Dating is Not for the Faint Hearted Things happen a little differently in the country, in lots of ways. I got an early introduction to that fact while I was dating Whit, who would one day become my husband. There are always farm chores to do, and somehow along the way we try to get in a little quality time together. I understood that, as I had a little farm of my own, with my horse keeping chores always looming large in my life. One balmy Friday night, prime dating time, Whit called me to say that he needed to cancel our date for that night. I was a little taken aback, and he must have heard that in my voice, so he added, “Unless you want to come along while I haul a pig for some friends.” Turns out that he had forgotten a promise to pick up a butchering pig from the house of Tom and Sue Sipes, and haul it to the butcher, who would kill and process it for their freezer. Whit’s job was to load this pig onto his large farm truck, which had racks in the back for containment. This sounded interesting to me, and relatively easy, so I agreed to tag along. After all, a date is still a date, right? So I changed my “going out to dinner clothes”, and donned jeans, a sweater and boots, which seemed more appropriate for this outing. I did pick a nice sweater, in hues of purple and blue, and a pair of my better jeans (translation: no holes). I smelled pretty good, being freshly showered and with a little dab of cologne. It was, after all, still a chance to spend some time with a handsome farmer. Shortly thereafter, Whit picked me up in a Ford ton farm truck, complete with racks on the back. We bounced down the road to high adventure! Arriving at the barn where the pig was housed, I got my first surprise. The “pig” was a barrow (a girl hog), weighing about 500 pounds or so! She was about the size of a small pony! At that time I knew nothing about pigs, hogs or any other farm animal except horses. “Wow!” was all I could say. Tom and Sue, and several other friends had assembled in the barn yard. Evidently, moving a 500 pound pig from one barnyard to another barnyard with a loading chute was a community project. The distance we had to travel with our less-than-willing pig was about 300 yards. Whit began to instruct those assembled (myself included) in proper pig-moving protocol. Handing each of us a broom or a 2 by 4 foot piece of wood, he indicated that we would form a semi-circle around the pig, banging our wood on the ground and driving the pig forward and across the barnyard. He mentioned that she would be resistant to leaving her own barnyard, where she felt comfortable and safe. (I could see her point of view, as I knew her future involved pork chops!) We were to drive her into the other barnyard, which had a loading chute in the corner. Then she would run up the chute and onto Whit’s truck, which was parked against the chute. Once loaded, she would be transported to her final destination. “Above all,” Whit said, “don’t let her turn back to her barnyard, or we will have to start all over again.” I could have sworn he looked directly at me when he said this! Determined to look like a proper country girl, possibly a future country wife, I vowed then and there to do my part in the pig-loading adventure. And so we started. Six adults and 1 large pig, shuffling across the barnyard, we probably made a funny picture. Each of us armed with a stick or broom, we tapped the ground loudly, irritating the pig just enough that she began to amble along toward the waiting truck on the other side. Grunting and snuffling, she took her sweet time, pausing now and again to grunt more loudly and peer around at her surroundings. Horses generally do not like pigs. I had noticed this fact of life when trail riding with my horses. Pigs could startle even the most placid of equines and I was beginning to understand why. Pigs generally have a strong odor. After all, wallowing in the mud is one of their favorite pasttimes. They also have beady little eyes (which makes them exceedingly untrustworthy, if you ask me), a snout which they use for digging in the ground and grunting, which they do a lot of, sometimes loudly and sometimes quietly under their breath. When we had crossed approximately half of the way, the pig stopped her slow forward progression. Turning around, she glared at each one of our moving crew, in turn. It almost seemed as though she was sizing us up! We all started banging our sticks on the ground and hollering some version of “move it, pig”. She was unimpressed, now beginning to understand that we were separating her from her previous home. Surveying our group, one at a time, she finally fixated those beady eyes on me. “OH, NO,” was all I could think! “She is choosing the weakest link, and she knows it’s ME.” With a combination of grunts and squeals, this very large pig lowered her head and charged across the barnyard, running straight at me! “Oh no you don’t,” I yelled. (I did not want Whit to think I was a wimpy pigdrover.) Banging my stick with renewed fervor, I called out loudly, “Turn around you pig. You are not getting past me!” Despite my yelling like a banshee and my powerful stick beating on the ground, the pig advanced on me. Lowering her head, I think she meant to push me aside. However, I did not yield! She drove her enormous head right between my legs! The next thing I knew, I was riding a 500 pound pig backwards, bouncing along on her ample back! “Help!” I sputtered, as we charged along. “Help!” I don’t know what I expected the rest of the pig-movers to do about my situation, but I certainly did not expect them to be falling on the ground laughing! Covering ground quickly now, I rode that pig, squealing and grunting (both of us), until she took an unscheduled left turn, which deposited me into the barnyard and into the stuff that barnyards are famous for…manure! This was turning out to be quite a date. When he was able to control his laughing, Whit ambled up to me, offering his hand and brushing off the worst of the smelly stuff now smeared on my jeans. Expecting him to apologize for putting me in grave pig-danger, he calmly deadpanned, “Now, I TOLD you not to let her get past you…”