RECENTLY I watched a programme on some remarkable monkeys in Japan. They live by the sea and near an area where, traditionally, waste potatoes and food have been thrown away. The local monkeys became scavengers and, several monkey generations ago, one of the female monkeys learned to wash her potatoes in the sea before eating them. Seemingly she discovered that not only did the potatoes taste better when not covered in dirt, but that the addition of a sprinkling of wet sea salt, made them all the more tasty. Presumably no cracked black pepper or, for example, prawn cocktail flavouring to be had locally. Over time, the other monkeys were seen to imitate her behaviour and now all this particular tribe of monkeys wash their food in the sea. They have learned by observation and attracted a following of scores of behavioural psychologists, sociologists, nutritionists, academics, etc, etc. All very grateful to have something new to base a thesis on, no doubt.

Similar behaviour is manifesting itself on a friend's farm amongst her world of pigs, piglets and cows. Helen breeds Gloucester Old Spots (the pigs) and Dexters (the cows). The pigs are big and the cows little.

Whilst mere slips of piglets, five little piggies bred by one of the Gloucester Old Spots, would not only sup their milk from mum, but had learned (don't ask me how, said friend Helen) to sneak a quick drink from the Dexters as well. "I had heard tales of badgers and hedgehogs feeding from cows," Helen said, "but I thought it was a myth until I saw the piglets at it."

Time moved on in the piggy world and the five little piggies had to be separated, not only from mum, but also their wet nurses out in the field. "I usually keep the piglets away from the sows for about a month," Helen said. "After that they've forgotten about suckling from her and can feed from the same trough which is much simpler."

However, one of the piglets had a very long memory. After having been kept in their own pig loo for a month, deprived of any homemade liquid refreshment and maternal care, the five little pigs were turned back out again into the big world of the main pig palace and field. Four of the piglets ignored their mum, ignored the cows and got stuck straight into the pig trough. But one little piggy went wee wee wee wee, all the way home; and home was back out to the Dexters and under the nearest cow for a drink. Not bothered about his real mum. Give this piglet the cream of life.

Although the piglet had remembered its former wet nurses, the cows had apparently forgotten all about their little visitors and did not take kindly at all to this assault on their udders. "But the piglet's got round that," Helen said. "It's learned to slip in between the cow's back legs to avoid being kicked, and then feed directly below the udder where the cow's hooves can't reach. It's so interesting to watch. The piglet actually sniffs under each one of the cows to find out which one has milk to spare and then sneaks in for a feed. What is even more interesting is that another of the piglets is re-learning the trick as well. It has followed its sibling out into the field and has started making initial forays back under."

I can sense the hordes of academia thundering closer. A department of behavioural sciences will already be seeking out premises. An honorary doctorate for Helen beckons. Unfortunately, so does an honorary roasting for the piglets.

Updated: 10:18 Wednesday, February 26, 2003