Pig Pen

I found Pig Pen in a bar in L.A. playing in a baby bathtub with a few of his brothers. They all looked the same; white and dirty. The biggest one was instantly claimed by the bar owner. It was June 1995 and I had no interest in a puppy. I was couch surfing and didn’t have a job or any money or even a car, and of course as the night progressed and I got drunker, I wanted all of them. In the end, I had to fight to get one, but I persisted and there I was, totally unfit to take care of a pit-bull/Jack Russell puppy.

For most of his life, we did everything together. We hitchhiked almost 1000 miles, camped all over, and went on countless road trips. He even came to work with me when I drove the tow truck. The first time I took him to the beach and went swimming out past the breaks, he thought I was drowning and rushed in to save me. I ended up saving him… The second time he went swimming was in the Russian River. I was in the water with a friend and after whining and generally freaking out for a minute, he dove off a concrete embankment to “save me,” and once he got to where I was, he did a circle around me and swam back to the shore. 

He chewed through a friend’s driver’s side seat belt while we were in Stop n’ Go. He ate an entire couch in San Francisco. He ate at least seven pair of sunglasses.

Piggy was arrested by animal control officers three times, pepper-sprayed twice, and kidnapped twice. One of those times was for nearly two months; it was the last time I left him with anyone for very long.

I let him out of my sight one night near a Ventura hillside and he was attacked by a sneaky and silent coyote (or coyotes) who put two bloody bite marks in his butt. Another time, I let him out one morning to pee, leaving the front door open for him to come back inside and I went back to sleep: I heard a yelp and it was him, running from the hill back to me with a bloody gash on his arm, almost to the bone. I think it was a possum or a California badger, or maybe even a coyote. He got an infection and a fever and almost didn’t make it.

When he was a puppy, a big pit-bull came walking up to us, wagging his tail slowly. He'd escaped from his yard down the street and I knew how vicious he was. Just as I lifted Pig Pen up to raise him to a safe distance at my shoulders, the pit-bull lunged and grabbed him by the butt, pulling him down a bit, drawing blood. I’d just put on steel toed boots, not even tied yet, and kicked the dog so hard he went backwards a few feet…and then kept coming. This time, I had Pig Pen safely near my head, and kicked the dog every time he lunged at us until he was hurt enough to leave. It was only after he was gone that I realized that Piggy had peed all over me.

He really lived up to his name. He loved rolling in dead animal carcasses at the beach and horse pee at Ross and Terri’s house. There is some debate about whether the horse peed on him or he rolled in it – someone claims to have seen the former and it wouldn’t surprise me. After a bath, he would go directly to the nearest dirt and roll in it until he was filthy.  Once, while sitting outside at our café in Las Vegas, New Mexico, he left and went on a walkabout. We got a phone call from a business owner up the street who told us that she had just kicked him out of her toy store. He’d rolled in something stinky by the river and strolled into her store, chasing all the customers out with his stench.

Pig Pen had more friends than most humans do: human friends, cat friends, rat friends, snake friends, dog friends. He even had his own cat, Kevin Bacon. I got her for him because she looked like a little prairie dog when she was a kitten. His love of prairie dogs was so strong that he would try to jump out of the tow truck every time we drove past Frenchy’s Field. I really think he was fooled into thinking she was one.

His friends helped me raise and take care of him. He loved so many people and had unique friendships with everyone he knew.

He never had his shots but he was always very healthy, he loved kids even when they pulled his tail, he was never abused by anyone, and he was never a humper, ever. His obnoxious puppy years only lasted about 2 years and then he suddenly became the dog I dreamed of having. He could walk with me without a leash, he stopped chasing cats at any cost, he stopped harassing the postman, he could howl on command, and he was beyond obedient. His choices to sit, lie down, stay or heel were usually without me asking him to.

This morning, July 22^nd 2011, he passed away. I was with him, holding his head, kissing him, and telling him how much he meant to me - and to all of his friends. I repeatedly told him that it was going to be ok, and I truly believe that. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and even though my heart is broken, I’m so fortunate to have had him in my life. He made my life so much better. If I’m ever lucky enough to be conscious right before my own impending death, I know he’ll be the first thing I think of.