The lady next door runs a home for pigs. I went down each morning to say my hellos to the pigs and the people: cute little wee black piglings and mighty great boars and snufflers. Not for eating:Vietnamese potbellied pigs, pet pigs, some being boarded, some for sale, some for adoption.

The lady who owns it took me around and introduced me to many of the pigs.

“Now this one,” she said, pointing to one small and chirpy looking black fellow in a cage “was a pet pig. He was an ungelded boar, who was owned by people with Pomeranians. But they couldn’t cope, and we’re looking after him until he can be adopted.”

“Why couldn’t they cope?”

“Ah,” she said. “Well, there’s no way to put this delicately. I gelded him myself a couple of days ago. But an un-neutered boar needs to ejaculate at least twice a day to remain healthy. And this fellow, not being neutered, was trying to meet his ejaculatory needs with whatever came to hand. Mostly the Pomeranians. And the family, well, they really hadn’t bargained for that.”

I agreed that they probably hadn’t. And then I shook my head, listening to the grunt and snuffle of the pigs, and contemplating the silence of the Pomeranians.