The Story of Snooker (A Fact)

Country Life. August 7th, 1909

[To the Editor of “Country Life.”]

Sir,—Snooker was a pig, one of a large family; his brothers and sisters seemed to thrive, but poor Snooker did not grow. So it happened that Snooker was brought into the house and put in a hamper in the drawing-room, I undertook to look after him and feed him with a bottle of milk and water. When it was time to go to bed he was carried up in his hamper to my bedroom. At twelve o’clock he woke me, and I gave him his bottle. Again at 2.45 I heard grunts from Snooker. I sprang from my bed, and found on opening the hamper poor Snooker very cold, lying on his back nearly dead, I at once carried him in his hamper down to my sister’s room. My progress was slow, as (I slept in an attic at the top of the house) I had to turn on the electric light as I went. On arriving at my sister’s room I flung the door open; my sister woke her husband with great difficulty. Snooker was inspected, the verdict being that ne was to be taken to the bathroom, where he was to be placed on the cylinder. The procession started amid the low grunts of Snooker, He was carefully placed on the hot cylinder surrounded by hot bottles. For an hour we sat with him. Ile slowly regained his warmth, and, having placed him once more in his hamper with a hot bottle, we retired to bed, hoping he would be alive in the morning. Arriving downstairs for breakfast, Snooker was put in front of the fire—better, but so weak he could not stand, and could only be fed with a teaspoonful of brandy and milk. He soon made steady progress, and in a few days was able to run about. Then he was put into a foster-mother with a lamp in the garden Ile was a very clever pig. He knew the rattle of his bottle, which was soda-water bottle, and he followed whoever fed him round the garden. Soon the lamp in the foster-mother was left off, Snooker was promoted to a basin of bread and milk, and, having been let out of his home, he would come running to the dining-room window for his food. On finishing his meal he would turn his basin upside down and trot back to his bed. Alas! his life was not to be long. I had left my sister’s, and one morning received a letter from her to say poor Snooker was very ill with a chill. In less than a week he died; so ended the short and tragic life of Snooker.—M. Hicks Beach.