How might life be transformed by a tree change and a little piglet who wraps you around her trotter?
Fed up with city life and feeling stuck on a corporate treadmill going nowhere, my partner Jeff and I took a leap of faith not knowing exactly where we’d land. We longed for a calmer, cleaner way to live a life with more purpose. So, we bought 100 acres in the Hunter Valley complete with 12,500 grapevines and 1,000 olive trees. In the city, the hardest work I ever did was typing. To say we were in for a rude shock would be quite the understatement. Working on the land was bloody hard – we soon learned we were at the mercy of Mother Nature, and if we didn’t work in harmony with her, our livelihood would be at stake.
How it all began
With plenty of spare land and an even bigger vision for our country life, I decided I also wanted to raise pigs. I was going to employ a nose-to-tail philosophy and share it with the world. I had delusions of becoming the Hunter Valley’s version of Maggie Beer. If she could almost single-handedly bring back the pheasant, then surely, I could do the same with nose to tail. So, we set out to source our first pigs.
There’s nothing quite as chaotic and soul-destroying as literally reefing a piglet from its mother’s teat. Her cries of anguish were unmistakable, yet I needed to stay focused on the big picture: this is just what pig farmers did. We left in a hurry with two male piglets in tow … who I made the mistake of naming.
Rodney and Billy were two charming rascals and nothing like I expected. When you look into a pig’s eyes, there is a strong sense of knowing each other. I took the piglets for walks every day, wrestled, and cuddled them, and slowly my feelings towards farm animals began to change. I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I could send these adorable fellows off for slaughter.
Enter Helga
Our decision to not get the boys neutered was a rookie mistake, and when these feisty males grew too aggressive for this novice to handle, we were forced to find them new homes. So taken with Rodney and Billy and missing them terribly, I knew I had to have another pig in my life. This time I opted for a sow from a local pet shop. I named her Helga van Hoggett, and if I was smitten with the boys, well then, this little lady had me wrapped right around her trotter.
Because I hand-reared Helga and she lived inside with us, I got to know her more than any of the other farm animals we’d brought home. I was stunned by her intellect, ability to respond to affection, and the intensity of the way her eyes connected with mine.
I took Helga with me to visit friends and relatives. She sat on my lap in the front seat of the car and watched the world whiz by before falling asleep and snoring contentedly. I learned what food she loved most and prepared bento boxes for her breakfast, so she could eat her favourite things first. Helga even loved playing with our cat Leroy and pet goats Winston and Wesley, regularly chasing them around, barking wildly with excitement. With some practice, our little piggy was soon toilet trained. She sat on command like a dog, played chase, and fell asleep on my chest each night as I lay watching Netflix.
Making the connection
Helga became my constant companion, following me wherever I went, seeking me out for cuddles and belly scratches. With the right scratch, she’d throw herself on the ground and nuzzle into the fleshy part of my hand with her eyes closed, drifting off to sleep feeling safe and loved. Certain things frighten Helga, like strangers coming into her home or dogs she doesn’t know. As a piglet, she’d come running to me for protection, hiding between my feet and jumping up to be cuddled or tucked inside the front of my jacket. And would you believe it? Helga likes being sung to. A rendition of Kermit The Frog’s ‘Rainbow Connection’ is a favourite; it soothes her and she sighs with deep relaxation.
One evening, Jeff and I were watching the documentary Forks Over Knives, with Helga snoring softly under my chin (as usual). Afterwards, Jeff turned to me and said, “That’s it, I’m done with eating meat. It’s destroying our planet, it’s destroying our bodies, and there’s no such thing as ethical slaughter.” I instantly agreed. Our farm was struggling with extreme drought, my family has a history of diet-related illness, and on top of all this, how could we love this tiny, trusting piglet – only to wake up the following morning and devour a plateful of bacon? We both went plant-based the very next day.
A whole new purpose
Helga means more to me than any pet I’ve ever had. Since knowing her, I can’t understand how people (including my past self) justify eating pigs, sheep, and cows, yet the thought of eating their pet dog or cat would make them physically ill. That’s how Helga changed me. She came into my life and my entire food philosophy was transformed. I was determined to share her magnetic charm with the world – that sassy little walk of hers, her blonde-tipped curly tail, and sensitive brown eyes. I posted as many photos and videos of Helga that I could.
For the first time, it felt our individual lives had meaning beyond corporate pay cheques and fancy inner-city renovations. Our tree-change decision not only improved our health, but also enabled us to make a difference environmentally and for the welfare of animals. I was inspired to share our story and transition to a plant-based lifestyle, so I wrote my first book, Thirty Thousand Bottles of Wine and a Pig Called Helga, which ended up becoming a bestseller. I’ve lost count of the number of people who, prompted by our story, became vegetarian or vegan. This gives me immense satisfaction, way beyond the praise I’d receive for boardroom presentations in my previous life.
A place of sanctuary
I remained embarrassed that we bought Helga from a pet shop. We now understand that this supports bringing these animals into the world for financial gain. Never again. Now we only take in rescued farm animals to give them lives wholly independent of human expectation or need. We visit the local RSPCA shelter regularly. No farm animal is ever excluded from consideration, as long as they’ll get along with our other animals and not cause anyone any harm.
Twin sheep awaiting slaughter, 10 motherless Muscovy ducks, a goat mistreated by an animal hoarder, and another two-day-old goat found wandering the streets alone all came to live with us.
We built a one-acre fenced area on our property to keep them safe from wild dogs and foxes, containing a huge dam for Helga to wallow in and for the rescued wild and domestic ducks to swim in. Jeff even built the animals a quaint three-bedroom ‘cottage’ (with water views) to sleep in. Most people who saw it assumed it was designed for humans.
Now, they all have safe, happy, love-filled days and their welfare has become, I think, the reason for why I exist. You probably won’t be surprised to hear that we recently added a second one-acre enclosure so there’s room for plenty more to join us.
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I’m not sure any of this would have happened had Helga not come into our lives. That no-longer-little piggy radically altered my way of thinking. Today, at around 150 kilograms, there is still an intense bond and trust between us. I continue to shower her with cuddles, kisses, belly scratches, and, on special occasions, her favourite food – dried pasta. I thank her every day for what she has done for me.
