Journal of a Living Lady #51

Nancy White Kelly

 

 

My old Valentine story has been told here. You know, the one that Buddy forgot back in 1968. Well, Valentine 2000, is one I’ll never forget.

 

Generally, at our age, we just blurt out what we want for a special occasion. Hinting is for young folks who can still hear well.

 

I told Buddy no roses this year. For that price I could get something more touching  like a therapeutic massage.. With a son in college, luxuries are low on our priority list. I knew that this was a splurge request, but figured since Buddy would buy roses and take me to dinner anyway, it was a feasible substitute. Instead of eating out, I would treat him to his favorite meatloaf dinner with candlelight.

 

What Buddy requested for Valentine’s Day surprised me. He has always wanted and I have always refused a pet pig. Not that we didn’t have a baby pig once. We kept him in the back of our three acres in Stockbridge. Porky was an entertaining pet. He looked forward to Buddy’s coming home from work each day and squealed and did a jig when he heard the old truck turn the corner. They played ball and “hide’n seek”. Porky loved apples.

 

Alas, as all pigs do, Porky grew and grew and grew. Finally we had a 400 pound pet that was eating more than our family, including a host of needy kids who were living with us at the time. Our family could never have eaten Porky, so he went to a co-worker who left singing, “This little piggy went to market.” That mean man had Porky slaughtered the next day and his family ate him all year. So much for the pig phase. At least I thought so.

 

But this Valentine Day, Buddy wanted a pet pig. Not just a pet pig, but one to be kept in the house. Now I am an amiable person. But a pig in the house? That is really testing the limits of my congeniality.

 

Yet, Buddy is not your usual husband. He is kind, helpful, and loves me to a fault. Actually he is very hard to say “no” to.  Knowing that my days are considered numbered, I decided to let him have his pet pig as a parting present. I didn’t tell him I was seriously trying to find a piglet. I just rolled my eyes anytime the subject came up.

 

 A friend helped me locate a genuine pig farmer not too far from the house. I called the pig breeder who confirmed he had piggies all sizes.  I told him I wanted a baby for my husband and would be by before Valentine to pick him up.

 

 My sister was in town, so on Friday we shopped for the best, most expensive high protein pig pellets we could find. Next we got some good quality kitty litter and a huge paint roller box to serve as “Gussy’s” litter box. I never believed for a minute a pig could be trained to use a kitty box, but the research said she would.

 

My energy level is very low, especially in the afternoon, so by the time we got Gussy’s collar and other toys, I was ready to let Buddy in on the surprise.  I sent him to unload the trunk full of pellets. When Buddy came back into the house, there was a smile on his face from ear to ear. He searched every room looking for the piglet. He was disappointed that I hadn’t already gotten him. I explained that the pig farmer was supposed to be home the next afternoon and he could go with me to pick his piglet out. Buddy and our son, Charlie, had already changed Gussy’s name to “Bacon.”

 

My sister, who was visiting from Memphis, was having a blind date on Saturday.  I wanted to be back in time to meet the gentleman. We left at about four in the afternoon. The man I had spoken to wasn’t home and his elderly father insisted there weren’t any babies. I insisted that he must be mistaken since his son had told me so. The elderly man told us to drive up to the pig pens and look for ourselves. We walked in muck past our ankles from one pig pen to another. There were hundreds of hogs, each pen as full as the next.

 

We spotted a sow that must have weighted 1000 pounds. As for a piglet, the smallest pig that we saw weighed more than me and, until recently, I shopped in the plus department.

 

The hog smell was not something you would find in a fine perfume shop. You could have collected that stench, put it in a gas bomb, and destroyed a large, unsuspecting nation. It took less than twenty minutes for Buddy to decide he didn’t want a pig after all.

 

We thanked the old gentleman as we drove out and headed home for quick showers. Neither of us said a word as we rolled down the windows and breathed the wonderfully fresh mountain air.

 

I am not one to waste food though. The pellets mixed up well with the meat loaf.

 

Oink. Oink.

 

nancyk@alltel.net     www.angelfire.com/bc/nancykelly