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The Good, Good Pig: The Extraordinary Life of Christopher Hogwood
By Sy Montgomery (Ballantine Books, 2007)
ISBN 978-0-345-49609-6
No one wanted the scrawny piglet with the big, furry ears, not even its mother. So nature author Sy Montgomery and her husband took him home — not to fatten up and eat but to fatten up and pamper.
Until his death 14 years later, Christopher Hogwood (named after the famous orchestra conductor) lived life in a porcine paradise of blueberry muffins and camembert cheese, belly rubs and strolls through sun-lit meadows.
But Chris gave more than he got. In this charming tale of a pet pig, Montgomery weaves the stories of the healing transformations – hers and others – Chris effects in his legion of fans.
“This huge, adored pig,’’ she writes, “who had given so many people delight, was proof that no matter what nature or history hands you, with love, anything is possible.”
Montgomery has written 12 other nonfiction books about animals and nature for adults and children, but this is the first that is set in her own back yard. Departing from her usual exotic subjects that have ranged from man-eating tigers to tarantula spiders, Montgomery writes about not only the outer world but her inner world in this moving memoir.
Montgomery’s beloved father was dying when she and her writer-husband, Howard Mansfield, brought Chris home to their New Hampshire farm. The sickly pig, at that time no bigger than a cat, helped ease Montgomery’s sadness. Later, the pig was a soothing distraction for two frightened neighbor girls whose parents were divorcing. Because of his jaunty personality and contented demeanor, he became a local and then a regional celebrity, appearing on television and in magazine and newspapers, including the Boston Globe.
Taking care of the pig became more difficult with each pound and each passing year. Little is known about the care of adult standard pigs because most are slaughtered before their first birthdays. A manual Montgomery consulted opined that the average life span for a pig was 10 years, but no one could say for sure. Christopher developed medical issues the local vets – and probably most vets elsewhere, too – had never faced in pigs. By age 10, Chris was taking glucosamine and pain pills (equine) for his creaky joints, and vast quantities of antacids because the pain pills upset his stomach.
The porker leaps from the page in Montgomery’s descriptions. It “tiptoes on high-heeled hooves.” She describes his “wet, quivering nose disk.” She delights in the “flexibility of his lips, the lapping of his quick, pink tongue.” Best, though, are her descriptions of Christopher’s fondness for food:
“Watching a pig eat is the ultimate vicarious thrill. Seldom can you take such pleasure in another’s joy. Here is someone following his bliss. … Grunting, slurping, and snorting with delight, Christopher ate with the enthusiasm of a gourmand and the natural grace of an athlete. Food wasn’t just the number one thing on his list; we figured food occupied numbers one through perhaps fifty on his hierarchy of desires.”
Here is her description of Chris devouring a watermelon: “Pieces of the watermelon flew in all directions, as dramatic as fireworks. With each new bite, sweet juice mixed with his foamy drool and flowed down his jowls like pink champagne on New Year’s Eve. And of course, the action was accompanied by the festive chewing, grunting, slurping and snorting of a happy pig.”
Montgomery intersperses tales of Christopher’s escapades with facts about pigs and even pig history (in the 1700s, her New Hampshire village appointed a “hog reeve,” whose job it was to corral runaway pigs). Montgomery also writes about the hurting and damaged souls whose lives Christopher touched.
Christopher weighed about 750 pounds when he died of old age, in his sleep. His obituary ran on the front page of the local newspaper. Friends sent condolences and neighbors brought casseroles. The marquee above the fire station saluted him with the message, “Christopher Hogwood RIP, One Splendid Pig!”
Montgomery and her husband buried Chris in their meadow. They marked the grave with a statue of a pig.
“Christopher’s success was fourteen years of comfort and joy, given and received,’’ Montgomery wrote. “Christopher was a gift who kept on giving. For me, his greatest gift was simply his presence, the pure delight of his company. But he had given me so much more: He had introduced me to my neighbors. He had helped me overcome my shyness with people. He had showed me how to play with children.”
As she so often told him, Christopher was a good, good pig.
