Someone once said confession is good for the soul. The Catholic church believes so by requiring such a thing on a regular basis. I will not argue about it being good for the soul, but I have my doubts about confessing otherwise.
Of course, I am a lawyer so I’m naturally inclined against confessing. I adhere more to Fred Sanford’s theory of coming clean. Aunt Esther said, “Fred the truth will set you free.” And, Fred replied, “But a lie will keep you there.”
With all this said, I must confess.I went to the Terrell Academy auction last week and bought a baby pig.
I need a baby pig about as much as Saudi Arabia needs sand. (Note to self: Never go to another auction after drinking a few Miller Lites.)
It all seemed warm and fuzzy at the time. The 9-year-old Hurricane boy and 10-year-old Princess girl would love the adorable pig. But adorable pigs soon become not-so-adorable, disgusting hogs. In this case, a hog I can never get rid of because the kids named it Valentine, because of a heart shaped white mark on its forehead, only to discover a few days later she is a he.
At the time I bought this prized pig, I assumed he was a pot-bellied pig. Once I held him, I suspected otherwise. My wife continued to cling to the belief he was a pot belly, destined only to weigh maybe 200 pounds. How bad can it be to have a 200-pound hog tramping through the den and sleeping on the couch, I asked myself. After all, a 230-pound pig already sleeps there regularly … until my wife makes me get up.
So, I asked around, hoping to discover this blue-ribbon special of a pig was, indeed, a pot-bellied pig.
The girl who picked him up for the school said she did not know what he was, did not know who she got him from, did not know their names or even what county it came from. At this point, I deduced the pig was stolen. Terrell Academy will do damn near anything to raise money, so this should not have surprised me.
Later, I met someone who claimed to know the previous owner, name still withheld to, I assume, protect the innocent — or perhaps the guilty — and they assured me he is a regular ol’ bona fide boar hog.
Praise Jesus! Why didn’t I just go ahead and buy an elephant?
A boar hog might one day weigh 800 pounds and, at the rate this one is eating, I’d say sooner than later.
I have no place to put an 800 pound hog. In fact, I don’t have any place to put anything that weighs 800 pounds. The kids already have him walking on a leash. I don’t want to walk in the neighborhood with my 800-pound hog. The neighbors already think I am strange. Why I don’t know, but maybe because I do things like buy a pig at an auction that walks on a leash and is already litter-box trained.
Do you know how big a litter box is needed for an 800 pound hog? Well, neither do I.
The Hurricane rolls around on the ground with beautiful Valentine and tells him he loves him. Hurricane will be 30 years old living in Alaska and I’ll be home with the 800-pound hog. I’ll never be able to get rid of him. Do you know how much an 800-pound hog eats? Well, once again, me neither, but I think I’m about to find out.
I’ll be riding through town with Valentine in the bed of the pickup. All my friends will be enjoying the “golden years.” Me, I’ll be slopping the hog and watching everyone tell cautionary tales about what can happen when you show up at an auction after a few beers: “See, you could end up like old man T., slopping the hog and all the neighbors talking about you.”
Hope you all have a great Valentine’s day. Somehow, I don’t think Valentine’s day will ever be the same for me.
Email T. Gamble at firstname.lastname@example.org.