Hogfeathers

In the musical "Chicago", there are songs that pick you up, grab you and don't let you go. Cell Block Tango for one, "Momma" Morton's slimy power song another. But, yesterday, as I climbed up into Blondie and maneuvered the truck and trailer around in the driveway to head out, another song kept repeating in my head, over and over, and only one line from the song "Nobody's Got No Class". The line? "Holy s***" I don't know if it being put to song made it more acceptable in my brain, or what, but it was there, and still keeps coming around. This is because I capably shred any last clingy bits of my gossamer shroud of sanity and took Youngest to buy two hogs.
Hogs.
Let me revue; we have horses, sheep, ducks, chickens, a prehistoric dinosaur, dogs, cats and a kitchen full of annoying little ants. And, now? Yes. Hogs.
To be clear, it was not one of those, "So, Bud, what should we do this afternoon?" "Hmmm. I know, Mom, let's go get some hogs!" This has been a drop trembling on the edge of an over full cup for a while. Youngest has wanted hogs for years. He is interested by the hog show at the fair and when he was about 5 announced he was going to show pigs. Third grade is the first year they can actually show animals at the county fair, and I thought I was toast back then. That was until the 3rd grade class read Charlotte's Web. Youngest came home, all teary, and said "I don't think I can take a pig this year, Mom." Sad for him and reality, but thankful for reprieve, I comforted him and said "Of course, baby. Some other time perhaps." Accompanied by some discreet fist pumping and a happy dance. So, now, made it to fifth grade, and screwing his courage to the sticking spot he determined he was ready.
He got books from the library, even read some of them, on small scale pig farming. I helped him determine where the pigs could be housed  (NOT in my barn) and Kendra and I spent a day cleaning out the back of one of the tractor bays and attempting to make it pig-proof. And, he went into action, calling people  who might know someone who might have pigs he could buy, and then calling those people. As, you might have figured, hogs are not all that common. Where there are hogs, there are bunches and bunches and no humans within miles, because, and this is no joke; Hogs smell bad. Really bad. And this is coming from a woman who makes her living fixing things that smell really bad, I mean, rotting skin and impacted anal glands ain't no bed of roses. And still, pigs are truly, deeply, madly stinky. There goes any hope of outdoor dinner parties this spring.
But Youngest went to a pig auction to learn how to choose a good show pig, he called a dear friend and neighbor whose children used to raise hogs and take them to fair and borrowed their waterer and feeder. He found someone who would sell him pigs and arranged to come get them, negotiated a price and asked me to drive, writing down the address and double checking the cell number in case we got lost. Whereupon the soundtrack from Chicago crept noisily into my brain. The kid is eleven, and all I have to do is drive? Okay. Okay. Holy s***, we have pigs.
Now, I wondered, why is this freaking me out so much? I like pigs. They are funny and meaty, and lazy and smart. I know I'm going to get attached, but the smelly part will make me miss them less, and I'll be so busy trying to bolster Youngest's spirits when they head off in that trailer to the slaughterhouse, that I won't feel much sorrow for myself. So, why the large dose of panic?
They don't lead. I cannot pick them up. They don't come when you call them, and yet, they need to get out of their pen every day and have a walk. So, I keep wondering.... when I walk out with Youngest, and we open the pen and let out 120 lbs of hog for a walk...then what? Will he come back? How far can a hog run before it gets tired? Chasing it around won't work, as you can't actually catch it and lead it anywhere, or beg it to follow you. These have not been pet pigs. They don't exactly see people as a plus. So, between Youngest and I they have been visited 4 times this morning. They have been brought oatmeal, carrots, coleslaw and some potato skins. I scrambled up an egg, and look forward to making them some lunch. I want them to see Youngest, or me, and visualize a ticket to gastric nirvana. Here, piggy, piggy, piggy. Holy.

When they arrived, Youngest filled their feeder, tested the waterer, and began to spread straw so they would have a nice soft bed.

Here they are, both "barrows", or castrated males. They are filthy now, but I look forward to Youngest giving them baths when it is a bit warmer, and we conquer that "will they come back" question. Youngest is working on names, and they switch frequently. I'll keep you posted on the final choice.