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“Just watch her.”
Those three little words should
strike fear in the hearts of any self-respecting livestock
producer when spoken by the neighbor who is seeking help on
their way out of town. That’s because there are only two
instances when they’re used. Either it’s a female of one species
or another that is heavy pregnant, “…but there’s not a chance in
the world anything will happen before I get back…” Or it refers
to a horse whose clock is set at about 5 ‘til colic.
Today the request had come from
Cousin Charlie in reference to a Yorkshire-looking sow he’d
acquired in a recent trade.
“I’ll be back by tomorrow
afternoon, and there’s no way…”
“Yeah, yeah, I know the story,”
said Hooter.
“Besides which,” continued
Charlie. “Just suppose something was to happen, it’s not like
they’re that tough to farrow out.”
“That so? I’ve sure never calved
out any pigs, and I don’t ever remember you ever doing it
either, and we’ve been knowing each other ever since before we
got out of diapers.”
“Well, the guy I got her from told me,” said Charlie.
“Uh-huh. And why did this source
of porcine knowledge and optimism say he was willing to part
with such a carefree source of sure income?”
“He really didn’t want to let her
go,” countered Charlie. “He really didn’t. But he wanted one of
my pups and he had to sweeten the deal.”
“Uh-huh.”
The Deception of Ease
It wasn’t any big deal either, even late that night when Hooter
shined his spotlight into the pen just to be sure. Ol’ Hazel,
appeared more comfortable than a favorite pair of gloves and
about as friendly. She snorkled and grunted contentedly as
Hooter scratched between her ears.
All of that was before Nelda
Isselfrick called in a panic shortly after sunrise.
“Hooter McCormick you come get
this attack pig off of me right now!”
“What? Who is this? Hey, Sammy is
that you…”
“No, this is not one of your
no-account, ne’er-do-well friend,” seethed the voice on the
phone. “You know very well this is Nelda Isselfrick, you myopic
little dolt. I’m here at your cousins and I’ve been attacked by
a pig.”
The image would have tickled
Hooter’s funny bone if it had been any other voice on the line.
You didn’t want Nelda on your bad side because that put Aunt
Pinky on your bad side, and that was worth avoiding. Besides,
depending on how Nelda was defining attack, even Hooter realized
it might not be the safest situation for someone nearing 80
years of age, though she’d never claim anything beyond 72.
“I’m on my way. Where you at?”
“The outhouse.”
It just keeps getting better,
thought Hooter, as he dashed for the pickup.
A Sow Scorned
When Hooter arrived, assuming Nelda was safely ensconced in the
dilapidated old outhouse, Hooter had to smile. Hazel would root
around the door, snort wildly, then bang her head into it. Every
charge elicited a yelp of surprise from inside, then Nelda
demanding that Hazel shoo and mind her own business.
The fun didn’t last.
“Hey Nelda, I’m here now. You
OK?” yelled Hooter as he dropped over the fence.
If there was a reply, Hooter never heard it. Hazel had charged
beneath him like a fleshy meteor, sending him boots over buckle.
Then she had one of his feet in her mouth, gnawing wildly.
Hooter slid his foot from the boot and took off for the fence.
Too late. Big as she was, Hazel
was too fast, plus she seemed to have a keen understanding of
geometry and angles. She got Hooter down again and nipped his
ear before he rolled away and took off.
“Hazel, you mangy devil, what got
into you,” shouted Hooter over his shoulder, trying to zigzag
out of harm’s way. “You come at me again and I’m gonna part your
hair with a fence post.”
Hooter felt something sharp
puncture his bare foot, he howled and grabbed at it, and there
was Hazel again. He rolled away and took off again. “Nelda is
the door open?”
“What door?”
“Where you’re at,” hollered
Hooter, making a beeline for the outhouse.
“There’s no hook.”
“Good, because you’re fixing to
have company,” shouted Hooter, reaching for the door handle just
as he felt Hazel sampling his Wrangler patch.
Life wasn’t much better on the
other side of the door.
“Get off of me you masher,”
growled Nelda, trying to flog Hooter with her purse. “How dare
you barge in on a lady who is indisposed. I’ll call the police.”
“First off, we don’t have any
police around here, as you well know,” grinned Hooter, fending
off the blows. “Second off, you’re not indisposed. You’re hiding
in here just like me.”
Hazel had gone back to banging her head on the door.
“What did you do to set her off,
anyway?” wondered Hooter. “For that matter why’d you come out to
Charlie’s in the first place?”
Hooter could tell he’d hit one of
Nelda’s many sore spots.
“If you must know, I came to ask
your cousin to make me a new getting-up chair.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain
what you’re doing in Hazel’s pen and what you did to set her
off.”
“Hazel?”
“The pig that has us penned.”
“Well, I couldn’t help but notice
her litter of little ones.”
“Her what? She’s had them
already?”
“Well yes, they’re on the other
side of the pen, on the outside.”
“How’d she get out there?” said
Hooter aloud but more to himself.
“How would I know that you
insolent skunk. I assume you’re the one who was supposed to be
looking after her.”
“Well yeah, but…”
“Just like always and ever since
you two were little,” scolded Nelda. “Hooter creates the mess
and poor Charlie has to clean it up.”
“Now, look here…” and on it went
until about dark.
“Hooter, you in there?” shouted
Charlie.
“Yeah! Nelda, too.”
“Nelda, too?
“Never mind the questions, get
that mad sow of yours off us.”
“Get who off you?” said Charlie,
opening the door.
“Hazel, who do you think,” said
Hooter, peering over Charlie’s shoulder.”
“Hazel? She’s over there nursing
her pigs. Right nice job watching her, too,” said Charlie.
“Though, I don’t know why you let
her out of the pen.” |
