feet as much as he could manage. Too soon, it grew too late for the children to stay with him any longer. The boys gave him a kiss on his furry face and told Chester how much they loved him.
He grunted back. It was his way of saying thank you.
The drive home seemed to take much longer than usual. The boys were trying to be brave but I caught their tears in the rear-view mirror.
‘We’ve got to make him better. We have to do everything we can,’ I said. I was trying to sound authoritative but my voice was quivering with sadness as I spoke.
I knew the family would want to know about Chester’s illness. It was too early to call Darren with the time difference between us, but I phoned my mum as soon as we got home. She was devastated to hear the news about Chester. Even though he had driven her up the wall with his banging on her door, she still loved him to bits, as did we all. She came straight round to the barn to comfort Will and Sam and to cook up some apple sauce for Chester.
‘This should help get him moving,’ she said, stirring the big pot of peeled apples and water on the stove.
Poor Sam and Will couldn’t stop crying that evening. I didn’t know how to console them, other than by promising we would do everything in our power to make Chester well again. After cooking the apples, Mum helped me put the boys to bed but Sam didn’t want to be alone. He was glued to my side. Wherever I went, he followed. I tried tucking him into bed but a few minutes later I heard a tap at my bedroom door.
‘Mummy, I can’t sleep,’ he said, clutching his Ben 10 figurine in his hand.
I knew Sam was at his most distressed when he wanted to climb into my bed.
‘Come here.’ I patted the duvet.
I wrapped my arms around Sam and smothered him in little kisses, just as Chester would have done if he was well. I did what every mum does and promised my child everything was going to be OK.
‘Chester will be fine,’ I whispered, stroking his hair.
Sam eventually nodded off to sleep but I lay awake for much of the night. I couldn’t sleep with Chester’s – and Sam’s – fate hanging in the balance. What would happen if we lost our pig? He was a lifeline for Sam; without him, how would my boy cope? He’d come so far, I couldn’t bear to see him regress all over again. I wasn’t sure if I could go through it all again. Eventually, in the small hours, my eyes lidded shut but I tossed and turned all night.
I woke up the next morning feeling like I’d been hit by a bus – I was so drained of energy. Thankfully Sam looked a lot calmer for spending the night in my bed. Will came bounding into my room as I was rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
‘Are we going to see Chester now?’ he asked anxiously.
I’d prepared my answer.
‘We can see Chester this afternoon,’ I told them.
The vet had said it was unlikely Chester would survive the night so there was no way I was going to risk the boys finding him dead. My mum was going to come with me to see him that morning instead.
I dropped Sam and Will at school and then Mum and I made our way to the field. We were armed with a Tupperware box full of stewed apples and the liquid paraffin that the vet had told me to inject into Chester’s throat to soften his stools. I climbed out of the driver’s seat and braced myself for the worst.
The hundred yards from the gate to the Wendy house was the longest walk of my life. Every footstep was weighed down with dread.
Please don’t let him be dead, please don’t, I prayed as we shuffled through the long grass.
As we neared the house, I could see Chester’s trotters protruding from the door. He hadn’t moved a centimetre since we’d left him the night before.
‘Chester!’ I called, willing him to let out his familiar grunt.
Nothing.
Oh God, no. I was certain he was dead.
But then, as we got closer to the trotters, from inside the Wendy house came a deep, breathless grunt. It was Chester – he was telling us that he was still with us.
‘Oh Chester!’ Mum and I cried in unison. We squeezed into Chester’s den and gave him an enormous cuddle. He grunted weakly with a greeting and tried to lift his head to give us a kiss, but he was too sick.
‘Just rest yourself, you poor sausage.’ Mum stroked his sore belly.
There was no easy way to get around what we had to do next – we needed to prise open Chester’s mouth to stuff all the goodness of the stewed apples and liquid paraffin inside him. He was too poorly to put up a fight; it was sad seeing our stubborn pig so lacklustre. I injected the paraffin and then Mum scooped up a handful of apple sauce and shovelled it down his throat. She literally used her hands to do this – it was the only way we could get the fruit inside him. We took turns to scoop up a handful of the apple sauce, and then each of us, one at a time, would put our upright hand inside Chester’s mouth. We’d then turn it over, wiping the sauce off the palm of our hand by using his tongue. It was quite a tricky exercise because he was still lying on his side, and pretty disgusting, but we were so desperate to save him that we persevered.
