His body was shaking, he couldn't walk, all he did was sleep. I knew he was dying, but I kept telling myself he was going to be ok. I held him for the last time, his hair felt so thick and pointy. I just kept telling myself “to be strong, he will get through it.” as he took his last breath, I knew it was time to say goodbye. I gave him one last kiss and told him I loved him, when I turned around he was gone.

My birthday was coming up and I was so excited because I thought I might get a horse that time, but when my dad called me in the living room he showed me a picture of a pot belly pig. When I was looking at the picture my dad told me the story behind him. “ It was his mothers first litter and she accidently laid on all her babies, he was the only survivor.”

A couple weeks later he came home with me, as I was trying to find a name for him, I was thinking of Sam, my sister said fish. What my dad was thinking was Hamilton and that was it, his name was going to be Hamilton. We became fast friends, I never left the house without him. Every person he would meet just melted over him.
Hamilton was just a bundle of joy to have around. He slept in my bed with me too, but he usually wasn’t ready for bed, so he always would bite my head. Hamilton was getting bigger and bigger each day, but I still loved him anyway. With him I felt like I could do anything, we even had our picture taken for most cutest pets. Hamilton acts like the boss of everyone, so it was hard to train him because he stole the treat before I told him what to do. All we have are dogs, no other pigs, so Hamilton would act like a dog, once in a while you'd hear this little “ruff” come out of him. My love for that pig would just light up the world, I couldn't of asked for a better birthday present. But as the table was turning for him to go, he was gone before I knew it.

Hamilton did not eat that day, just drank some water. He grew sicker and sicker over the night, he could barely walk. After that he would never get up to drink, he would just lay there and shake. We had to force him to drink through a syringe. My sister would keep telling me “ he’s going to die, he's going to die,” but I kept telling myself “ he will be ok, he’s going to be ok.”

As his shaking got worse and his breathing got slower. I knew he wasn’t going to make it through the night, but i still kept telling myself “ he will be ok.”   He died that night, I tried waking him up to show myself it was just a dream, but those little eyes of his just would not open. I tried telling myself “ he was going to be ok, he was going up with his brothers and sisters,” but my heart just couldn’t let him go.

As I was looking around him to see what could have caused his death, all I found were bruises. That’s when I realized his death was not an accident someone purposely killed him. At my dads basicly everyone hated him because he was a “ bad pig,” but he was just a baby and did not know better. I knew who killed him and those bruises were made from her beating him. I decided not to confront her, but hoping one day she’ll realize  what she did wrong. He was not the first animal of mine she has killed. He was my big boy and I will never forget him, he will be with me wherever I go. Our first hello only took four months to say goodbye.