“You’ll have to forgive any inconsistencies,” Grace began, “but we’re going back a long way to when I was married to my first husband – H. He was a big, good-humored man of Irish descent. He was easy going, and despite being brought up by the Christian Brothers (and beaten regularly for he was neither the brightest nor the most obedient of boys), things didn’t distress him. He possessed a happy-go-lucky nature that I somewhat envied being, in my pouty youth, incapable of having a good time without the intervention of alcohol and cigarettes.

“Now H loved Ireland and we visited together three times in all. I was less keen, as it insisted on raining continuously from the moment I arrived to the moment of my departure on every single occasion. I was later to discover that it was nothing personal. I should have stopped to think why all the pubs were within spitting distance of each other, forming a network by which you could navigate an entire community without getting your feet wet… but it never occurred to me that the rain was a constant.

“My father-in-law, Mr. H Senior, was a Cork man but we tended towards Kerry… to a village named Kenmare to be precise, right in the bottom most corner of that county. We stayed in a hotel run by the O’Learys. Kathleen, their fiery-haired eldest daughter was later to marry my husband’s English cousin… disgraceful, but altogether another story.

“The events of which I speak happened on my first visit in the late summer of 1980. We got off the ferry after a particularly rough crossing and boarded the coach to Killarney. Do you know of Slattery’s? Well never mind. Once in Killarney, where we stayed the night and enjoyed the craic, it was a 19-mile hike to Kenmare. This seemed a little daunting, but reassured by my husband’s optimism and insistence that hitching in this part of the world was as easy as ‘falling off a log’ on account of the friendliness of the inhabitants, my spirits lifted, even if it was pouring with rain. You must recall this was my first visit… and as people kept saying – ‘Ah, but how do you think the fields get to be so green…?’

“Six miles into our 19-mile hike (the hitching part, yet to materialise) and the straps of my rucksack were digging horribly into my shoulders. The rucksack, while capacious, was made of cotton and readily absorbed the rainwater and rubbed against my skin until ‘Stop!’ I cried… but above the pelting rain I could scarcely hear my own voice and H strode on oblivious to my pain. We had passed a number of tumbledown cottages on our journey and through the dense droplets of icy water that glued my eyelids together, I strained to pick out one such ruin that might offer us temporary shelter. But none had roofs, and so we staggered on.

“Past Lady’s View and down into the Ring of Kerry we trudged until at last some way ahead a light flickered. As we drew closer I could just make out what appeared to be a small house and a scattering of out buildings.

‘I think it’s a farm’ I called, and H came to agree.

‘Do you think they would let us rest a while’ I was desperate to take off the sodden rucksack. H nodded.

‘Come in, come in, ah you poor things, you’re soaked to the skin.’ said the farmer as she ushered us into the kitchen. ‘I can’t believe you’re out walking in this weather now.’

“I gave H a sideways glare and for his part H decided to look the other way and engage the old woman in conversation.

“For three hours we warmed ourselves and dried our belongings, our footwear baking in the slow oven of the range that dominated that kitchen. Periodically a young man would appear grabbing a bite to eat before disappearing again but we were waiting for John who had been out with the pigs. It was John who was courting a girl from Kenmare and who would give us a ride just as soon as he’d scrubbed up and washed his tangled brown hair. He was a tall, wiry seventeen-year-old, sullen in expression but with a glint in his eye that hinted that he wasn’t as miserable as he made himself out to be.

“The moment came and we said goodbye to the farmer, thanking her for her hospitality. We climbed into the Land Rover and set off towards the dirt track that led to the main road. But before we had even crossed the yard we were suddenly thrown forwards in our seats as the breaks were unexpectedly applied.

‘Damn and blast it’ shouted our driver as he swung back the door and jumped out. We craned to see past him to whatever it was that had halted our journey so abruptly.

‘I won’t be a minute’ came John’s voice. From the bushes beyond we could see a shape moving around… an animal of some dimension. Evidently John had seen it too and began to coax it from behind the thicket. Two minutes later and John was pulling the creature along by its ear towards the barn. As the two of them passed in front of the Land Rovers’ dipped headlights we saw that the creature was in fact a pig, a big, well fed and pink in the broadest possible sense of the word. But what caused H and myself to stare in amazement was that the pig had only three legs.

“After a while John returned and started up the engine.

‘Sorry about that… he’s forever getting out’ The vehicle continued down the rough unsurfaced track and for what seemed like an age nobody spoke. H was the first to break the silence.

‘We couldn’t help but notice that your pig has only three legs’ he said.

“After giving up hope that we’d ever get a response, John suddenly exclaimed ‘That’s one smart animal that pig!’ A little while later he continued, ‘I could tell you stories about that pig…’ and he did. He told us of how his mother had been stricken with the influenza the day the phone lines were down and how the pig had sent off to Kenmare with a message around its neck explaining the symptoms and some punts for the medicine. It took the pig a mere seven and a half hours to find his way to the nearest chemist and return with the remedies.

‘But why…’ I say ‘…does the pig have only three legs?’

“Then he told us of the time when fire had broken out in the barn. ‘Fortunately, the pig’s nose is a very well-developed organ and the pig was able to raise the alarm saving many animals in the process. One damn fine pig that.’

‘But I still don’t see…’

‘And only last Christmas time, little Rosie was out by the stream. Finding it all iced over excited the little girl so much that she was tempted out on to it and… well it couldn’t take her weight and broke and Rosie fell right in to the water and it was that cold it almost snapped the life out of her. But fortunately, the pig heard her cries for help and ran after her. With his teeth he pulled her out on to the bank and placed her in the recovery position. When he found no pulse, he gave the little girl the kiss of life.’”

“Hang on a minute…” interrupted Sarah.

“Let me finish,” Grace continued… “The boy scratched his head ‘Well with a pig like that, you wouldn’t want to be eating it all at once…. now would you?’

Grace chuckled and then began to laugh. Sarah looked baffled. The more Grace laughed the more incredulous Sarah became. Grace was laughing so hard, tears were streaming down her face “It’s a joke Sarah. Just a joke.”

Sarah looked out of the window. “Well if you ask me I think it’s not in very good taste.”

“Oh Sarah, sometimes I don’t know how we ever became friends.”

“Neither do I… gosh Grace, you can be so heartless.”

Now it was Grace’s turn to be a little disconcerted. “Sorry… you’re not a vegetarian, are you? Look Sarah, I was only trying to explain that whenever I think of Robert, I think of the three-legged pig, for as much as he is old and boring, he’s also a very capable provider and keeps me in a style to which I have become accustomed.”

“You mean to say, you wouldn’t want to be eating him all at once.”

Grace sighed, “I mean to say that I don’t have to field calls from people he owes money to. I have never had the embarrassment of having my card declined at the checkout… and he has never, ever, asked me to sleep in a tent… it may seem a little practical, not very romantic, but that is who I am.”

“Ok… so you like your home comforts.”

Sarah had identified a nagging doubt. No, that wasn’t the way she liked it at all. Despite her protestations, Grace yearned to sleep beneath the stars and get by on five dollars a day. Just who was she trying to kid.