People sometimes classify me as a country kid, probably because I own horses, enjoy baling hay, and know how to drive a tractor. I would agree. Until yesterday. When the farmer down the road is out of town, I typically take care of feeding his animals, and as State Fair was this weekend, I was in charge of twenty-one piglets, two sows, three other pigs, and a sheep. No big deal. They each get a half scoop of grain in the morning and a half a scoop of grain at night. Make sure the water is full, and chores are done. Easy.
Then, as I meandered into the barn yesterday morning, a piglet greeted me in the doorway. Not good. Two pens, twenty piglets, and one loose piglet. I had no idea which pen this piglet belonged in, but it clearly did not belong in the doorway. Okay. Think. Logically. Catch the piglet. Being a country kid, this should be no big deal, right? Haha. Just kidding. Did you know that piglets run really fast? Or that they are super strong and wriggle violently when you try to grab them? After a few minutes of chasing the piglet around the barn, I recruited my mother. Every time I got close enough to touch it, it squealed, wriggled, and escaped my grasp. This was not working. At all. So I went home to gather a pig-catching army. With my new army, I was able to trap the piglet in a corner where I reached down, grabbed at the piglet, attempted to pick it up to put it in the pen, and failed. Epic fail. Did I forget to mention that these piglets weigh about fifty pounds and squeal like a train whistle when you try to pick them up? Besides being unable to hold on long enough to get the piglet off the ground, the squealing startled me and I lost the questionable hold I did have on the piglet.
End of story, Dad caught the piglet. If pig-catching is something country kids do, I am no country kid. I’ll stick to horses, thanks. At least they don’t squeal or wriggle, and nobody ever asks you to pick them up.