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Archiver > MEMORY-LANE > 2006-01 > 1136257439


From: WJFreeman <>
Subject: The Dougster's Pig Tale
Date: Mon, 02 Jan 2006 22:03:59 -0500


The Memory-Lane list (aka Memory-Loss) has been slow for a few days now,
so I though it was time to liven it up with a story.



It was my turn to drive.

Crawford was sitting in the front passenger seat and was sort of drawn
up into himself and not saying much. We were returning empty handed
from a three day hunting trip in Crawford's son, Allen's humongous brand
new, 4WD SUV.

The Dougster was sprawled out in the back with a little puddle of water
slowly dripping from what was left of his clothes. He only had one shoe
and sock and the mackinaw, which he was wearing had little wisps of
steam occasionally coming from it as he slowly dried in the heat of the
car. On the whole he smelled like wet wool and wetter Doug.

Now the Dougster was more than a little peeved as he sat there and
grunted at us occasionally around the end of an unlit cheroot that he
was slowly grinding to bits in his clenched teeth.

Well, it was not our fault no matter how much Doug protested that he
fell off the log bridge on the way back to the SUV from our camp. Doug
claimed that a gust of wind caused him to loose his balance on the wet,
lichen covered log as he, laden with his gun and miscellaneous camping
gear, was trying to cross.

And the fall into the ravine below wasn't all that far either. Why it
couldn't have been more than about 15 feet! And besides there were
plenty of rocks at the bottom that were covered and well padded with
moss!

Then as we tried to drag him up the sides of the chasm using an old
length of a dead limb, he had gotten about halfway up the side when
wouldn't you know the stick to which he was holding and both Crawford
and I were pulling on the other end, choose that moment to break.

So he fell only half as far on the second trip back down to the bottom
and into the rushing water.

Now, anybody else would have known that the best thing to do is to try
to swim to one side or the other of the stream but not UP the stream,
particularly one with as many rapids as that one.

So it came as little surprise when he was swept screaming over the
waterfall.

Now once again, the Dougster was making more out of this than most.
You'd a thought that this was Niagara or something. It was just a
little waterfall of not more than 30 or 40 feet or so. And it was
while he was trapped at the bottom of the falls in a hole that he lost a
shoe and the sock on one foot.

He lost most of what was in his pockets and all of what he was carrying
including his gun.

After we got him back to the SUV and most of the bleeding stopped, he
settled into the back seat there and hadn't said much as we were making
our way back to the Interstate.

So I was a little surprised when he said, "Stop! Did you see that?"

"See what?" I said.

Doug pointed with a soggy arm back down the country road and said, "That
sign back there. The one that said Piglets For Sale $10."

So I stepped on the brakes and turned around to face the Dougster.
Crawford sort of woke up at that point, and we both listened to Doug,
who had become somewhat animated.

Doug said while waving his hands to illustrate his points, "We could get
several of those pigs and take them home with us. When they get
fattened up, why I can get them butchered, and I can show you fellers
how real pig-pork barbecue should be done!"

I looked at Crawford, who looked back at me. "Doug," I said, "Neither
Crawford nor I have any place to keep one pig much less several of
them."

To which Doug said, "That'll be no problem. I can put them on the back
of my Cedar Park ranch. I can get some of that waste food from the many
restaurants nearby, and besides, I always have most of what I cook left
over every time I do a cook-out barbecue."

Then he mused to himself, "I don't understand it, I invite all these
people. The ones, who come, just pick at my barbecue, mostly drink my
beer and then leave."

Then he brightened a bit and added, "I am sure that Bernice won't mind
slopping the hogs every morning before she goes to work and in the
evening after she gets home. It will be good exercise for her."

Crawford raised his eyebrows at this.

Doug went on, "If we got three apiece, we would get--let me see--at two
hundred pounds apiece at butcher weight and a about fifty pounds of
butcher loss, we would have..... "

So rather than sit there and let Doug struggle with the arithmetic, for
after all we were stopped in the middle of the road, I said, "450 pounds
of pork apiece for a $30 investment or about $0.07 per pound!"

