On this block, be warned: Arnold the pig stands guard
Chuck Haga
You may see him occasionally patrolling the streets of the Stevens Square neighborhood in south Minneapolis, intent as any block-walker to root out crime ... or a tasty bit of garbage. Ever since one would-be mugger confronted him on duty at Becky Moyer's apartment in February, he's been known as Arnold the Crime-Fighting Pig.
Yes, pig. Nearly 300 pounds of part Yorkshire, part Vietnamese pot-bellied pig.
"I was coming home, and I saw I had left the garage door open by accident," Moyer said. "There were two guys in there. One of them put something in my back that felt like a gun, and they said they wanted my purse.
"I said my purse was in the house. When we went in, I screamed for Arnold, and he got up and grabbed the guy by the leg. He yelled, 'There's a #*!#*!# pig in here!' and ran."
The bad guys got away, but not unscathed. "There was blood all over," Moyer said.
Arnold has a partner: Axel, a purebred pot-bellied porker. But when the intruders came, Axel seemed less committed to crime-fighting. "He hid under a chair and squealed," Moyer said. Arnold's heroics helped Moyer, 54, and her Clinton Avenue block club win a Minneapolis Police Department "Building Blocks" award this spring. The awards honor block clubs that build community, solve problems and work with police.
"The police gave him that 'crime-fighter' name," Moyer said. "When they're in the neighborhood, they like to stop by and pet him."
Arnold may be cozy with the cops, but all the fuss over his crime-fighting could get him into hot water with another city department.
"Pigs are not allowed in the city," said Bob Marotto, manager of the Minneapolis animal-control program.
There's been talk about changing ordinances to allow pot-bellied pigs, which have become popular as pets, he said. But as the law stands, hooved animals -- including pigs -- are not allowed without a permit. The most common exceptions are for circus animals and riding ponies at birthday parties.
The department doesn't go hunting for illegal critters, but responds to complaints, Marotto said. "We work with people to help them find suitable placement."
Rooting out barriers
Arnold and Axel bring people together, Moyer said.
"You'd be surprised how many people around here have never seen a real pig," she said. Or they come from places where it was common to see pigs, and to them Arnold has a familiar, reassuring face.
Russian, Hispanic, Somali and other immigrant families live in the neighborhood, and their children squeal over Arnold and Axel when they see them in Moyer's yard or strolling through a nearby park.
"A lot of the parents don't speak English, but the pigs and the kids' reaction give us something in common," she said.
She hauls "the boys" to neighborhood safety meetings in a carpeted trailer. "They got too big for the car," she said.
Some neighbors may not like her pigs, but nobody has said anything negative to her. (One did talk about digging a pit for Arnold -- a barbecue pit -- but Moyer is pretty sure he was kidding.)
And Jeanne Krueger, who lives next door, observed with considerable pride that Arnold "likes my bushes better" than Moyer's. "They're cooler." Krueger, who has lived in the area for 70 years, also is a member of the block club. She has never had a break-in, she said, and she was delighted when Arnold took a bite out of ... a criminal. "He's always been very protective of her," she said. "And the guy deserved it."
They use a litter box
Arnold weighed about 10 pounds when he came to Clinton Avenue last year, a present to Moyer from her boyfriend.
"Some people get lingerie," she said. "I got a pig."
Axel, 2 months younger and more than 100 pounds lighter, provides Arnold with companionship, if not backup. They like to sleep butt-to-butt in a back-yard pighouse stuffed with comforters. But both are trained to use a litter box, Moyer said, and in winter they stay in her house.
"C'mon, Arnold," she said, trying to entice him from a midmorning nap with a giant M&M cookie. "You've got to get up, you fat pig."
Neither the cookie nor the insult -- was it an insult? -- drew Arnold from his house, so Moyer crawled inside and gave him a push. Axel was rousted the same way, then sprawled on the fenced grass to have his ample belly scratched.
The pigs eat corn, vegetables, apples, alfalfa squares and protein pellets ... and cookies, and whatever the neighbor kids feel like sharing.
"Even the drug dealers pet them and feed them sweet rolls," Moyer said.
Her brother, who used to raise hogs near Henderson, Minn., "thinks I'm crazy," she said. But she champions her pigs as smarter and cleaner than dogs. "They think things through." Using his snout, Arnold can open the gate in front of Moyer's house, and he sometimes ambles down the sidewalk to her nephew's yard and sleeps.
"I think sometimes he goes down there just to get away from Axel," she said. "Axel is a little more vivacious, and sometimes he's too much."
-- Chuck Haga is at crhaga@startribune.com .
-- Anonymous, July 25, 2001