One tiny pinkish piglet came to The Quarry Farm after a fierce tumble from a transport truck on I-270 Columbus. We named the little one Nemo, not for the Pixar clownfish but with the Latin word meaning “No One.” She fell from a semi, just one of many piglets that meant nothing on their way to “finishing.” She was found and given shelter by a kind person who drove her to where no one would hurt her ever again.

With a North Carolina tattoo in her ear, road rash, and a healing leg break, Nemo snuggled into our lives until she found her footing. She housebroke easily, following the lead of the dogs. She raced from room to room, confounding the cats until she grew too large to run indoors. She stretched her 700 lb. self outside on the sunny deck and in the shade of trees, often in the company of her potbellied friend Carlton. In winter, she wore chickens on her warm arched back (or they wore her long pale hair on their scaled feet) as she rooted for snowbound roots. In summer, she strained the fence in her quest for wild raspberries and cherries. In spring and fall, she won over visiting school groups and families with her enthusiasm for juicy apples and roasted peanuts.

In the last couple of years, Nemo was less inclined to greet newcomers at the gate. The old leg break slowed her gait from a full-on gallop to a cautious walk. Rather than snuffle-chomping offered treats, she preferred belly rubs that made her breathe big rumbling sighs. She slept in her barn bed more than she grazed, burying her snout in straw and stretching her arthritic bad leg behind her. When she decided not to stand last month, we fed her pans of warm oatmeal, bananas, and feed to combat the bitter cold. Today, she died in that bed under warmed towels. We knew she was going because Buddy the Donkey stood just outside her door, joined by the hens and turkey. They always know and stand watch. They tell us when to come and be present.

Living with a 700 lb. toddler is a challenge, for that is what a grown pig is. They are whip smart beings with the intelligence and emotions of three-year-old humans. Nemo was capable of opening an unchained gate. Fortunately, alarmed strangers confused and frightened her so that she ran home when she heard her name called. For she had a name, unlike her siblings, and every bit as much soul.