Chester didn’t like being force-fed one bit. ‘It’s for your own good,’ we told him gently. We then tried to get him on to his feet. Poor Mum wasn’t used to lifting such great weights. I told her to stop before she put her back out but she insisted on helping Chester.
There was a lot of groaning and grunting from all of us as we levered him up and led him towards the door. Chester took a few steps forward, stopped, and then a few more. He managed to get half of his body out of his house and into the June sunshine. But after that huge effort, he was ready to collapse. We jumped out of the way as he came crashing down on to the straw.
I didn’t like leaving him, but I felt a little less anxious than the day before. At least there were things we were doing to help him: administering the fruit and paraffin; making sure he got up on his feet at least a couple of times. The most promising thing was that he’d made it through the first night. If we could just get him moving, he might be OK. I gave the vet another call to give him an update on the patient’s condition.
He asked me if we could observe Chester’s toilet habits to see if he passed whatever had been obstructing him. In other words, the vet was politely asking me to wait for Chester to do a poo. Lovely.
That’s one for the boys, I thought.
Our focus on getting Chester better brought us together as a family – we found strength in working as a team. Every morning, Sam took up his post by the stove in our kitchen; I found him a stepladder so he could reach the pan with his wooden spoon to stir the apples into a warm mush, mixing up Chester’s ‘medicine’. Will’s job, once we got to Chester’s field, was to keep his water bowl topped up and help with changing the straw.
Even though Darren was off on the rigs he also got involved, giving me a pep talk whenever I became sad about the possibility of Chester leaving us. If Darren thought I was being wet, he didn’t show it. He just listened and tried to make me laugh by reminding me we were on ‘poo watch’.
By day three, Chester was able to leave his house, though there was still no ‘breakthrough’ in his bowel movements. He wheezed hard as he tried to keep up with the boys. Sam and Will would stop and start in their chasing game, just as they had done around the apple tree all those months ago when Chester was a micro piglet. Their teasing was too much for Chester to resist joining in. Despite being so unwell, he found the strength to follow them along the path.
By day four, Chester could make it halfway across the field. As he and the boys gambolled in the distance, I funnelled my hands around my mouth and shouted from the Wendy house: ‘Any poo?’
The boys shook their heads with dismay.
‘No poo!’ they shouted back.
We had to keep going with our mission: every morning and afternoon we had to get Chester on his feet until ‘it’ happened.
It was important to maintain the laughter because I knew there was something brewing with Sam. Even though he was putting on a brave face by helping look after Chester, I knew he was hurting inside. Every night Sam would climb into bed with me.
I don’t think he really understood what death was, but he could sense things were serious. His uncharacteristic ability to feel empathy was now proving a mixed blessing. Part of me wished Sam wasn’t empathic, because that way he wouldn’t feel the pain if Chester didn’t make it. I wanted to do everything in my power to shield my sons from hurt.
By now we were visiting Chester three times a day – I was making an extra trip up the hillside at lunchtime with my mum. Though it was possible Chester could have pooed without us being there, we never saw any sign of his stools and by day five Chester’s tummy was enormous. It was like a balloon, ready to explode. He was wheezing like an old man as he huffed and puffed his way after the boys that afternoon. He managed to reach them and then, all of a sudden, he stopped in his tracks.
At that same moment, a cold breeze sailed down the hillside, sending a chill all the way down my spine. I had a feeling something terrible was about to happen.
‘Come back!’ I gestured to the boys to retreat to the Wendy house.
Sam and Will started bounding towards me, expecting Chester to be on their heels, but he was far behind. In fact, he hadn’t moved a trotter since he’d stopped stock still. His head was hung low; his body was leaning to one side, as if ready to topple at any moment. The boys raced back to him, ready to catch him if need be. Chester then let out a long, low grunt – it was so loud and tortured I was certain it was his final breath.
‘Hurry!’ I screamed to the boys to reach Chester in time to stop him from keeling over.
But Chester wasn’t dying – he was finally getting rid of his blockage.
