1998 was the Year of the Pig, at least in our family. In the Chinese calendar, it was the Year of the Tiger, but that summer we raised Rufus, a spring pig in 4H, and Meghan aged 13, Allie 10, Sam 7, and me and Dale middle-aged and feeling it.
After school and for several weekends, Dale and Meghan dug trenches and poured cement for a pig pen–one that a 250+ pound pig could not escape. We were city slickers, suburbanites really, and understood cats and dogs, hamsters and parakeets. With a dismal knowledge of livestock, we relied on 4H leaders to teach us what we needed to know, basically everything. As the saying goes, “When in the rurals, do as the rurals do.” We lived on the edge of suburbia, surrounded by farmland. We could do this.
Rufus arrived straight from his birthplace, a few miles down the road at a respectable 70 pounds. He needed to gain another 160+ pounds before the Monterey County State Fair. So, began our foray into farming, which meant extra work for me and Dale, as we oversaw twice daily feedings, stall cleanings, and pig walks, drove to feed stores for hay and feed, carted water to the trough, and drove kids to weekly 4H meetings.
Pigs are smart; they bark like dogs, chase paper flying in the wind, sprint when a gate swings open. Within minutes of “rooting” in his new pen, Rufus found the waterer, a large PVC pipe with a mammary gland-like metal tube. Knowing where to find water proves pigs’ intelligence, and Rufus was brilliant. He figured out how to shower by leaning his butt against the nozzle and make a sloppy pool of mud to wallow in. Five gallons of water emptied quickly, so Dale and I replenished the supply hourly. Good thing we were on summer break.
I cried during Rufus’s “weigh-in” at the fair, anticipating the loss of my swine companion, while Meghan calculated her potential earnings from his 265 pounds at auction. I think she looked forward to sleeping in past 6 am. Rufus won his weight-class, Meghan and Rufus performed well in showmanship, and I held it together until Sunday night when the fair ended. It took me a year to recover emotionally.
Love is Complicated 