Page 38 - Life's Outtakes 8
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Early one spring, my father purchased a cute little
weaner pig for us to raise. To me fell the assignment to
feed it. When it was small, it was fun to haul the food
scraps, garden weeds, and sour milk to it. The little pig
would climb right into the trough with his food. He
would root through it to eat the choicest bits first.
I would laugh at his antics as he would bite into
something that was less desirable. He would shake his
head and oink his displeasure. When he was full and
happy, he would come to me and nuzzle me, begging
for treats.
But as the summer progressed, he grew at an
average of five pounds per day, and he was no longer
cute. By the time he was over four hundred pounds, he
no longer begged for his treats, but knocked me down if
I withheld them.
When fall came and he was more than five
hundred pounds, my father decided it was time that the
pig moved on. We put the cattle rack on our old
pickup, and my father backed it up to the pig’s pen so
we could load him.
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