Sally’s Story
Piglet Days & a Rough Start
"She came into our lives like a whisper, but the storm she weathered made her unforgettable."Sally was one of six piglets the feller brought home while I was away in Kentucky. The moment I laid eyes on her, I could tell she was different. She had a gentleness about her—and a little something extra behind those eyes. But life threw her a curve right off the bat.
Pigs don’t have sweat glands, you see, and poor little Sally overheated. Twice. She laid low in that shed, not wantin’ to move or come out, and by the time I got back, it was clear she’d been through more than her little body could handle. We nursed her the best we could—coolin’ her off, hand-feedin’ her, keepin’ her close.
We even had a vet tech gal named Heather come out and give Sally an antibiotic shot. That little pig had barely been making a sound up to that point — but when that needle went in, she let out the biggest holler you ever heard. I swear, it sounded just like she yelled “OH GOD!” Heather looked at me wide-eyed and said, “Did you hear that!?” We both nearly fell over laughin’, but Sally wasn’t amused. She sulked for a good hour afterward, but I think even she knew we were just tryin’ to help her.
She pulled through, but she was never quite the same. After that, her walk was off—kinda wobbly and unsteady—and her head tilted to one side like it just didn’t want to sit straight anymore. But none of that slowed her spirit. If anything, it made her sassier.
Once Sally got her feet under her, she made up for lost time — especially when it came to eatin’. That girl loved her some corn. And not just loved it — she’d charge it, head tilted and all, like a four-legged freight train on a mission.
But early on, she wasn’t penned up like the others. She was too little — and truth be told, if we’d left her in with the other pigs, they probably would’ve killed her. That’s part of why I took her out. She just wasn’t strong enough to hold her own, not yet. So instead, she hung around the outside of their pen, like a curious little tagalong, always watchin’ and sniffin’ and waitin’ her turn.
She might’ve had a crooked head and a hitch in her step, but when food hit the ground, Sally could move like she had lightning in her hooves. She’d make this funny little grunt — half-snort, half-huff — like she was sayin’, “Make room, I’m here!” And the way she rooted around with that tilted head, it looked like she was inspectin’ every kernel like a queen choosin’ her feast.
One day she even knocked over a whole feed pan like she was sayin’, “This ain’t good enough.” That pig had opinions, I’m tellin’ you. And she wasn’t shy about sharin’ ‘em.
Sally didn’t warm up to just anyone — but the feller? Oh, she took to him like a duck to water. She’d see him comin’ and perk up, snortin’ softly like she was tryin’ to say, “Hey there, you!” She followed him around the yard like a crooked-tailed shadow. If he stopped movin’, so did she.
Sometimes she’d nudge at his boots like she was checkin’ to make sure he was still hers. He acted gruff about it, mutterin’ and shakin’ his head, but I saw the way he talked to her when he thought no one was listenin’.
He’d even sit out on the camper steps now and then and feed her Oreo cookies. And she LOVED those cookies. If there was an Oreo in sight, Sally was gonna find it and make it disappear in one happy grunt.
And let me tell you — she didn’t just wait around for affection. One day, when she was just a bit over knee high, she spotted the feller walkin’ across the yard. Next thing you know, she came chargin’ straight at him — snortin’, trottin’, dead set on gettin’ his attention. Just about knocked him clean over, too! All she wanted was for him to stop and scratch her ears. And of course, he did. How could you not, with Sally starin’ up at you like you were the best part of her world?
He’d scratch her under the chin or rub her belly, and that girl would just melt. Sometimes she’d flop right over in the straw, legs sprawled, eyes driftin’ shut like someone had flipped a sleepy switch. There’s nothin’ in the world quite like a pig trustin’ you enough to fall asleep at your feet.
She got out of the pen a time or two — and every time, she went huntin’ for the feller. One day, she wandered all the way down to the horse riding place lookin’ for him. They brought her back up on a three-wheeler like royalty, and she didn’t seem the least bit ashamed of it either.
As the weather started turnin’ colder and Sally kept growin’, we knew she needed more than just a spot beside the pen — she needed a real home. That’s when the feller’s sisters and their families brought over lumber and supplies — enough to build two pig houses.
The buildin’? That was me and the feller. We worked side by side, buildin’ strong, simple shelters. One for the pen with three pigs, and one just for Sally and her penmates — Harry Pig and Piggly Wiggly.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was solid. A good roof, strong walls, and a straw bed thick enough to keep her warm. Sometimes I’d catch her curled up in the corner, snout twitchin’ in her sleep, lookin’ as content as anything in the world.
Eventually, we gave Sally and Piggly Wiggly to my cousin Ed. As far as I know, they’re still with him — probably struttin’ around like they own the place, snortin’ for cookies and bossin’ everyone around.
Moments We’ll Always Remember
Sally had wandered out, but laid herself right down—too weak to root, too tired to even squeal. We didn’t know if she’d make it through the night… but we weren’t about to give up on her.
—the first time Sally felt the sun on her snout after her rough start. Still weak, still wobbly, but already loved.
just beginning to feel al little better.
Warm Nights, Watchful Eyes
In the early days, Sally stayed inside where it was warm and safe—sometimes with a black kitten pokin’ in just to say hello.
They’d curl up in the shavings like old friends. Neither one said much, but they stuck close.
Before she found her footing outdoors, Sally had a cardboard box, a space heater—and a cat who cared.
—Sally found her favorite sunny patch and claimed it
She couldn’t stand on her own, so he held her up—every single time. Grain, corn, sweet feed—whatever she’d eat, he made sure she got it.
—with a belly full of feed and a brand-new view of the yard.
Found a snack and claimed her spot—Sally’s first taste of freedom (and corn dust!) after her tough start.
—Sally was feelin’ stronger by the minute… and look who came to check on her.
🐾 Kitty supervision approved!
But that day—oh, that day—she spotted the corn cob and waddled straight to it like it was calling her name. I knew then, she was gonna be okay.
The way she attacked that second cob? That was our sign—Sally wasn’t just surviving anymore. She was thriving.
—just a cob of corn, a patch of earth, and a second chance
—Sally was learning the yard like it was her own little kingdom.” Still wobbly, still crooked, but mighty curious.
(This was just before she tried to eat a stick… again.)
Sally & Her Feller
Sally would nuzzle right up, leanin’ into that hoodie like she knew he was her person.
He'd sit on a bucket and she’d come rootin’ up beside him, waiting for that scratch under the ear.
She trusted him enough to fall asleep in the sunshine, stretched out and snorin’. That’s what love looks like.
Sally the Big Girl
She grew stronger, sassier, and maybe even a little bossier. But she never forgot where she came from—or who got her there.
Built strong and simple with the feller’s hands—Sally’s shelter saw her through her first real winter.
She didn’t care if it was messy—if there was a puddle nearby, Sally claimed it.
She may have started out the smallest, but she held her own just fine come feeding time.
That same tilt to her head, but a whole lot more weight behind her huff now.
Her coat may have changed with age, but those sassy spots were pure Sally through and through.
Even when she was bigger, her appetite stayed the same—mighty and focused.
Sally’s Pen, Sally’s Rules
She wasn’t the runt anymore. She had her space, her piggy pals, and her own muddy kingdom.
That doorway stayed muddy, and so did Sally. She wouldn't have had it any other way.
This was her favorite corner—cool, quiet, and just close enough to the fence to keep an eye on everything.
The sassiest pair of pig sisters this side of the tree line. Where one went, the other followed (eventually).