Swim with your Hog Day
By Clet Litter from the Ozarks
Sumner’s Pond is open and busy with townfolk splashing and carrying on like clueless fools. The snack bar is convenient with prices marked down to full retail.
Old Man Sumner still holds Wednesday Swim with Your Hog Day. I tried to get Sid, my pig, to go, but he wouldn’t climb into my pickup truck bed. He knew where we were headed and he didn’t want any part of it. I mentioned this to Morton Trubletoof, cause he knows a lotta bout animals and their ways. He offered, “I’ll talk to your pet and find out what’s bothering him.”
Morton come back with the answer, “Sid is shy about going to the Swim with Your Hog Day. The other hogs tease him over being too thin. They sing hurtful songs like, ‘This little piggy went wee-wee-wee all the way home to his private little pond.’”
It made sense cause of his early days as a piglet. We had to pay the vet to examine him. Doc Muley said, “Your pig has himself a dose of Coccidiosis.” Sid survived, but it messed up his stomach, and he didn’t gain the weight that his siblings did. Course, he never got fat enough to butcher. His brothers and sisters gained pounds like they were 4-H Club projects. He visited them in the smokehouse till I finished off the rest of his kinfolk at my kitchen table a year ago.
I oughta explain the name Sid. No, it ain’t short for Sidney. When he was two, Punkin suggested we name him. She wanted to christen him after his disease, Coccidiosis, but it didn’t sound right when we said it out loud, Cocci. So, we called him Sid.
Mumford Pickens gets to wondering about stuff, specially after a night of quality control testing his untaxed whiskey inventory. He asked me, “Why call something wireless? We don’t call automobiles, horseless carriages anymore. We don’t say wireless radio … and what does Wi-Fi mean?”
My comment was, “I don’t know.”
Contact Clet Litter at email@example.com. You know you wanna.