Part of Honey becoming a therapy animal involved she and I being evaluated to ensure that we were a good and effective team. Here again my sarcasm control was needed. For example, the woman meeting with us asked questions that clearly indicated she knew little to nothing about pigs. "So, do I need to worry about her jumping up?" Potbelly pigs are named after the stove for a reason. They are not built, especially as adults, to jump up. So, showing GREAT restraint, I said: "No, she doesn't," while thinking ever so loudly "Does she look like she f***ing jumps?" Then the assessment period began and Honey did lovely piggy modified obedience and passed every test of socialization. On the completed form I noticed the following comments: "Pig was lovely. Handler was very appropriate and able to offer supportive comments." I would hope to think that graduate school and years in the counseling field would have supported me in that domain.
The training that led up to Honey's certification as a therapy animal involved going to dog obedience classes. I knew the trainers because of lots of prior classes with my dogs. You never really know a person until you see them interact with a pig. All of our teachers were supportive and gave me kudos for having the chutzpah to train a pig. One teacher was laughing while watching Honey skillfully work with piggy modified agility obstacles. She asked if she could do anything to help. I responded with: "Be a bit less amused". Another trainer usually used hot dogs while training. I respectfully asked if we could use something OTHER than pork as a treat for Honey. He, grinning from ear to ear, agreed. Yet another trainer recognized how intelligent, quick, and biddable Honey was with her training and complimented her often. Honey LOVED the attention! She happily swished her tail and looked forward to all of class minus the leaving the ground to get into and out of the van. My husband and I tried to minimize the screaming by getting to class early and QUICKLY moving Honey. It helped but certainly did not stop the problem. Trust me, EVERYONE knew when we were at class!
Honey taught me a lot of lessons and one of them was that you don't rush a pig. She walked at her pace and made me acutely aware that we moved on her schedule not mine. I tried to rush her once by sliding her across a tile floor, similar to how one would shove a beer down a bar. Let me clearly state this does not cut down but rather intensifies the screaming issue! I did it only once and Honey taught me NEVER to do it again! She used to go see a friend of mine for grooming and when Honey was lifted off the floor, the screaming began. When my groomer went to apologize to the accountant next door, she felt relieved when he said: "I thought that was a pig. I haven't heard that sound since I left the Midwest." He was a kind soul who tolerated Honey's occasional visits quite well.
My husband worked on the highest story of a building with a deck. On rare occasions, Honey and I would stop by work and she would go sun herself out on the patio. He was an IT person who worked with a fascinating group of individuals as well. All of these folks were a bit surprised to see and hear grunting on the top floor of a building. The phrase: "I really did start to believe that pigs could fly" was spoken when Honey first began sunning herself high above the city.
One of my favorite memories of Honey was when we were out strolling through a park in Tucson on an early Spring day. Honey decided to rest for awhile on a lush bit of grass and I found myself gently resting my head on her body as we enjoyed the gentle desert sun.
Honey and I spent many wonderful years together and I could tell many more stories of her but perhaps I will end with this event. On the day Honey passed on to the Rainbow Bridge a beautiful double rainbow, as only Arizona can do it, appeared in the sky. I truly believe it was the Divine coming to bring her home. My heart was so bittersweet in knowing my dear friend was moving on. Honey helped make me a better person and definitely a kinder one. She was love, pigsonified!
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