We Wallow With Walter the Giant Warthog

Rodent reporter Zoey and her faithful photographer Zeek venture out into the savannah to meet with a giant warthog, but will this Metridiochoerus andrewsi admire Zoey’s headware or make a snack of it?

Zeek: Why are you wearing that ridiculous hat, for gosh sakes?

Zoey: What’s wrong with my hat?

Zeek: It’s got flowers sticking out of it! It’s like you’re wearing some kind of vase on your head.

Zoey: But this is the latest spring fashion! Sometimes, Zeek, you act like you were born in a barn.

Zeek: I was born in a barn. What’s that got to do with it?

Zoey: Oh, foo—nothing! Oh, look, here’s our interviewee. (Whispers) I hear he’s quite the gentleman.

(A giant warthog looks up from vigorously digging in the dirt, a tassle of tubers teetering on the tip of one tusk.)

Zoey: Hello! So are you one of the bachelor giant warthogs we’ve heard so much about?

Walter: (Tossing the tubers into the air, he snatches them with his sharp front teeth, nibbles politely for a moment, and then swallows) Tasty! Pardon me. No, no bachelor life for me, not anymore. I’ve lived a quiet, sensible life. (Chuckles) But sure, I sowed my wild oats as a youngster. Before I became a family man, the fellows and I used to hang out together. Back then we were just a bunch of teenagers, loitering out on the hot savannah, digging in the dirt and daydreaming about…well, you know…girls. We were just like anyone else, really. But you know how it goes: Once we matured and mating season arrived, all bets were off. Competition can become somewhat intense when it comes to the ladies, if you know what I mean. It’s a fight-or-flight experience, all right. I was quite the warrior in my day, but as a species, we’re not ashamed to run when we’re out-matched. You know the old saying: Those who turn and run away, live to mate another day.

Zoey: I hear you’ve led a very fulfilling life. What happened next?

Walter: I did what comes naturally—the family thing. I was a family guy through and through—loved everything about it. (He pauses thoughtfully) Being extinct makes you nostalgic for the good old days, I suppose. I loved the nice, quiet mating season, followed by a few months of quiet before the missus would chase off last year’s offspring and then pop out the new little piglets—well, not all that little, actually. We’re not called “giant” for nothing. But she was quite the trooper about it. That was followed by the best time of the year—the formative months. My gal and maybe a female friend or two did most of the raisin’ while we males went off and did the guy thing, on our own. It’s peaceful out there, alone on the savannah. I always loved the sight of the young’uns tumbling across the grasslands in the distance, playing together. Then, eventually, they’d head off in groups, the boys in one direction and the girls in another, and the cycle of life would begin again.

Zeek: Uh, I don’t get it.

Zoey: I don’t know what you mean. What’s not to get?

Zeek: Well, I guess I think of a fulfilling life as being one filled with swashbuckling adventure with hot babes at your side, that sort of thing. You just don’t really look like the swashbuckling type.

Zoey: Zeek! Don’t be rude!

Walter: (chortling) It’s true! Sounds like you’ve got an eye for romance, young fellow. But a fulfilling life for some of us comes from a strong sense of family and a job done well. I’m not the most elegant creature, and I may not be as attractive as some of the flashier animals on the savannah, but I’m a practical fellow with a good dose of common sense. My eyesight may be a tad poor, but my handsome nose more than makes up for it: I’ve got a terrific sense of smell! If I can’t see it, chances are I can smell it. Now that’s just good planning. And these magnificent tusks aren’t just for looks, you know. They get a workout digging up roots, stripping bark from trees, and ripping apart ripe carrion. Sure, I use my hoofs, too, but these babies are my first line of defense when it comes to digging and protecting my territory. I’m one of the few hoofed creatures that make good use of the ol’ knees—I don’t just bend ‘em while walking, I use ‘em for their nature-made purpose: grazing. I wasn’t blessed with the long neck of a gazelle, so kneeling just makes sense. Less strain on the back. Clever, eh? Plus we’ve got splendid posture and a tail that’s quite a hoot! Would you like me to demonstrate with a quick trot around the exhibit? (He proudly moves about in a quick circle, tail held high.) I must say, we’re really quite dashing when we dash…our charm is all in the heiny.

Zoey: My! You’re right! That’s something!

Walter: Family’s the thing, young fellow. But when you get on in years—well, we older fellows prefer our own company, you know. Solitary soldiers and all that. Speaking of old, I’ve got to head in for a bit of a snooze. Thanks for the visit! (He begins backing up.)

Zoey: Uh, I’m sorry—have we done something to offend you?

Walter: What do you mean?

Zoey: Well…I mean…why are you backing away from us?

Walter: Why, this is how every warthog worth his salt enters his burrow!

Zoey: Oh, my…I didn’t realize that! Did you, Zack?

Walter: Some species go in front-ways, but we always head in tail first, so we’re ready to leap out at a moment’s notice. That front-ways business seems awfully silly to me, if you’ll pardon my English. Don’t understand it at all! Why, heading in head first means you’ve got to dig a bigger hole to turn around in! After digging for roots all day, what animal in his right mind would want to go and make more work for himself? Makes no sense, man!

Zeek: Sort of like Zoey’s hat.

Zoey: What?!

Walter: Don’t know what you’re talking about, young fellow. Quite practical to carry about one’s lunch on one’s head.

(Zoey turns bright pink.)

Zeek: That’s what I’m talking about.