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…”