The Pig 



Helen E. Murphy 

 Phoenix, X. Y. 



HE wild hog that once roamed over Eourope, Asia, 

 and Africa, is the ancestor of our common domesti- 

 Z cated pig. It likes situations where it may wallow 

 in the water and mud; but it also likes to have, 

 close by, woods, thickets, or underbrush, to which 

 it can retire for rest, and also when in danger. The wild hog is ex- 

 tremely active and powerful ; it is fierce and dangerous, particularly 

 when old. Iron gray or dirty brown in color, spotted here and 

 there with black, it is well concealed in the underbrush, and the 

 thick skin covered with stiff bristly hairs is a fine protection from 

 thorny thickets. When excited or angry, these bristles rise and 

 add fury to its appearance. Twilight, night and early dawn 

 are its favorite times for feeding upon plants, fruits and roots, 

 and also for sport, for fighting and for adventure. Provided 

 with a bony, wedge-shaped head, a snout that is pointed and also 

 the seat of a highly developed sense of smell, an upper jaw armed 

 with slashing tusks, a neck that is long and muscular and loins 

 broad and strong, the wild hog is excellently adapted to look out 

 for itself. 



Hunters of wild hogs declare that they are full of cunning and 

 strategy; and we must admit that the domesticated pig of today 

 is very clever; all it needs is a chance to give evidence of it. With 

 an affection that causes it to follow a person like a dog, and a 

 memory that he can be trained to play Yankee-doodle on a violin, 

 we must admit that the pig has brains. The trouble is that most 

 of the time it is so stuffed with fattening food that no opportunity 

 is given it to use his brains, except once in a while when it squeezes 

 through the fence, and then how vainly we strive to get it back! 

 Then it remembers to forget everything, especially the situation 

 of the hole through which it escaped. 



By nature, the pig is very neat; but since it has come in contact 

 with civilization, it rarely gets half a chance to show this quality. 

 Sparsely clothed with bristles and hair, flies and other insects 

 bite it unmercifully, and it has to wallow in the mud to rid itself 

 of these pests; but this wallowing is in the nature of a mud 

 bath, repeated only at intervals. 



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