By Iryna Mroz

When I was about nine years old, I made a shocking discovery: pigs can swim. Not that anyone had bothered to tell me this crucial piece of information before I risked my life for them.

We lived in a small village in eastern Ukraine. Life in the Soviet Union had improved a little, but if you wanted meat, you had two choices: buy it on the black market (and risk your life) or raise it yourself (and risk your sanity). My parents chose the second option and brought home two adorable piglets. My father even built them a fancy underground pigsty, a zemlyanka—which is basically a pig mansion, Soviet-style.

Everything was fine until one fateful spring day. My parents had gone to the city to shop, leaving me home alone, which was their first mistake. Suddenly, the sky turned dark, thunder rumbled, and rain came pouring down like the heavens had a personal vendetta against our village.

I ran outside to check on the pigs, and what I saw nearly stopped my heart. Their underground house was flooding! Water was gushing in like a mini-Titanic disaster. The pigs looked up at me, completely unfazed, probably thinking, Well, this is new.

Panic set in. I had to save them! I sprinted back to the house, grabbed two buckets, and began bailing water as fast as my little arms could go. I worked like a hero in a disaster movie—except instead of saving people, I was trying to rescue two ungrateful pigs who didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

An hour later, I was soaked, covered in mud, and exhausted. Just when I thought I had won the battle, my parents returned. Finally, I thought, reinforcements!

Did they rush to help? Nope. My father casually grabbed a shovel and started digging a trench, redirecting the water away like it was just another Tuesday. My mother stood there watching me, hands on her hips, shaking her head like I was the biggest fool in the village.

Then she dropped the bombshell:

“Pigs can swim.”

I froze. My eyes twitched. My exhausted brain replayed the last hour—me, battling the flood, working like a crazed lunatic, while the pigs just sat there, waiting for their next meal.

Not a single “Good job, Ira!” Not even a “Wow, you really gave it your all!” Just, “Pigs can swim.”

I stood there, drenched, betrayed, and questioning my life choices. The pigs? They snorted, splashed in the water, and went right back to doing pig things.

That was the day I learned three important lessons:

1. Pigs can swim.
   
2. Parents don’t always appreciate your heroic efforts.
   
3. Next time, let the pigs fend for themselves.
   

© 2025 Iryna Mroz

Iryna Mroz was born in Ukraine to Darya and Terentiy Shaleyko and raised with strong values of resilience, education, and family. She built a career as an engineer and later a manager at the Zaporizhzhya Nuclear Power Station. Together with her first husband, Leonid Marchenko, she raised twin daughters while navigating the challenges of Soviet life, including the Chernobyl disaster. After immigrating to the United States in 2007 she embraced a new chapter. She is now a U.S. citizen, happily remarried to Jeff Mroz. Her journey has been shaped by hardship and healing, love and loss, but above all, by the strength of family and the hope for future generations.