Dedicated to Jess: who reminded me I have a blog
The story of the time I broke up with a pig
Wilbur and I had a whirlwind romance that ended in domestic violence. Never again will I be wooed by his porcine charms. He was all swagger and strut in his auburn glory and I was a naïve dairy maid, innocent to the ways of piggy treachery. As Wilbur started to grow, his nudges became more forceful until one day, I was finished with my milking (the milk pail still in my lily white hand) and I decided to let Wilbur out. I wanted him to be able to run free in the barnyard, free to rut and eat chicken poop. I opened the gate with a brilliant smile and a cheery hello, only to meet the gaze of my once gentle love, now grown into an aggressively greedy and demanding man-child. He saw the milk pail (in my lily white hand) and lunged for it. I realized my mistake and kicked out at him. “No Wilbur! Look into my eyes! Do not destroy what we have together!” He lunged doggedly again for the milk and nudged my leg forcefully. I kicked out again, this time my Croc covered foot laying a glancing blow on his massive shoulder. This made him angry and he went for me. He bit my thigh. Our love was severed like the tender flesh of my hip/thigh/butt intersection. I screamed and started to run backward, kicking and holding the milk pail high. I didn’t spill a drop of the milk, but I sure did cry.