|Admit it . . . this looks like fun!|
Okay, we weren't supposed to do it.
In fact we had been strictly forbidden.
But we were kids.
Is that an excuse?
On the Stringam Ranch, two things were understood.
Horses were for riding.
That's what they were there for.
Pigs were food.
They were to be fed and left alone so they could grow and . . . produce.
Stirring them up was something that kept them from achieving their purpose.
And riding them definitely . . . stirred them up.
But it was so much fun! (Don't tell my dad.)
One could walk into the pig pen and socialize.
Pigs are very social animals and they love to play.
And after you have played 'pull the string' or 'follow the humans around the pen' or 'scratch me', the next logical step is 'ride the pig'.
Don't you agree?
Okay, Dad didn't see it, either.
He said that it might injure their backs.
Or slow their growth.
What did he know?
I weighed all of 40 pounds.
And the pigs probably maxed out at 240.
No way I was going to hurt anyone's back.
And they ran around all of the time.
It was a no-brainer.
And the one thing I was naturally blessed with was the ability to function with no brain.
Moving forward many years . . .
My second son and I had just finished building the new corrals.
We had turned the cow and pig in together to mow down some of the weeds.
They had a little altercation, in fact, two of them.
But that is another story.
Moving on . . .
Nog, the pig, was huge.
And slow moving.
What better time to introduce my youngest son to the wonderful world of 'pig riding'?
I suggested it.
"No, Mom," he said. "I'll fall off in the poop."
"There haven't been any animals in that pen before." I pointed out logically. "There is no poop."
It took a bit of coaxing, but I finally convinced him.
I helped him straddle the broad, red back, then stood back.
"Isn't that fun?"
The pig stood for a moment, chewing.
Then decided, in usual pig fashion, that where he really wanted to be was over . . . there!
He made a sharp left-hand turn.
Right out from under my son.
It was then that we discovered one of us had been right.
About the poop, I mean.
And it wasn't me.
Huh. Dad had been telling the truth all of those years ago.
Riding pigs is hazardous.
Just not to them.