Friday night pig wrestling
Jun 18, 2014 | 8578 views | 0 0 comments | 1292 1292 recommendations | email to a friend | print
by Maxine Deeter

There is an old adage which says:  Don’t wrestle with a pig.  You both get dirty, and the pig likes it.

It was a quiet Friday night just before dusk, and my partner and I were vegging out in front of the TV.  Our TV sits between two windows that look onto our back yard. 

Suddenly he jumps up and says, “Look, look at what’s out there.” 

He does this to me quite often and gets agitated when I can’t “see”.  Not this time – I could see quite clearly a big pig rooting in our back lawn.

It’s the time of year when our garden and flowers have been planted and are emerging from the soil.  The last thing we wanted was for them to become pig fodder.  So my spouse runs out and attempts to herd the pig from our premises. 

Herding a pig is not easy.  The only experience I’ve had with it is watching the Junior Livestock kids guide their hogs around the arena by gently whacking them with big sticks.  Seems to me like the pigs still go about where they want to. 

My spouse is having trouble getting the pig to go out of the yard.  He lacked the big stick.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I’m on the phone calling Deputy Todd. Not, that we needed law enforcement for this situation, even though I knew our LE would be on evening patrol. 

No, I thought that the deputy and his family had a couple of pigs on their farm, and I wondered perhaps if one of them might be on the lam.

I’d heard recently – and I report it here less, or maybe much more, than actually happened – that the family had lost their steer while they were gone for a couple of weeks on vacation.  “When the cat’s away, the cow will play.” 

A good neighbor, seeing the wandering bovine and thinking it probably belonged to rancher “So and So”, put it in the nearby field with a bunch of other cattle. 

The last I heard, he was “lost” among his fellow creatures.  But, I have no doubt that he’ll be found (if he hasn’t been already) before its time for him to become T-bones and hamburger. 

But, no, the officer’s pigs were still safely ensconced in their pen.  I told him I’d call my granddaughter who knows about everything going on in the village. 

“How does she do that?” asked Deputy Todd. 

I don’t know, but she does have her finger on the pulse of the community. 

Alas, she was not home.  Ownership of the hog was still unclear.

Within a few minutes, Deputy Todd was on the scene of the escaped pig who was now wandering into the neighbor’s yard.  I don’t think they wanted him rooting there any more than we did.

About that time, my granddaughter’s spouse came by and stopped to see what was afoot.  He did not know pig ownership either.  He did offer to furnish a pen for incarceration of the pig until ownership could be established. 

I was not sure that was a good idea.  He is a “killer” as attested to by his three cute daughters who were with him. 

“He kills coyotes and rabbits all the time!” 

I could just see us getting an invitation to a barbeque the next night.  Main entrée:  roast pig!

By now the pig is making his way back to our place. 

“How do you catch a pig?”  I ask. 

“You grab him by the hind legs” replies Officer T. 

He is soon trying to do just that.  After several attempts he has the pig by both back ankles and is going:  “D-D-D-D-D, hoolldding a a a pppig is like hooldding a jjjjaacckkhaammmmer!” 

My Old Man (emphasis on “old” as opposed to the younger, muscly deputy) drops the tailgate of the deputymobile and joins the fray. 

I don’t think anyone stabbed the pig, but he was sure squealing like a stuck hog!  After a few WWF moves – some obviously illegal, like grabbing the pigs long, floppy ears – the critter is flung into the back of the pickup. 

May I say here, that observing all this, I did not think the pig was enjoying any of this wrestling match.

During all this, County dispatch has  been calling our deputy.  He is finally breathlessly able to respond explaining that he has been wrestling a pig. 

Dispatch:  “Say what!?” 

He rattles off a few of those LE numeric codes, one of which I think means “fugitive captured and secured” or something similar.  I doubt there is a code for “pig secured”.

Deputy T. heads to my grandson-in-law’s with the secured fugitive. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch, I’m on the phone to a neighbor who thinks the pig belongs to our mutual neighbors.  They have no phone, so I again contact our officer and he heads to the suspected owners home. 

Lots of traffic goes by our house, and I assume that our adventurous pig has been returned to his very own abode.

So ends an adventurous Friday night in Sierra La Sal.  By now it is 9:30 and time for bed.  Our LE heads back to his evening patrol, making our little village safe and secure from bandits and escaped livestock, and we head to bed.  Hopefully so did the pig.

Note:  the above narrative of Friday night’s events may or may not have been somewhat (or grossly) embellished for entertainment purposes.  I make no claims for accurate rendering of the event.
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