A Hail Mary Pass, they are calling it.
A last-ditch effort, but instead of a Superbowl win on the line, it was a life. A beautiful, precious, sacred life. A life that mattered dearly to the one who lived it, and to the ones who called him family.
The skinny, frightened, bruised and scarred pig was not ready to die, but the smells and sounds around him assured him that was the plan. So, when the transport truck opened, he leapt and made a break for safety. The humans went after him, yelling scarily. He scrambled, dove, spun and ran for all he was worth. They were in hot pursuit, but somehow, Grace intervened.
He lost them.
Trembling, he hid under a pile of hay, exhausted and out of options. A silent plea rose from his trembling body. “Save me,” he beseeched mutely, “Please.”
And Grace, in its unfathomable majesty, responded.
An angel whose job was to save horses found him quivering in fear. She begged the “kill buyer” in whose custody the pig had fallen, to spare his life. He heard her, and took mercy. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, “I’ll give you a grace period.” She had 24 hours to find him sanctuary.
But now what was she to do? Angels who save horses don’t necessarily know where to bring lost pigs, and 24 hours is not a lot of time to find those places. And it was Superbowl Sunday evening. Who on earth was even going to be around to answer the phone?
But Grace does not take time off for football, as it turns out. Grace works all the time. Outside of time.
On her first call, she got through to another angel, this one at Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary. They were not able to take any more pigs, but the Poplar Spring angel was eager to help find this little pig safe haven.
She called more angels, from New York to Canada, and one by one, they joined in the search. Soon, the little pig had a whole army of angels working on his behalf. Safe haven was found for him at Indraloka, where we all cried with joy at adding another beloved to our family.
Finally, he arrived. Under the bruises and wounds, every bone was visible. And yet, his eyes were filled with hope. I cried at the beauty of it– this pure, unadulterated Śraddhā .
Śraddhā is the intersection between faith and mindfulness. To me, it embodies the notion that we need to take action for our own well-being, but also to remember that we are not acting alone—that there are strong forces of love that work with us and protect us even as we work on our own behalf. So, Śraddhā is faith, hope, love, and action all in one. And this pig, with his light-filled eyes, and his leap towards freedom, was the perfect example of this. How, I wondered, in tears again, had this pig managed to survive such brutality and still remain so beautifully pure and hopeful? The thought of it filled me with awe for this wise little soul.
He leapt from the trailer and ran into his quarantine pen without hesitation, needing no guidance to find the right pen. After drinking several gallons of water, he munched happily on a big, fresh salad and some sweet hay before greeting us, one by one, with a sniff and a smile. As I write, he is sleeping contentedly under a big pile of hay, snoring peacefully.
Dominic, we named him, and he is full of Grace.
Many, many thanks to: all of you who make it possible to rescue and care for our beloveds, Kelly from Omega Horse Rescue, Terry from Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary, Monica from Esther’s Army, the person who chose to spare his life, and to Cameron O’Steen from the Yoga Animalia Project for his beautiful photos, and to Grace.
It has been seven days since I took a leap of faith and found myself, just a simple pig from New Jersey, the center of international attention.
People keep asking me what my name is, which is funny because in my old life no one but my mother ever showed interest in calling me by name. They tell me that the tag in my ear says 303, but I know that is not who I am.
The people here are calling me Porky, and I know from the way that they say it that they mean it affectionately, but that is not my name, either. My mother had a wonderful name for me, but it has been so long since I have seen her that I can’t quite remember it. It slides onto the tip of my tongue every once in a while, but before I can get it out, it dashes back into the corners of my mind, just beyond where I can reach it. I know it will come back soon, though. And as soon as it does, you will be the first to know.
The other thing everyone keeps asking is, “What happened, how did you find yourself on a busy highway in the middle of rush hour traffic?”
Simple. I jumped.
The place I came from was dark, and life was hard there. Those days are over and I do not intend to relive them, but I do want to tell you about the light and smell that kept me going. We pigs lived in a dark and dank barn, but everyday, when the farmers came in to feed us, I saw a light beyond the briefly opened door, and I smelled wonderful adventures wafting in with the fresh air.
Somehow I knew, I just knew, that light and those smells were the freedom we pigs all longed for. And I knew beyond a doubt that someday I would be a free pig.
Most of the other pigs had given up hope, but I remembered my mother singing to me when I was a baby, “Sometimes, I feel like an eagle in flight…” Her song floated through the stillness of the dark barn where we piglets nursed and settled on us as softly as a feather. “Sometimes, I feel like an eagle in flight. Sometimes, I feel like an eagle in flight, spread my wings and fly, spread my wings and fly.” In her rich alto voice, hope mingled with tender mother love and the calm wisdom that sometimes comes from long-suffering.
My mother told us piglets about eagles who fly farther than we could see, about sunlight, grass, and best of all, mud. She told us that pigs at our farm used to live like that– outside– free to feel sunshine on our skin, to dig up delicious roots with our noses, and to roll around in grass and mud, enjoying all that the beautiful world outside had to offer. My mother told us that if we kept those images deep in our hearts, we could be free in our spirits.
That was a long time ago. I was still just a baby when the farmers loaded her up onto a truck and took her away. We never heard from her again, but I have never stopped imagining her a free pig. I just knew that someday I would gain my freedom as well.
My opportunity came last week. The farmers loaded me onto a truck with several others. I was grown up enough by now to know that they were not taking us to our freedom. And yet, through the wooden slats in the back of the truck, I saw light and smelled that air. I started working on the wooden slats with my nose. After awhile, I pushed several loose– enough for me to squeeze through.
“Hey guys,” I yelled to the other pigs, “now is our chance. Let’s jump!”
But the other pigs were too scared. I squeezed through the slats and half fell, half leapt all alone. The truck was going pretty fast, and I tumbled hard on the cold, wet highway. Cars were speeding by. The noise was deafening. I was beginning to regret my decision to jump and didn’t know what to do next.
That’s when he came along– I never did catch his name and I still think that maybe he was an angel and not a human at all. He maneuvered a huge truck around me to shield me from the traffic and most of the noise. He spoke to me gently. He told me that I was safe, that help was coming to take me someplace dry and warm. He told me no one would ever hurt me again. For hours we sat like that, the cold December rain sluicing down our faces, cars whizzing around us, and him talking to me in a soft voice, spinning dreams of freedom. I could almost feel my mother smiling down on us.
The next thing I knew, a whole lot of people were there. They loaded me onto another truck and took me to the barn where I am now. This barn is lighter than the one I used to live in, and I have been given a pen filled with soft, warm straw. Lots of people came to look at and admire me when I arrived.
At first, I had a hard time understanding what it was they admired about a lost little pig, but as the hubbub died down, humans came to talk to me one by one. In the quiet of the barn with only us farm animals to hear, they poured out their thoughts, feelings, and dreams. I began to understand.
The human heart is so similar to my own.
So here I am. I am told that soon I will be moving to a new place, called Indraloka Animal Sanctuary. It is a place where pigs, sheep, cows, and all kinds of farm animals live free. Where humans are our friends and we all have a chance to enjoy life’s wonderful adventures, like wallowing in soft mud and lolling in sweet pasture grass.
Before I go there, I am told I need more doctor’s visits and tests. They plan to move me around the middle of next week, and in the meantime the people here are very nice and are keeping me safe and warm.
Freedom is just around the next corner, and I just know I will remember my name when I get there!