21 January 2009

Here an Oink, There an Oink....

hog: [hawg, hog] noun
1. a hoofed mammal of the family Suidae, order Artiodactyla, comprising boars and swine.

P.S. Also ugly and bad-smelling.

Monday night, after travelling all over the country, B and I made a final stop on the way home to check on our heifers. This set lives in O-Dub (Old Washington for you newbies), in a pasture, along a dead end road that feeds into several glamorous little ranchettes. The usual course of action is to drive down to the end of the "ranchy cul-de-sac" and turn the truck around right away. Of course, this night, we are pulling the Gooseneck trailer, so our turnaround is LOUD. Rattling, shaking, hopeyouweren'ttryingtosleep, fingernailsdownachalkboard LOUD.

The entire time we're driving down this dark lane, the hubs intermittently points out deer in the ditch, crossing the road, and jumping fences. So when we get our rig turned back around and facing towards the gate and I see him point again, I assume we are spotting more deer. Except now hubs is hootin' and hollerin' and turnin' on lights and rummaging in the backseat of the truck.

And then he finds what he's looking for.

He whips the gun into the front seat, missing my ducking head by THIS MUCH.

Good thing I have cat-like reflexes.

Otherwise known as good thing I am slumped over and falling asleep.

And then, all I hear, in this loud cacophany of a country-fried home video, is him releasing the dogs, him hollering instructions to them, the grunting of a hog scrambling by, a flashlight hitting the pavement, and the truck's emergency break grinding to a halt, pointed straight down into the ditch.

And suddenly...complete silence. Here I am, deserted and stranded in this truck, sideways in the road, pointing into the ditch, pitch blackness all around me, and then I see headlights.


So now we have ourselves a situation:
1. This truck can't get around our trailer and into their driveway.
2. I only drive stick shifts in a pasture.
3. Sans the pressure of a waiting vehicle.
4. It is late.
5. They are most likely writing down his license plate number.
6. HE is off in some woods in the dark with two dogs and a hog.
7. I'm sleepy.
8. Which means I'm cranky.
9. And I have to potty.

I start dialing his cell number. Lo and behold, he answers! He's on his way back, huffing and puffing his way up a steep ravine. And oh happy day, they caught themselves a hog.

By the time he gets back to the truck, the other truck has off-roaded itself through the ditch, up the other embankment, and down the driveway.

And then the hubs opens the truck door to tell me the Great Adventure. But I am so appalled by the amount of blood on his hands, dripping from his hands, that he could have been reciting the Bill of Rights for all I cared.

"Um, are you bleeding?"

Turns out, it's the hog's blood. And turns out, day-old Coke does a mean impression of some Palmolive.

1 comment:

  1. hey, at least it was only pig blood on his hands and not a wad of PARKER POOP PATTY!