It never happens. We have a plan. We’re running on a tight schedule, but it never happens. We shouldn’t even make plans. Seriously!
I had every intention of coming home, quickly doing my part of the chores, and washing eggs to catch up for going to bed the night before. Here’s what really happened:
“I need you help,” the rancher hollered. “I’m on my way,” she said as she sauntered down the drive in no big hurry, “Why what’s wrong?”
“We had pigs. We need to move her.”
They were running so far behind these days. They counted on Saturdays to do most of the work and lately, all of their days not just Saturdays, had been filled with rain. Everything was saturated and the days and nights were still cool. They needed to get the piglets into the warmth and protection of some well-built shelter.
First, they moved one sow out so they could use her shelter. Then, they stepped into the pen to gather up the 5 little piglets from the mud and the muck.
The rancher said, “she should just follow us out.”
She did, and it seemed as if it would be an easy transition. They should have known. Nothing was ever easy at the ranch. She ran down one way and then another. They chased her, tried to block her, redirected her, and started all over again.
The rancher and his wife loved each other. They laughed together, kissed, hugged, and generally enjoyed each other’s company, but when times grew tense, there was much in the way of yelling and cursing. Often, it was directed at each other.
And so they were. Two people stood in the field trying to outrun a sow with a mind of her own in the piles of mud and soft earth. No matter how hard they tried, they could not get her to turn at just the right time. She ran circles around them. The rancher told the sow that soon, she would tire and he would win. She didn’t listen. The rancher yelled at his wife for not being a better ranch hand. She let an expletive fly.
Eventually, the sow was tired. The rancher was tired. Still, she would not go. As a last resort, he grabbed her by the tail and walked-pushed her over to the farrowing house. She wouldn’t go in. He pushed and pulled and shoved; she was in. Just as suddenly, she was out again and the rancher was yelling at his wife (he softened his words with a “honey” at the end of them).
This time, she grabbed the sow’s tail. She tugged and pulled, trying to make the sow do what she wanted. Her boots were stuck in the mud and muck. Suddenly, she lost her balance. She couldn’t step back to balance herself. Her boots were glued to the earth. And that’s how she came to have her backend sprawled in 6 inches of mud and all oh so much more! The rancher, in all his sympathy, said, “Oh great!” She pulled herself up and kept working. She felt like–never mind. Anyway, she finished her chores in her wet muddy clothes because that’s what she had to do.
At least it was good for a laugh and she had a priceless butt picture to go with it!