10. one and two makes eight

You might think from this title that I got nought for maths at school, but in this case ‘One’ and ‘Two’ (or their vernacular names, Moja and Mbele in Swahili) are our seventh and eighth bushpig orphans at Milimani. They were rescued from a veld fire in Eshowe by the Steenberg family, nurtured and cared for until they were seven weeks old.

They are boisterous young males, and willingly accepted by the three dogs, now used to having bushpigs as companions. Eisbein, the Vietnamese Potbelly, has been the best hot-water bottle since grandma fell off the bus.

Kidogo, no. 6 orphan, is also a male and has been recruited to show them what being a bushpig is all about. Our back garden is a disaster area with all the digging and running around by these animals. Ken regularly grunts and shakes his head, complaining that his rose garden will never grow. I have never seen Ken near a rose garden and suspect that he is simply trying to make a point.

Left - Caroline Hurry with Callie and Wig as a baby

We now have five orphaned bushpigs around the house. Picollo and Wig (numbers 4 and 5) were gradually introduced to the three original orphans when disaster struck. They teamed up with two wild pigs and one injured Wig severely. A week later Picollo was hurt.


Wig’s back leg was badly gashed with a lot of muscle damage. I took her down to Durban to be x-rayed by the vet at C.R.O.W. That was quite a mission. Wig was immobilised but not anaesthetised and she began squealing the place down. She eventually cooperated and once the damage to leg was assessed, we decided to let the healing process take its own course. She spent that night at C.R.O.W.

The next day mum and I went to collect her, the idea being I would shoot through to Milimani in Pongola. Wig is normally a good traveller but obviously all the fuss had disorientated her, plus it was as hot as hell. We put her into the travelling box, believing all would be well. Ha! The next thing she managed to push open the door and squeeze her way out. She promptly sat on mum’s lap in the front of the Landrover. The whole Houdini manoeuvre had opened up the wound and she bled like a – dare I say – stuck pig all over mum’s nice white cotton outfit. There she sat all the way along the highway to Umhlanga Rocks, watching the traffic whizz by. Bushpigs are solid creatures and even at seven months old they’re heavy. Mum arrived home covered in blood and bruises!

Wig was not happy about travelling that day, so we spent the night with Helena who is used to unusual houseguests!

Picollo and Wig are free, but still use the house as a base. They frequently visit the workshop and show Ken what to do, which doesn’t go down to well. Kidogo, Mojo and Mbele will have to wait until they are big enough to leave the bottom of the food chain when, hopefully, the call of the wild will draw them back into the bush.

I am not sure mum has forgiven me for this yet. Being burdened with unusual ‘grand-children’ isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be!

Published in Country Life, October 2002

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE:
http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:

http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-impatient-gardener.html

7. it's all in a day's walk

‘Walking the dogs’ has always had such a romantic connotation. 
One envisages a good looking husband, sporting a tweed coat, Labrador at his side, walking along the misty river banks, occasionally throwing a ball or Frisbee. 
But at Milimani, as romantic as it is, a calm stroll with the Labrador just doesn’t happen.

When it became apparent that our three bushpig orphans needed to ‘get out more’, our three dogs (one is a Labrador, so we do have some of the ingredients), and us (sans tweed coats) started taking them for walks. We’d stroll from the house for a kilometre to the helipad where we’d let them forage. On the way back, a compulsory pit stop at the water tank for a wallow ensured that the trademark of the walk was left all over our legs and shoes. These evening walks became a ritual and guests were invited along.

My uncle, aunt and (favourite) cousin came to visit and a bushpig walk was on the agenda. By now Picollo had grown quite large and loved Velcro. Colleen, Kelly and I were so wrapped up in conversation that we neglected Clive who was being attacked – in a friendly way – by Picollo, hungry for the Velcro on his takkies. Clive’s cries for help eventually stopped us mid-sentence. I instructed him to ‘just ignore Picollo', and he exclaimed in horror: “At which point do I ignore her, Lois? When my foot is half way down her throat?” Clive abandoned the walk and retired to the safety of cricket on TV.

