“A Pig in the Hand”
By Sierra Moen (Middlebury College)
Vehi, Forrest, Lauren, Louise, and I had nearly completed a transect near Chobe National Park when we heard a strange, pig-like noise coming from the scrub. I chalked it up to another weird bird call, but we drove off the road to investigate, taking in both a dazzle of zebras and a sounder of warthogs. On closer inspection, there were three warthogs staring down a hole, where a fourth was struggling to escape. We thought that the animal was stuck, so we drove closer to get a better view. As we did so, the three warthogs ran off. Throughout all of this, the stuck pig was squealing like, well, a stuck pig. After struggling for a half minute more, the warthog burst forth from the hole, with a honey badger attached to its flank. When the badger saw us, it released the hog and retreated down the hole, which Vehi told us was the warthog’s den. Those of us in the car, to quote Louise, “Couldn’t even.”
That anecdote illustrates the life of the warthog: a prime prey species for lion, leopard, cheetah, hyena, and, at least from that described sighting, honey badger. Young are particularly susceptible to predators, which include snakes, birds, and crocodiles.
The pig is an opportunistic feeder, and will consume roots, tubers, grasses, scavenged meat, and even bird eggs. We’ve often seen them foraging in a comical manner, dropping to their heavily calloused front knees and keeping their nose close to the ground. They do this for better leverage: often times, the roots that they seek are buried in the dried savannah earth, so a disk at the end of the nose and the tusks are used to dig out the tubers.
We had a unique experience with a warthog at the Biodiversity Center in Kasane last week. A female had been hit by a car and was spending the remainder of her life as an environmental ambassador for CARACAL, a research organization based in Botswana. She was very habituated to humans, so we were able to reach down into the pen and scratch her. Her skin, especially at her head, was a lot harder than I expected- it was almost like petting a rock. Warthogs are naturally a brown or grey color, but their bodies take on the color of the mud in their home area. Seeing one up close, that proved to be true- she was caked in mud!
In the wild, warthog territories are matriarchal: female groups called sounders share their range with bachelor males, who only join the group when females are in estrus. The sexes appear similar, although females are on average 20 kg smaller. Additionally, males have four warts of thickened skin and gristle, while females have only two. It is hypothesized these evolved to prevent eyes from being injured during intra-species tusking fights. Warthogs also have a mane beginning on top of their head and running down their back, which to me always resembled that of a lion. But after visiting the Biodiversity Center, however, I had to change my assessment: the hairs are thick and greasy, not at all like the ornamentation of a feline!
We have seen a great many warthogs over the past month and a half, and they are usually fleeing from our vehicle. When running, their tail has an automatic reflex of rising to its full extent. This has likely evolved to aid piglets in keeping close to their mother, as warthogs are often dominated by the tall savannah grasses.
Aardvarks create dens for a wide variety of Delta species, and the warthog is no exception. The pig backs into its home in order to protect the entrance of the den in case of attack: lions have been known to dig out families, and predators often wait by the entrance to ambush those exiting. Or, as we experienced, the slyer ones just invite themselves over for a meal.