The pig holds 亥, nine to eleven at night — the last stretch, winding down, going back to zero. 亥 is the last of the twelve, so the pig stands at the end of the cycle: things finish here, and only then does it come round to 子 again.
You'll recognise it here: you can trust people genuinely, and that isn't naivety, it's chosen; you enjoy things without guilt, which is rarer than it sounds; and you don't hold grudges — not from generosity, but because holding them is tiring.
Running well, the pig is what lets other people put the mask down: around you nobody has to perform, and that safety is the foundation of a lot of relationships. Blocked, tolerance becomes no floor at all — accepting far too much and then withdrawing everything one day, to everyone's shock; or pushing what should be handled further back to avoid conflict, until it becomes one very large reckoning. The pig's practical lesson is setting the edge in advance rather than afterwards. Giving is what you do anyway; saying where the giving stops is what keeps the generosity from turning into a cost.
