The kids and I were just leaving a surreal homeschool program about Pilgrims when I thought it prudent to check my cell phone. 4 new messages! Shoot. The ringer had been turned off. One was from yesterday, one from family, one I can’t remember, and one on behalf of my neighbor to let me know that my pigs were out and on the road.
I was in Green Bay.
I don’t live in or near Green Bay.
This means that I was far from said pigs.
If Wisconsin were shaped like a hand –and it is– the x near my thumb represents where we were when I learned of my errant pigs. The other x represents where those pigs were last seen. The distance between the two is a little over 2 1/2 hours by car.
I might also mention that the time of the message was approximately 3 hours prior to the point at which I received it.
I has just moved those suckers the day before, in the rain, and hadn’t really ascertained, because it was raining, whether the new set-up was pig-proof. Clearly it wasn’t. All kinds of horrible scenarios flashed through my mind: hitting a pig with your car could prove deadly for all involved. Drivers in my neighborhood have been grossly out of practice in avoiding large 4-legged creatures in the road after all our deer died out two summers ago. Visions of the corn harvesting equipment across the road filled my mind; they’re out there harvesting as we speak. Pigs like corn. How could we possibly lure them out of a field of spilled corn? Facebook photos that I’ve seen recently of “found” pigs filled my mind, captioned with messages like “anyone know whose pig this is?” Seems there’s been a rash of escapees of late. Visions of bandits in face masks loading them into an unmarked trailer filled my head, loading their freezer with our hard work and investment. I wished them a hearty dose of food poisoning. Fat chance though – these are healthy pigs.
This could be a disaster.
I called Andrew, summoned him home to hunt them down and mitigate any damage. He could be there in an hour. I called back the kind friend who had alerted me to the problem. She could be there in about 40 minutes. Both trumped my 2 1/2 hours, so I kept to my previously scheduled programming. I stopped to buy some chickens. What else could I do?
To be fair, I also freaked out a bit, feared the worst, and felt really horrible.
But the chickens definitely helped the situation. Aren’t they lovely?
I was en route to my next stop when the kind friend called. “How many pigs are there supposed to be?”
“They’re both here in their hut. They must have let themselves back in.”
“Yep. They’re both here.”
You cheeky monkeys.
I just love the profile of these pigs. Those ears + that snout. Love it.
Credit due to Andrew for coining the phrase “Road Hogs” this morning as we recollected over coffee.
The end looms near for these clowns. They will be sold in 1/2 hog increments. Go ahead and do the math; there are only 2 and we get dibs on 1/2 of 1, so if you’re local and would like to learn how to get your hands on some delicious heritage Large Black pork, best to let us know sooner rather than later.