The great Kunekune standoff

Our neighbours have four kunekune pigs. This has become something of a problem. Not because the pigs are causing trouble. They’re delightful. Every time we walk past, they waddle over to the fence, grunting enthusiastically as though we’ve been personally invited to tea. They gaze up with hopeful little eyes while simultaneously looking like they could eat you one toe at a time if given half the chance. It’s an impressive achievement, really. They’re both adorable and faintly terrifying. Like if a teddy bear and a small wild boar had got together and made some questionable life choices.

Naturally, I’ve always wanted kunekune pigs. Equally naturally, The Husband has absolutely no interest in owning kunekune pigs. This has now become such an established family joke that nobody even asks whether I’ve finally convinced him. They already know the answer.

As we stand at the neighbour’s fence admiring the pigs, I casually glance sideways.

“So… how about it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But why?”

“They’re pigs.”

“Exactly.”

Conversation over.

It’s reached the point where my parents have accepted reality too. A few birthdays ago they were visiting an art gallery when they spotted a painting of two kunekune pigs. They bought it for me. Apparently, they’d concluded that artwork was statistically my best chance of ever owning kunekunes. The painting now hangs proudly in the house. I’ve named them Madge and Mavis. If I’m never going to get to name real kunekune pigs, then painted ones will simply have to do.

“What have Kunekune’s got to do with gardening?” I hear you thinking. Well, I want them to hang about in my orchard, eat the fallen apples and my food scraps, and generally look sweet (kind of) just mulling about in my garden environment. What’s not to love about that idea?!

People often tell me, “Just go and get them. What’s he going to do?” Well… probably remain remarkably calm while quietly planning a google search for divorce lawyers. But more importantly, that’s not really how our marriage works. We’ve always had a very simple rule. Any additions to the family require unanimous agreement, whether human or animal. No surprise chickens. No impulse goats. No emotional-support alpacas. And definitely no sneaking home with two pigs called Madge and Mavis already wearing personalised collars.

It seems like a sensible system. Marriage, after all, isn’t about winning every argument. It’s about deciding which hills are worth dying on, and which livestock are worth not buying. Besides, animals aren’t a solo hobby. They’re a shared responsibility, and if one person isn’t enthusiastically on board, then the answer is no. Even if they’re ridiculously cute. Even if they grunt at you in a way that feels oddly validating. Even if they somehow manage to look like they’d lovingly nibble your fingers clean off. So, for now, I remain a woman with two painted pigs and four borrowed neighbour pigs.

As for real kunekunes, there are really only two possible futures:

Option one: no kunekune pigs, but a happy marriage.

Option two: kunekune pigs… and considerably less marriage.

I’ll take option one.

Although…The Husband is eight years older than I am. Now, before anyone writes in, I know life has a habit of ignoring our carefully constructed timelines, but if chronology were to behave itself for once, there is a slim possibility that somewhere in my nineties I may finally have a brief window of opportunity to spend my twilight years pottering around a paddock with Madge and Mavis. The real ones.

Did you know?

Did you know plants go to sleep? Not in the way we do…but many plants have a bedtime routine. As evening falls, some plants fold their leaves, droop their stems, or close their flowers. This nightly movement is called nyctinasty (pronounced nick-tin-uh-stee), and it's controlled by the plant's internal biological clock rather than simply the absence of light. Scientists think these movements may help plants conserve energy, reduce water loss, protect pollen from moisture, or make themselves less appealing to hungry nighttime insects.

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