Porcine Tragedy

It was approaching five years since I had forsaken the sun-parched flatlands and narrow minds of my birthplace. Less than a year had passed since I had discovered how surly Oregonians become when it dawns on them that you are not just visiting. I had long since established my “non-Californian” credentials, a less than subtle southern accent having made that obvious, and I was well on my way to mastering the native tongue. Acceptance into that exclusionary culture depended on swift assimilation. I measured the success of my transformation by exasperated accusations from friends back home that I had “forgotten how to talk.”

With a grievously depleted treasury now a primary concern, encouraging evidence of success began to materialize. A siege had been laid at the heavily defended fortifications around Portland, the walls had weakened, and now they were beginning to crumble. I had gathered my forces in preparation of storming the breach when the first of those letters arrived in the mail. The return address, bearing the name of my youngest niece, gave me a smile. I retrieved the contents with no regard for the packaging and unfolded the wax-laden paper to expose two crudely drawn stick figures rendered in heavy strokes of crayon. The taller one, sporting no feet, a bulbous head, misplaced elbows, and shoulder length hair, bore a striking resemblance to me. The other, a much smaller figure, had brown hair curled at the ends, fingers that if measured to scale would extend twelve to fourteen inches in length, and a triangle shaped dress. This was my beautiful little niece of course. I would recognize her anywhere. There we stood, ill-shaped appendages splayed at odd angles, awkwardly holding hands. My niece’s feelings about my sudden departure were unmistakable, the evidence of her despair touchingly conveyed in multitudes of tiny yellow dots, tears flowing like waterfalls from the sad eyes of our two-dimensional avatars. Large block letters below the sketch beseeched, who had taken me away and why would they not allow me to come back home? I had not seen any of my family for over a year and I had no expectation of that happening for at least another four or five. I returned the letter to its torn envelope and made a mental note to call.

My prospects for a successful relocation to the Portland area were finally showing promise. Then, another crayon drawing arrived. A week later, another, then they began to appear in the mailbox on a regular basis. I pondered the possibility that my sweet little niece had outsourced her production to an offshore sweatshop. Where the letters had originally made me smile and chuckle, the constant reminders of home were now causing a sick feeling in the pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat. The subject matter remained clear and consistent. There we stood, holding hands, both of us crying our eyes out. Why had I left? When would I return? Did I need her to come and rescue me? That is how I found myself back in the land of chicken-fried-steak and gravy. I decided that it was only fair that the parents of this loving little girl should shoulder the burden of my aborted move. I unpacked my bags at big brother’s house and there I would remain for several months, in the happy company of my nieces, my nephew, and their conniving parents.

---------------- Little niece's sketch of our reunion----------------

Shortly after my return, big brother’s family became aware of a void in their lives that I had apparently not filled. It was determined that these feelings of emptiness could only be alleviated with a pet. There had always been the fish tank and a few snakes hanging around but they were feeling the need for more interactive animal companionship. Something with eyebrows and vocal cords would be just the thing. So began a series of failed pet experiments that finally ended after ten birds, one cat, an iguana, a guinea pig, one tarantula, countless fish, fifty-six snakes, three dogs, and two Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs, all within the space of a year.

-------------------Big Brother's House-------------------

Other than the trauma of living with my brother and his family, none of the animals were harmed and all were eventually either released into the wild or were placed in loving homes with families who had no idea what they were getting into. After all was said and done, the family was left with the fish tank, including the original fish, the few snakes they had started out with, and two promising candidates in the form of miniature piglets. Most of the animals were evicted from the household for obvious reasons. My sister-in-law is a compulsive house cleaner which explains the unsuccessful integration of those that failed to maintain control of all bodily secretions, excretions, and/or vaporous emanations. There were other issues; human eardrums sustain irreparable damage at decibels well below the level of casual conversation between Love Birds. The doves were boring, and as with the exploding population of snakes, had no eyebrows with which to convey their devotion, ditto for the spider and the lizard. The piglets on the other hand were well on their way to becoming full-fledged members of the family when tragedy struck. The fate of the pink female piglet would be settled by her fear of the dark and the resulting nocturnal offerings deposited on sparkling clean floors. Her ability to dance on command was deemed insufficient to overcome this shortfall.

The male on the other hand had everything going his way. He was intelligent, much more so than the hogs we had raised back on the farm. He was attentive and vocal without being overly obnoxious. The eyebrows were sparse and a bit bristly but well defined. He also understood the value of a tight set of sphincters while indoors. This was a high priority for the woman of the house considering she would empty her vacuum bag at least once per week, the detritus therein consisting almost entirely of beige colored carpet fibers from the extremely well vacuumed floors. Combine these positive attributes with a curly tail, a funny grunt and a comical stiff-legged gait and you have the perfect pet. The discovery that I could play the little porker like bagpipes further solidified his position in the family. I admit that while my control of tone and pitch left much to be desired, through gentle manipulation of Little Pig’s hindquarters, I was able to eke out a passable accompaniment to Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks.”

-------------------Don't worry, just sleeping-------------------

On any Sunday evening, you might find the family all snuggled into their favorite spots, watching television with Little Pig grunting approval at a well-executed belly scratching or doing double duty as a pillow/heating pad. Our little cloven-hoofed housemate was never left wanting for affection.

Anyone with a working sense of animal nature could have predicted the tragedy that tore this happy family apart, but I guess love is blind. The hairy little sack beneath Little Pig’s tail had been left intact and the unstoppable forces of nature were now on the march. It would soon become apparent that deep inside of Little Pig beat the heart of a fully endowed boar. Then it happened. Piglet needed love, and Piglet found love in the form of Young Nephew’s head. From a certain angle, maybe his head did evoke the rosy hams of a sow in her prime, maybe not. Whatever the reason, Little Pig could no longer contain his love and he mounted Young Nephew’s head right there on the living room floor. To make matters worse, Young Nephew’s rapt attention to the developing plot of a favorite cartoon lead him to shrug off Little Pig’s advances as playful roughhousing. The few short seconds between Little Pig’s breakdown of willpower and a horrified response from Young Nephew’s mother very nearly provided the opportunity for a successful consummation of this unholy union.

As anyone who has ever experienced the power of love can attest, once acknowledged, there is no turning back. Little Pig’s love could not be denied and Young Nephew’s head would never be safe. As the oinker and a full complement of house-hog accouterments were loaded into the waiting car of the new family, I imagined that Little Pig would find other heads to love. In any case, Young Nephew’s would always be his first.

-------------Don't ask, how could I not include this one?-------------