Skip to main content

In Need of Some Oinkment

There is a reason that Husband didn't own any shorts (or swim trunks) when I met him. Farmers need to wear jeans. In all temperatures. In all situations.
Husband still farms in his jeans every day but he is now known to wear shorts often enough that his legs are no longer the same color as those eyeless fish that live in the bottom of the ocean. So we weren't concerned earlier this week when Ryan headed to the barn to take care of his 4-H pigs in his play clothes (shorts/t-shirt).
This is not the pig that bit Ryan.
In this picture all three kids are wearing shorts with the pigs, without incident.

Unfortunately, the pigs were in a bad mood that day and got in a fight. Pigs are territorial. They usually get along with other pigs, but like people, they tend to be wary of new pigs inside the gate and tend to fight, sometimes viciously, to establish the pecking order of the pen.

We're not sure why the pigs were fighting but Ryan got caught in the middle. His bare pink leg got taken for pink pig flesh and he was bitten by his brother's pig for the county fair (now jokingly dubbed ManEater).

Ryan started bleeding and then screaming and fortunately, Husband was nearby to rescue him. The long gash on his leg led to a trip to the emergency room for stitches.

Ryan was the talk of the children's hospital ER, with various doctors and nurses out in the hallway asking if they could check out the kid with the pig bite.

He was cleared for sports but due to pain and swelling decided to sit out his soccer practice that night. I can imagine the conversations that went on in several households in our community as Ryan's fellow soccer players tried to convince their mothers that, yes, their teammate really WAS bitten by a pig. After making a few jokes, including asking him if he needed oinkment, the team rallied around him and even brought a sweetly homemade card that said get well.

I can understand the need for a homemade card, unless Hallmark has a new agricultural line.

Ryan is recovering nicely and will keep his stitches until next week--smack in the middle of the county fair. We plan to ask the veterinarian to remove them (only half joking about this).


Popular posts from this blog

Happily Ever After

Last weekend, in a brief moment of remote control ownership, I tuned into basic cable and saw a very disturbing show called "Rich Bride, Poor Bride." I watched two episodes and didn't see what I would call a "poor" bride--although actually, after they blew their budgets, both brides probably did end up poor. One couple spent about $75,000. They talked her out of having live peacocks at the reception. That makes me think about my own much simpler but very nice-for- Farmersville wedding over a decade ago. In many ways it was a disaster. We were engaged for a year and a half; we had plenty of time to plan but fates conspired against us. By the time we got to the week of the wedding, we had buried two people on the guest list and paid our respects to a distant uncle. One of the people we lost was my husband's grandfather who died Monday, we had visitation Wednesday, funeral Thursday, rehearsal dinner Friday, wedding Saturday. How his grandmother handled

I Know What you Did Last Summer

Good gravy (I have taken up saying this since Husband doesn't curse and I was the only one to blame for our household's junior potty mouths), it's Fall. And I still haven't shown you the before/during/after pictures of my kitchen update. Before : greenish "marble" laminate counters with a yellowed fluorescent light cover--only one bulb working. Carbon dating and a close examination of the many knife cuts evident on the laminate surface have led scientists to believe these counter tops date to the early Aquarius period or possibly late Happy Days epoch. To save money on the almost airline-like add-ons involved in having a big box home improvement chain do this project, we removed the counter tops ourselves. I use the term ourselves very loosely, of course, in that Husband did it. I thought we were well-prepared. Fortunately, they did not have a box on their billing slip for We Pulled out the Oven and OMGOMGOMG!! The workers even kindly looked away while I

Weekend Plans Cut Short

I haven't been at my current job long enough yet, apparently, because people still make the mistake of asking me what are you doing this weekend? I say that it is a mistake to ask me about my weekend plans because that question is supposed to be followed with an ordinary answer like going to see a movie or yardwork. But when you ask me about my weekend plans, you're likely to get an answer like this: well, we'll be pretty busy getting ready for our pig auction. Husband has to give haircuts to 100+ pigs. Yes, you read that right. Pigs get haircuts. Husband is grooming them for the pig auction (we call it a sale) that we are having on Saturday. In the market for a pig? Head over here . Pigs have short, coarse hair that in days of old was used to make brushes (and maybe still today). Husband and other pig farmers clip the hair of the pigs shorter to make them look more appealing to potential buyers, who in this case are 4-H kids and parents looking for a hog to take to th