A Blackbacked Jackal, Jacki, came to us from C.R.O.W (Centre for the Rehabilitation of Wildlife). Jacki was tame, and although free to roam, adopted us for a short time. The dogs and pigs were initially sceptical but later accepted his presence. After that Jacki joined us on the walks and they became even more chaotic. Pigs chasing pigs, chasing dogs, chasing jackal. Jacki soon wondered off, and has hopefully settled amongst his own type.

Then Jasper the Friendly Goose arrived. Jasper is an Egyptian Goose, about two-years-old, and used to humans. To be frank he is neither an Egyptian nor a goose (actually a duck), and definitely not friendly. He too came from C.R.O.W. He immediately took over our home, our lives and our nerves. The only person he didn’t attack was Ken. The rest of us had to dodge flapping wings and a snapping bill. Jasper also joined the walks.

When the time came to take two of the bushpigs, Picollo and Wig, to the release enclosure at the restaurant, Jasper escorted us, and discovered that this was where we spent most of our time, so every morning he flew there and strutted around the swimming pool. We were having breakfast with guests when Jasper literally landed on one lady’s head! Thankfully she had a sense of humour and Jasper was chased off what he considered a good nesting place!

Picollo and Wig have settled into their new enclosure and will be introduced to the three other bushpigs that were released six months ago. We take them  for long walks into the forest and down to the dam for a wallow. Soon the other bushpigs will accept them and they will be free to go.

Although it’s often hard to release the animals, it’s far more rewarding to watch them embrace freedom and interact with their own species.

But it looks like Jasper has no intention of going anywhere. Life’s too good beside the pool!

Published in SA Country Life, July 2002

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE: http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html


COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:
http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-impatient-gardener.html

5. three little pigs

Helena says I was a pig in my last life. Helena is my mentor, my guru, and my guide when it comes to animals, so I believe every word she says. At first I was reluctant to accept that I might have been a pig, but after my experiences with a trio of hoggish ‘cousins’ I’m proud of the idea.

It all started with Eisbein. We offered to take this perfect, spoilt pig as his previous owners were finding him rather troublesome in their Durban suburban home, but his arrival was greeted with disgust by our dogs. They were totally confused by this creature whose back resembled his front.

Eisbein is a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig, and pot-bellied he is. Nusu, the German Shepherd, promptly took to some serious pot-belly bashing, whilst Callie, the border collie – delighted to have something to herd – nipped Eisbein’s ears to correct his movements.

When Eisbein’s ‘mother’ announced she was coming to visit Milimani, we panicked, thinking she’d be horrified at how the dogs have treated him. Some mad patching-up was needed to cover the superficial scars made by the dogs. Elizabeth Anne’s shampoo and some buffing hid the evidence and soon he looked as perfect as when he’d arrived. Poor Eisbein, he had a difficult time until the pecking order settled down and he’d established his position at the top.

Then there are the warthogs. Outside our kitchen door we fall over two young males that have been with us since their tiny tails could stand on end. Their mother has kicked them out to make way for the new litter, but whilst their siblings went off into the big pig world, these two remained ‘mummy’s boys’. Fortunately a fence divides them from the dogs, but the bravado this encourages is sometimes forgotten and confrontations have been traumatic. The warthogs share their feeding spot with the chickens and Egyptian geese, who are often sent into involuntary flight. Compared with Eisbein, who never knows what day it is, the warthogs are far more energetic and have heaps of personality.

Finally there are the bushpigs. Of all my boarish connections, bushpigs are my favourite. We have parented several bushpigs, from young orphans to slightly older, rehabilitated ones, and despite the species’ terrible reputation they have all wormed their way into our hearts and touched our soul. Bacon, Beans and Hamlet were the first to arrive, followed by Picollo and Wig. Bacon, Beans and Hamlet have been released, but Picollo and Wig were mere babes in arms when they arrived and had to be bottlefed – which of course meant they stayed in the house. Picollo settled down well in the bathroom, but was soon booted out when Ken suffered from sensahumourfailure after tripping over her and her ‘late night messages' for the umpteenth time. Fortunately the dogs willingly accepted her, contrary to their attitude to Eisbein. They probably knew that this pig was going to grow up more dangerous than Eisbein could ever imagine.