Doug looked relieved that somebody had supplied the figures for him.

"Tell me again, Doug, we wouldn't have to do any work?" I asked waiting
to be reassured.

Doug said, "Nope, Bernice will take care of the whole thing. You boys
will only have to show up to collect your meat and let me give you a
barbecue lesson."

I thought for a few moments not liking the sound of this and said,
"Well, since you put it that way, the price seems pretty steep. I'd
like to have the pork, but I am not so sure about the cooking lesson
from you."

Crawford, who couldn't sit quiet any longer piped up at this point,
"Doug, both Walter and I know more than a little about pigs and pork,
and besides I don't want to get Allen's new SUV messed up with a bunch a
pigs in it. Allen would never forgive me. Why don't you come back in
your old truck and get these pigs?"

Doug who was becoming a little desperate at this turn in the discussion
interjected, "But, boys, its more than a three hundred mile drive back
here, and the paint is still wet on that University of Texas burnt
orange stripe that I painted on that ol truck of mine.

"And besides," he went on, "we're going to show up empty handed from
this hunting trip. What are your wives gonna say after all we have
spent getting this trip together?"

I looked and Crawford. Crawford looked at me. Then slowly, I backed
the SUV around, and we made our way back to the farm with the sign.

Doug was out of the truck in a flash, though he certainly looked a
sight, still damp and with one barefoot. Putting on his best
negotiating voice, he stuck out his hand to the farmer, "Howdy," said
Doug trying to sound country, "Pigs."

The farmer stuck out his hand and said, "Rufus. Pleased ta meet'cha,
Pigs."

Doug said, "No. No. My name's not Pigs, I'm Doug and I am interested in
buying pigs."

The farmer said, "Oh now I understand, and my name's not Rufus either."

"So how much for the pigs?" said Doug in his best negotiating voice.

The farmer took the piece of straw outta his mouth and said, "Didja see
that sign down by the road?"

Doug allowed that he had.

Then the farmer said, "Well then that's how much the pigs are."

Doug knew when he had been out maneuvered and out negotiated.

So he said, "Ok, we'll take three apiece."

The farmer said, "Fair enough. That'll be $90. And I'll throw in some
gunny sacks that you can put them in so's you won't mess up that pretty
car a yourn."

Now, Doug, who had lost his wallet had taken all the cash we had which
happened to be two fifty dollar bills. One from me and one from
Crawford.

So he hands the $100 to the farmer, who tucks it into his pocket as he
turns and says over his shoulder, "I ain't got change" Then he points
as he walks away, "The pigs is over there in that pen, take your pick."

"Wait a minute," says the Dougster, "Aren't you gonna catch them for
us?"

The farmer calls back, "Nope. You'll find the gunny sacks in the corner
of the barn."

Sheesh! So the only thing to do was to grab some sacks and start to
catch and bag the pigs.

Many, many hours later in complete darkness and in the middle of the
night with the SUV headlights shining on the pig pen and when everyone
one of us was tired, sore, dirty, and more than a little bruised, we all
agreed that six pigs was enough. After all that was two apiece, and two
old men, and one old man with one shoe just didn't have the energy to
try to corral squealing pigs who could run much, much faster than we
could.

So we loaded up the SUV and started on our way. Fortunately it wasn't
far to the Interstate and the pigs settled down after a while in their
sacks in the back amongst the camping equipment as we motored through
the night.

Then about 3 AM, I felt hot breath and whiskers on my neck. I hollered,
"Doug!!! DOUG!! The pig are loose!"

Then there was nothing but mayhem from that moment on as both Doug and
Crawford tried to catch that pig. The other pigs woke up and most of
them broke free of their sacks in the confusion.

Now pigs have an excellent sense of smell, and it wasn't too long before
one of them found the ten pounds of flour that Doug had brought along to
demonstrate his method of Dutch oven camp cooking.

Let's just say that we had about nine and three-quarters pounds of flour
left. And the remarkable thing is that Dominos delivers to the
deep-woods. Who knew? Good thing too, else we would all have starved
to death.

