Prescription: One Sleeping Pig

So I go to the doctor because I haven’t slept in three nights and I’m starting to see little dancing pineapples on my ceiling fan. I sit down, all bleary-eyed, and say, “Doc, I need help. I can’t sleep. Can you prescribe me a sleeping pill?”

He steeples his fingers, leans in real close, and says, “No pills. Too boring. I have something revolutionary.”
Then he whispers: “A sleeping pig.”

Naturally, I blink twice and say, “I’m sorry, did you say pig?”

He nods solemnly. “Yes. Sus somnus domesticus. Genetically predisposed to emit low-frequency snores that sedate the human nervous system. FDA-adjacent approved. Plus, they’re hypoallergenic, mostly.”

He then pulls out a laminated brochure titled: “Why Oink When You Can Zzz?” It features a pig wearing a sleep mask, tucked into a California king bed with a lavender eye pillow and a steaming cup of chamomile tea on the nightstand.

Apparently, this whole thing was discovered by accident when a farmer passed out cold every night next to a snoring pig named Darlene.

So I say, “Sure. Why not. Let’s pork this experiment.”

He hands me a prescription slip that just says: “One (1) Certified Sleeping Pig. Name TBD.”
I take it to the pharmacy, expecting confusion, but the pharmacist just nods like this happens all the time. He goes to the back and wheels out a crate with a hay-filled cushion and a sign that says, “Caution: May Induce Drowsiness Upon Prolonged Listening.”

The pig looks up at me, yawns loudly, and then immediately falls asleep again.

That’s when things start to go off the rails.

First problem: Getting the pig into my hatchback. It weighs about 300 pounds and has the passive resistance of a marble statue. I try pushing it, bribing it with snacks, even reasoning with it (“Listen, I’m tired, you’re tired—help me help you”), but no dice.

Eventually, I rent a U-Haul and strap the pig in with three bungee cords and a seatbelt.

Second problem: At home, the pig immediately falls asleep in front of the fridge and refuses to move. Anytime I try to nudge it into the bedroom, it lets out one hypnotic snore and I fall asleep on the kitchen floor instead.

Third problem: It doesn’t discriminate. Anyone near it falls asleep. The mailman passed out in the bushes. The neighbor’s cat hasn’t moved in 72 hours.

Out of desperation, I go online and start reading reviews:

“At first I thought this was a scam, but then the pig snored and I blacked out for 9 hours. Would give 5 stars, but my husband hasn’t woken up since Tuesday.”
– SleepyMom77

“Pro: I finally slept. Con: My parrot now oinks.”
– Larry G.

“Side effects include sleepwalking, sleep-eating, and spontaneously oinking in your boss’s Zoom meeting.”
– CorporateZzz

Eventually, I figured out how to wear noise-cancelling headphones until I want to sleep. I keep the pig in the bathtub now. I call him Muffin. We’re friends. He’s still very sleepy. I still don’t know how he got a Netflix account.

10/10 would recommend. Just make sure your floorboards can support farm animals.