Fridays on the Funny Farm: Ham(s) and Pea Soup!

I think we’ve established that I don’t wake up ready to conquer the world.  In fact, I wake stumbling, staring, and ready to sip tea…quietly.  Often, I take my first cup to the porch.  The view is great and apart from the animals, mornings are quiet.  Honestly, I’ll take roosters crowing and sheep bleating over talking heads any day!

Last fall, my tea and I stepped onto the porch and into a haze almost as thick as the fog in my brain.  It was a serious ‘pea-souper’.  I couldn’t see across the yard, much less into the pastures.  As caffeine leached into my system, my internal fog began to clear.   Once my mind came online, I became aware of distressed bleating from the sheep pasture.  This jolted me into action. Although, it quickly became clear that my head remained a few steps behind my feet.

My first thought was of stray dogs.  Strays in with sheep are very dangerous.  Not only will dogs kill sheep, but just chasing pregnant ewes can cause them to miscarry.  So, I grabbed the shepherd’s crook by the door and charged out to face the invaders! 

Remember, the fog was so thick I couldn’t see the sheep from the yard.  Blinking into the murk, I charged down the drive to the pasture gate.  As I neared, I began to see feet.  Not whole animals, just feet.  There were about six inches above the ground where the fog was thinner.  I stared at the feet and tried to locate my adversaries.

Finally, I spotted black feet racing around white.  I stopped and stared slack-mouthed at the feet.  My inner dialogue went something like this, “Those aren’t dog feet.  Those are hooves.  Wait! What?  Our sheep are white.  Who has black hooves?”  Finally, my brain took a lurching uncoordinated step forward.  “Those are pig feet!  Hang on, those are two sets of pig feet!  Two sets of pig feet?!?  We only have one pig”.

Our pig is a Large Black boar named Cuthbert.  I shot a confused glance at Cuthbert’s pen.  Remember, my brain was still in low gear.  The inner confusion continued, “Nope.  Not right.  Cuthbert only has one set of feet…and…his are still in his pen.  What the heck is chasing the sheep?!?”  I crept forward trying to use X-ray vision to pierce the foggy veil.  We occasionally have wild boars on our property.  Wild boars are dangerous and destructive.  Armed with only a shepherd’s crook and dull wits, I didn’t want to meet two of them. 

What I finally saw was two ready-to-butcher Hampshire hogs racing from the pasture to the driveway.  My mind began to kick over as I considered what to do. (Actually, a small part of my brain was wondering just how my life has become so bizarre.)  Eventually, I decided there were three items of business:

1. Lock the hogs in the driveway to prevent them from getting on the road.
2. Call Liam, so he can help pen them.
3. Call the neighbors and figure out who’s missing a year’s worth of porky goodness.

I began the long walk to the end of the driveway.  On the way, I called Liam.  He was still asleep when the phone rang.  His answer was gravely and sleep-soaked.  I was fairly awake by this point, so I could be clear and concise.  “Hey!  There are two big pigs in the driveway.  I’m going to shut the gates.  Can you wake Sam and come help me handle them?”  He responded with a rather curt, “Be right there” and a click. 

After shutting the gate, I trudged back toward the house.  Suddenly, the hogs saw me and came barreling at me like teenage boys at a pizza buffet!  That was the precise moment I realized I’d charged off the porch pretty much unarmed and in…um…disarray.  I stood in slippers, a short nightgown, and a hideous fuzzy turquoise bathrobe. I was brandishing a shepherd’s crook and screeching at two large porcine invaders!  Not my shiniest moment.  The mobile breakfast meat kept charging.  Just when my fear began to solidify into panic, they reached me!  They stopped.  Let me say that again.  They! Stopped! Phew.

After scaring the wits out of me and snuffling to be sure I didn’t have anything tasty, the pigs wandered off in search of food.  I took a deep breath and started back to the porch.  Suddenly, a figure came dashing out the front door!  Picture, if you will, black pajama pants shoved into cowboy boots and a shinning white torso bared to said pajama pants. The apparition was crowned with wild red hair standing not just on end, but at every angle. As it ran, the figure hoisted a rifle in one hand!  The vision was startling, to say the least!

Liam had misunderstood my call.  He presumed the ‘big pigs’ were wild hogs.  That, along with my screeching, had sent him unceremoniously and partially clothed to my rescue.  He looked from the Hampshires to me and back again.  Eventually, his gaze took in my appearance, then he glanced down at himself.  I swear even his hair and beard relaxed.  The two of us were laughing like kids on the first day of summer as we headed back…for another cup of tea and maybe some bacon.

Note:  We penned the pigs. Liam called our neighbor, who said, “I saw Jimmy’s pigs in your pasture.  I called him for you.  He’ll be there to get ‘em in 2 hours.”  Jimmy (whom we had never met) showed up and asked, “Are you sure you don’t wanna keep ’em?” He was tired of “foolin’ with ’em” and wanted them gone. We exchanged a glance and answered, “Um, okay, sure. ‘Cause, you know,…ham…and BACON!”  We offered to buy them, but he refused any money. So, we kept them for three weeks to be sure they were clear of medicines or bad feed. Then we sent them to freezer camp. 

You know you’re living in a strange and wonderful place when the bacon delivers itself!

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