In about three seconds, it became hard to breath as flour dust saturated
the air, and pigs scrambled in the front and the back of the SUV. I
confess that I did more than a little weaving and careening down the
Interstate.

So it was no surprise that a flashing blue light appeared along side.

As the officers approached, the SUV continued to rock back and forth as
Doug was now in the back trying to catch one of the pigs.

I rolled the window down as I fished out my driver's license.

The officer looked at me and said "Had a little too much to drink, have
you?"

"No sir. Not a drop. But I can't wait to get home when I am definitely
going to have too much to drink!"

As a particularly violent shake and yell went through the SUV, the
officer said, "What the heck is going on in there?"

Using one of the power window buttons on the driver's console, I rolled
down one of the rear windows as the officer shined his flashlight into
the back.

His beam fell squarely on the Dougster who was on his hands and knees in
a torn mackinaw with one barefoot and one shoe, a squealing pig's rear
trotter in one hand, a gunny sack in the other, and his two little red
eyes (the Dougster's not the pig's whose eyes were blue by the way)
poking out from a white face completely covered in flour.

The other five other pigs continued to resist arrest as they ricocheted
around the inside of the SUV, which by this time was also mostly pure
white except for a dense mass of pig tracks.

The officer burst out laughing as his partner who had been standing
behind us joined him in viewing the unabated mayhem inside the SUV.
Wiping tears from their eyes and holding their sides the policemen said,
"We are going to let you go. And believe me, if we hadn't seen this
nobody, but nobody would believe this anyway!"

Well we finally got all the pigs rebaged, and it was about sunrise, when
we got to Doug's house.

Now, if you remember, Doug had lost his keys along with his wallet and
had to ring the doorbell.

After a while, the lights came on and the Warden opened the door to view
a flour covered tattered and torn, one shoe and one barefoot, Doug
wearing a sheepish grin along with six gunny sacks of squealing pigs
arrayed at his feet.

Doug, always the one with a quick quip, said, "Darlin' I brought you
some pigs to raise!"

Well, fortunately for Doug, Bernice shot him a glare that narrowly
missed him, but did ricochet off a mail box up on the road and knocked a
neighbor's cat unconscious a half mile away.

So Crawford and I got out of there, pronto.

How did it work out?

Well, Crawford spent most of the next two days cleaning the inside of
the SUV trying to remove the flour before it turned to library paste.
And I had a long drink or maybe it was two. We heard that Doug sold
the pigs for $2 each to a band of gypsies later that same day.

And the pigs?

Well, these were smart animals after all and rather than eat them as we
were intending to do, the gypsies instead, trained them into a novelty
animal tumbling act.

The pigs had quite a career in show business for about a year until they
grew too big to be cute anymore.

A pair of them moved on to perform with Siegfried and Roy in Los Vegas
for a time, but left since the big cats made them nervous. Maybe
Siegfried should have gone with them. Those two pigs then went into the
insurance business. After all who knows more about what to do when the
wolf is at your door and your house is about to blow over than a pig.

They did very well.

Another pair of them joined a rock band where they fit right in almost
without notice. Seems a pig squeal sounds remarkably like some of what
they call music these days. It must appeal to some since they have had
several successful CDs, which have sold in the millions. Now both pigs
have let their hair grow long and sport earrings and multiple tattoos.

One of the remaining pair became a corporate CEO and has gotten filthy
rich stealing from stockholders as he gorged himself in the corporate
trough. The remaining pig became a star on the Food TV network. I
forget his name now but I think it is something like "green," but you
can probably figure it out. He is pure ham and yells "Ham" or is it
"Bam?" a lot.

I understand that the six of them are coming back together for a reality
TV show. The pilot has been shot already and is a re-enactment of their
"rescue" from the farm.

Of course, the pigs are the heroes of the story.

<grin>

Walter

--based with embellishment and apologies on a story, "Pigs" by Patrick
McManus, which appeared in Outdoor Life in the early 1980s. Get some of
Pat McManus books and laugh yourself to death.

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