Hi people. It’s me, Sir Mortimer. But you can call me Morty. Did you hear what happened to me? Achilles tried to kill me. No, really!
Here’s what happened: It was nice outside, and we were all – and by all I mean me, Ella, Achilles, Lucy and Xebe, or Xela, or something like that. Aunt Amy was there too…she was brushing Achilles. She was brushing him hard and fast and hair was flying and he was loving it. I came over to see what all was going on, not knowing he was “in the zone.” He jumped at me and grabbed my ear and bit down. I screamed, and that just fueled his fire. He scraped the skin off the top of my ear; he punctured the side of my face; he scratched the top of my neck and head. I just kept screaming. It hurt, and I was scared. *squeal!* I am a prey animal after all, and he’s a predator. Did you know he’s bigger than me? I’m just a poor little 150 pound pig with a waddle. To make things even worse, the other dogs started closing in on me. It’s something called pack behavior. Aunt Amy kept screaming at them to stay back while she worked on getting Achilles off of me. I sure do wish I had a pack to protect me.
Aunt Amy – I’ve just started calling her that – saved me. I was bleeding and really freaked out. I could tell she was too – freaked out that is, not bleeding. She took me to my bathroom apartment so I could calm down. Afterwards, she shut all the dogs in another room and let me come in the kitchen with her. She sat on the floor and kept talking real nice and soft to me, and I decided I could trust her, that she is my protector. So I laid down in front of her. She pet me until I got back up and moved next to her. Then I laid down and got pet some more. Finally, I moved onto my side and let her rub my belly. We’re friends now. And Achilles had to sleep in his kennel the last two nights.
Anyhow, with a lot of treats to bribe me, I let Aunt Amy wash my boo boos and put medicine on them. That was two days ago, and it’s not hurting anymore and it’s all starting to heal.
None of the dogs (except Lucy) are allowed out when I’m grazing and playing in my swimming pool. I’m a happy piggy again.
Love, grunts, oinks and squeals, Morty