Pigs can Be Mean

Back on the farm, for some reason, our pigs multiplied. We would separate the little ones after they were old enough and the neighbors would buy them to raise for family nutrition, so to speak. I could out run a pig and found myself in the pen catching up the one the neighbor wanted to buy. The mama pig was against the whole idea. She wanted to keep her family together. I can understand that, but Dad gave the orders around our house.

Mama pigs (sows) can get pretty mean, as I said. They usually just eat and lay around in the mud but given the right circumstances they can launch into a pretty good run and those jaws can break a bone.

I got on her bad side when I grabbed a pig and carried it squealing to the fence for the neighbor. She spotted me when I went after another pig and I got in her sights and she zeroed in on me. I became the centerpiece of her anger. We had a foot race to the fence but the fence with its two strands of bobbed-wire at the top was too tall for me to jump. She was close on my heels so there was no time to climb. I did the only thing I could do. Looking back at the big pig, hog, sow, mad mama, I got as close to the fence as I could and held up both arms. She was coming and had her mouth open wide ready to take vengeance on me for her losses. Just in time I went flying through the air and over the fence out of the reach of those teeth and jaws. Dad had seen my trouble and snatched me out of the hog pen and over the fence to safety.

I've thought of that often. Life is full of trouble and there is not always time for an eloquent prayer. Sometimes we just have to raise our hands for help and trust that the Lord will be there for us.

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Eatin' with a Family of Nine

I ain't saying we was poor growing up. We had each other and plenty of work to do. Didn't get paid for most of the work but a new pair of work shoes in the fall was pretty good compensation. I didn't know milk came from a store until I was on up in years, I always gave the cows I milked credit for that. I knew where sausage came from, it came out of that grinder bolted to the eatin' table when it was cold enough for hog killing. That was when us kids tried to store up enough fat to get us through the winter. I was a good eater but my bigger siblings were more crafty at it. I remember sitting in the middle on the little bench along one side of our long table. I never thought about it then but you know they always saved the chicken neck for me. It was my special piece of meat and they would not dare touch it. They had to settle for the breast, drumstick or something like that. I never could bite off a piece like they did, I had to sort of just munch on it until I got tired. Nothing like a chicken dinner. Our chickens were afraid to celebrate when they laid eggs. The roosters, if they crowed at all, would walk off away from the house to do it. I don't want to make you sick but my siblings always saved the squirrel brains for me too. I've read that they can cause brain damage so, there ye go. 'splains why my mind works like it does. I'll tell you, even when I laid out in the woods with the rifle for hours waiting for that squirrel and learned to peal off the fur without getting it on the meat, still they saved the...you know...for me. I think once I got the back but it was a challenge to get any meat off the back. Squirrels just don't store much there. I didn't much care, so long as the squirrel didn't look at me. Mama made sure that didn't happen. In some places, they mix them with scrambled eggs but looks to me like that would ruin the taste. For years, I liked to climb trees but it has worn off and I am scared of heights now. I won't describe in this post how the eatin' is done but I can tell you it is much like eatin' a raw egg out of a shell. Well, enough politicks for now. It is sort of nauseating, come to think of it. Did anybody ever hit your elbow when you had a spoon full of something on it? Now you know why I don't mind telling on my brothers and sisters. They are alright but I'd be careful eatin' with 'em.