Teacher’s Pet : Porker Helps Principal Keep Bargain With Pupils

Pigs sweat through their snouts, a fact that ordinarily wouldn’t trouble Sharon Millen.

But Millen, the principal of Live Oak Elementary School in Castaic, was about to come nose-to-snout with a 400-pound porker Friday, so she was taking a special interest.

A year ago, Millen agreed to a student’s suggestion that she rub noses with a pig if the children of her school would spend 10 hours of their leisure time reading.

The idea seemed tame to Millen, who in prior years has kissed a frog, moved her office onto the roof for a day and allowed three lucky children to throw cream pies at her face--all to promote reading.

Even when she’s not taking abuse, Millen takes steps to encourage her students to enjoy school, such as jogging with them during gym periods.

“My daughter Jennifer definitely wouldn’t have read this much if it weren’t for what Sharon is doing,” said Danette Downs, a parent who stopped by to see the show. “Nothing fazes her. The kids just love her.”

But when Lilley the Pig trundled into the lunchroom, even Millen gasped.

“That’s not a pig, that’s a hog,” snorted one of the children in the audience who had accomplished the reading goal.

Lilley is not just your average hog, though. She’s hammed it up for millions of television viewers.

Coaxed by cookies and caresses, Lilley has performed such feats as sitting down, lying down and walking from point A to point B on command in episodes of the television show “Mr. Belvedere” and in commercials for Cadbury chocolate.

“She earns her keep,” said her trainer, Carol Sonheim, who owns Rolling Thunder Ranch in Canyon Country where Lilley wallows. That’s ordinarily about $300 a day, although Friday’s date with Millen was a freebie, Sonheim said. Millen located her through a mutual acquaintance.

Sonheim said she bathed Lilley in soap usually reserved for cattle so that her brown and white coat gleamed in honor of the occasion.

But Millen still put off the big moment as long as she could, letting the 217 star readers, about a third of the school’s students, eat ice cream sundaes and divvy up raffle prizes.

“I just hope she doesn’t bite,” said Millen, finally screwing up her face, closing her eyes and leaning toward Lilley while the children squealed in the background.

The two made contact, and it was difficult to say who pulled away faster, the pig or the principal.

“Her nose feels like rubber,” said Millen, laughing afterward. “What are you kids going to make me do next year?”

A chorus of small voices poured out yucky suggestions: “Eat a fly,” “Lick a raw fish,” “Put a snake on your head.”

If her kids start reaching for more books, Millen had better begin steeling herself for next year.