Wig was only two weeks old when we got her and she spent many nights in the bathroom. When her nocturnal antics became too rowdy, she happily settled down in the shoe cupboard. 

Being a mere 10cm high, she knew all about feet and shoes, but not much else.

So, if Helena is right my combined personality should be fat, lazy and manipulative, with heaps of personality and a love of shoes. Wonder what I’ll be in my next life?

Published in Country Life, May 2002.

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE: http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:  http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2013/12/we-have-pending-nuptials.html

4. bacon, beans and the bard

Bushpigs (Potamocheorus porcus), are known to be ‘aggressive, suspicious and dangerous’. I would be too if someone had lumbered me with a Latin name that I had no hope of spelling in kindergarten.

Sadly, the textbook description has done much damage to the bushpig’s reputation. So we were slightly anxious when we took delivery of Bacon and Beans, two hand-reared, eight-month-old bushpigs. They had been rescued from the clutches of people who were fattening them up for the pot, nurtured and then sent to us for release back into the wild.

We keep our animals for a three-week period for orientation prior to release. Every day I would feed Bacon and Beans mielies, scrambling through their pen to find their feeding bowl, that had been taken for a walk. During this daily ritual we developed a rapport and Bacon, Beans and I became best friends. So much so, that after each feeding time I looked as though I had just walked out of one of Ken’s mud-wrestling fantasies.

When their three-week period was over and it was time to release Bacon and Beans, I bade them sad and fond farewells and they slipped off into the bush without so much as a goodbye kiss. A month later we happened to be solving all the problems of the world over a bottle of red wine around the camp fire, when a scuffle in the bush delivered Bacon and Beans. Bin Laden and his mates were forgotten and the relationship between pig and man re-established. Their affection was overwhelming. Our manager was reduced to a pathetic mass of male sensitivity – overflowing with guilt for every bushpig he’d ever shot.

The following night, determined to prove to Ken that the vision of the return of the bushpigs was not due to red wine alone, I called into the night: “Bacon, Beans, here piggy piggy,” much to the amusement of our night-watchman. And, lo and behold, bolting from the bush came the pigs of my life. Stupidly I was wearing my best, white, long-flowing party dress and it bore the brunt of the muddy reunion.

Every night thereafter I would embarrass myself by yelling the ingredients of a breakfast menu into the night, only to be covered in mud and slobber.

However, this story does come with the warning: “Do not try this at home!” Bushpigs are dangerous and should be handled with utmost respect. If you do invite them around the campfire, hide all glasses and ice and don’t wear white. Bacon and Beans are half their potential size and will eventually grow to a metre tall and weigh up to 115kgs. Boisterous behaviour is not to be encouraged, especially if you are a pig lover weighing only 55kgs.

Most relationships are built around food, and Bacon and Beans’ love for me is based on the fact that attached to the long white flowing robe is always paw-paw.

Soon afterwards we released Hamlet, a four-month old bushpig orphan. These days, in the heart of northern Zululand, the echoing call of a Shakespearean breakfast can be heard!

Published in Country Life, April 2002

Other blogs by Lois Kuhle:

SMOKE RINGS IN CUBA. A TWO WEEK JOURNEY FILLED WITH SALSA, SUNSHINE AND SILLY PEOPLE: http://smokeringsincuba.blogspot.com/2013/10/smoke-rings-in-cuba-journey-filled-with.html

COOL THOUGHTS. MUSINGS AND OTHER MAD MOMENTS:  http://loiskuhlethoughts.blogspot.com/2013/12/we-have-pending-nuptials.html