The Tale of Two Banshee's

Have you ever heard a scream that sounds as if someone were being boiled in oil while giving birth and, simultaneously, having every bone in their body extracted through small orifices?

I for one had never experienced this; ditto City Boy, until today that is; today, we bought pigs.

A frightened pig (actually five of them) let out a blood curdling scream that rent the air and caused me to wonder, momentarily, if I might wet myself; fortunately this did not happen.

While these are not technically wild pigs, I’d be surprised if the dictionary doesn’t come up with a special category for this kind of pig:

1. porcine domesticata wildus: domestically reared pig, essentially unhandled; beware of screams emanating from such beast, equaling that of a throng of wild banshees

Good Heaven’s

Once we got them home, they seemed to settle into some sort of cat and mouse game with us, as we tried to finish construction on their shelter before the rain tonight. We puttered and hammered, coming and going; they grunted profusely, and took great care to each cram themselves into the same corner of the pen as his or her litter mate (I’m still not sure of the gender of one of these little porcine darlings); on top of each other as necessary to accomplish this goal.

Lest anyone here be under the delusion that we bought pigs because we like the way they smell, I’ve named them “Ham” and “Bacon”; Ham is the larger, red pig; Bacon smaller and black; these names are designed to evoke thoughts of the table and possibly some particular holiday with gastronomical significance. We are not, I repeat, we are NOT raising pigs for the heck of it, the fun of it, or because we can’t wait to have the aroma of fresh pig dung wafting through our home like a warped air freshener; on the contrary. We are raising pigs to eat. Period.

The fun stuff just happens to be part of the deal; I’ve heard pigs are smart, and that they tend to be the clowns of the barnyard. I’m counting on this, because my children are less than happy about the prospect of helping with their upkeep.

Wait! GOATS are the clowns of the barnyard! Too late now; just please don’t tell City Boy, or those of the Seven Dwarves who still live at home; maybe we’ll have fun yet.

Ham and Bacon