‘He’s done a poo, he’s done a poo!’ the boys cheered, jumping in the air with joy.
I didn’t think I’d ever been so happy to hear those words! I did a little celebratory dance and then I pulled my mobile out of my pocket and called Mum.
‘Chester’s done a poo!’ was the first thing I said.
‘Oh, thank God!’ Mum breathed a sigh of relief. She understood that this meant Chester was going to live.
The passing of the blockage really had made Chester lighter on his feet. Almost at once, he rocketed through the long grass and flowers after the boys. Sam opened his arms wide and pretended to be a plane soaring through the sky. Chester squealed with delight as he gathered speed and the boys giggled with happiness as he gained on them. It could have been a scene from Heidi with the flowers and the sunshine and the bright blue sky.
But Chester’s trotters were going too fast for his body . . . and he took off tumbling down the hill. I couldn’t help letting out a scream as I saw him fall – an accident was the last thing he needed having only just recovered from a near-fatal blockage. Chester was perfectly fine, though. He staggered back on to his feet and chased Will and Sam all the way into his Wendy house.
As Sam and Will huddled around Chester, petting him fondly, I felt immensely proud. Our pig wouldn’t have pulled through if it hadn’t been for my boys – it was thanks to Sam getting up that little bit earlier every morning to stew apples, and thanks to both my sons for getting him back on his feet, that Chester was restored to health. Their love had given him back his life.
You could tell Chester was grateful to them by the way he wagged his tail and from his excited, breathless oinking. He also refused to leave Sam’s side – if Sam stood still for even a moment, Chester would take the chance to lean his giant body against Sam’s legs. ‘Stop it, Chester,’ Sam would say, giggling under the weight, although he didn’t really want Chester to stop squashing him as he loved being smothered with his affection.
Becoming receptive to affection was something that had changed in Sam since he had known Chester. The unconditional love Chester showed Sam had made him receptive to receiving love. The sad little boy who had wanted to be alone seemed to be long gone.
The scare with the barbed wire and then the blockage had made me realise that all that mattered now was bringing Chester home. Especially as I wasn’t sure how he had come to eat a foodstuff that had bunged up his system so catastrophically. That was still an unsolved mystery and the sooner he was back home with us the better.
Darren was relieved to hear the good news when I spoke to him later that night.
Even though he liked to joke about how Chester was the most expensive pig in Devon, and that he could do without spending any more money on him, he admitted he’d had some sleepless nights as he too worried about Chester’s survival.
‘Why didn’t you say?’ I asked him. I was a person who wore my heart on my sleeve but Darren hadn’t breathed a word about his concerns. He reminded me that he worked on an oil rig with macho men, so losing sleep over a pig wasn’t really the thing to do! I burst out laughing and the stress of the past week felt as if it was receding as Darren and I both chuckled together on the phone.
The next day, I went to visit Chester by myself at lunchtime. I felt it was important for me to have a moment alone with him – I wanted to say thank you to him for helping my son. Nearly losing Chester had made me realise how precious he was. I didn’t tell him how grateful I was enough and now the scare was over I wanted to take every chance I could to show him how very much he was appreciated.
I didn’t panic when he wasn’t at the gate to greet me – I thought he’d be in his Wendy house, probably still recovering from having a sore belly.
When he wasn’t in his bed, I did start to panic.
‘Chester, Chester!’ I shouted across the huge field. The grass was waist-high in parts, so there was no way I could spot him easily.
It was then that I heard the noise. It wasn’t the terrible rasping sound he’d made a week ago. It was deeper and slower, very much like . . .
SNORING!
I moved closer to the whistling grunts.
There he was, hidden in a patch of purple flowers. Chester was on his side, his big belly angled skywards to catch the sun. His mouth was slightly open, allowing the air to whistle as it passed in and out through his snout.
‘Oh Chesty,’ I sighed affectionately.
Chester always knew how to make himself comfortable. I thought back to all the times he’d taken over our living room. At times his size had been a massive inconvenience, but we were leaving all that behind now. Nearly losing Chester had made me realise what was important: bringing our pet pig home was all that mattered now. And, in good news for us all, our new house was ready and waiting for us at long last.
Home sweet home.