Moving a Drunken Pig...

No. That is not a typo.
I did say, "a drunken pig'.
Now, you may think that moving a pig that
is a sheet or two to the wind is a
bad idea and I can see where you may think that,
but moving a stone cold sober pig really
is much worse.
The time finally came to move PigPig
out of the barn and out to greener pastures.
Of course we waited until dark to do it.
Not intentionally, but time does slip away.

How does one move a pig anyway.
This took some thought. But Sweet Husband had it all
under control...... yeah. ok.
The plan involved feeding treats to the pig
and then slipping a rope around him and then a
come-a-long band under the armpits etc....
Nope.
Now, PigPig is a sweet pig, given to wanting belly rubs
and scritches when ever he can get them.
But PigPig just didn't get that we were trying to do him a great favor.

After half and hour or so of teaching all the barn
animals some new and colorful words Sweet Husband
realized that the plan needed some tweaking.
So, on to Plan B... slipping a rope around PigPig's back feet.
Plan B was no more effective than Plan A and the chickens
learned some more new and colorful words.
Now, at this point I need to describe the scene.
A big double stall just absolutely filled with pig filth
and several gallons of water in various puddles throughout.
Can you smell me now?
Take a moment and think about trying to capture
and unwilling 100 lb. unaltered boar in such conditions.
Now you get where Sweet Husband was coming from on this.
Plan C- Beer.
We stood and scratched and thought until we lit
upon the notion that softening up ol PigPig
would be advantageous.
So off I trotted to the fridge for a beer.
Three beers in we figured we were ready to give it all another go.

That was one beer too many.

And with the spoken prayer that the normally sweet
and docile PigPig was not a mean drunk,
off Sweet Husband went again into the fray.
What he found was a drunken pig.
Drunk pigs can scream, let me tell you.
What the neighbors must have thought we were doing, I cannot imagine.
So, on the rope went.. under the armpit and around the belly by the haunches.
It looked great, it was a sturdy get up. Pig on a rope. Nope.

PigPig was both unwilling to go and somewhat unable to go.
So, up went the back legs a la a wheelbarrow. Nope. Too heavy
and too short. Sweet Husband was killing himself. He made it about 50
feet down the barn before calling it quits.
So, there he stood with a screaming pig on a rope.
He called for the wagon. The little RadioFlyer that we use
for firewood etc... and off I go to fetch it.
PigPig is failing on his attempts to stand now.
Seriously drunken pig.
Up goes the pig into the wagon. This is a big pig
on a very small wagon. I had point with Sweet Husband
bringing up the rear and keeping the drunk on board.
Down we go through the barn and down the slope
and across the old pig lot... did I mention that it is pitch
dark at this point?
After a few stops to reposition the pig onto his haunches
and to giggle uncontrollably at what PigPig must think...
what with being good and wrecked for the first time
and on a wagon ride and all, we made it to the destination.
We did feel a bit bad about PigPig's coming morning.
We figured it wouldn't be pretty, what with waking up with
little or no clear memory on how he got there
other than a few snatches about a wagon
and floating on air.
Three beers is a hard road your first time out. gigglesnort



Pig love. Aaawwwwwww. Ain't it sweet?

And the small transport vehicle.

The end.