The Lucifer Pig

So, I've got this crazy pig, a Vietnamese pot bellied pig, a male, an intact male, and around this time of year for the last two years he gets downright unmanageable. Oh yeah he's a LARGE pig. I'd put him at least 150. He resembles a mini-tank...or a bulldozer....or maybe a rhinoceros is a more apt description. He has large tusks sticking out each side of his jaw. Sharp ones! He has huge teeth and an huge mouth and he is stronger than an ox. 

Now, nine months out of the year he's a really friendly guy. Follows us around the yard and wants belly rubs. But when fall rolls around he becomes a horny, disgusting lucifer of a pig. The bastard is downright scary and dangerous. I should have had him cut when he was young but the vet wouldn't do it and the proscribed method was to find an old farmer who knew how to wield a razor blade. This method involved no anesthesia and I just couldn't subject him to that. I cannot overstate how much I regret that unfortunate decision.

Fall is apparently mating season for pot bellied pigs, regardless of whether or not another pig of the opposite sex is nearby. There isn't a female pig anywhere near my house so the male pig, being the incredibly intelligent animal that he is, has found multiple substitutes for his absent piggy partner. Last year it was logs of firewood and a couple of empty white barrels. When he can get one he has settled for feed buckets. Pretty much anything with a round shape that isn't cemented down will do as a stand in for the real thing. 

This season the lucky girl is the ever lovely rectangular garbage can with wheels. You know, the ones that have to be placed at the end of a drive on trash day? Those. 

Since fall rolled around poor ol piggy has fallen very hard  in lust with the trash cans of two neighbors. Since the trash picks up on my side of the street all the cans have to be placed on that side. When piggy hears them rolling down the driveways destined for his side of the road he squeals with delight. He starts plotting. Gets very busy. And within minutes he has bitten through the chain link fence and worked himself free. We can't keep him penned up on trash day short of a damn underground concrete bunker. I'd put money on him even getting out of that when his gals stand so invitingly at the end of the driveway. 

And then, by god, come Friday morning it's on. And he's on....the trash cans.

As soon as the truck empties them and makes them easier to roll around and have his way with them, he shoots down the driveway like a pig with an ACME rocket attached to his ass and right there in front of God and everybody  he proceeds to make passionate love to his trash can. Doesn't matter which one he gets to first. Apparently he is equally fond of both. He knocks it down, rolls it around, mounts it from all sides and has his undisputed way with it.  With people driving and neighbors with small impressionable children looking on he sprays his nasty piggy jizz into every orifice of his trash can gal all the while squealing and grunting with delight. The wheels, the underside, the handle, he opens the top and gives the inside a good working over too. No can left unjizzed is the motto of this particular pig. And he can go at it for hours. Its like Ron Jeremy eat your heart out.

Last week he got my neighbor from across the streets can and rolled it into the woods. I didn't see it until a few days later. I retrieved it and washed it off and had my husband walk it back over to their house. They weren't home so he was spared the humiliation of offering an explanation. However, this past Friday they saw me at the mailbox and I had to offer up the explanation. Not fun. They are awesome people though, and having seen him go at it with one round object or another over the last few years, including the large plastic pumpkin belonging to the neighbor on my side of the street, they have developed a sense of humor about it. After we returned the can we were able to quarantine and barricade the bacony love machine....until this Friday morning anyway. And that's when all he'll broke loose.

One minute he is seemingly secure in his chain link fence and the next thing you hear is the loud bumping sound of him rolling around one of his bulky girlfriends. Then you have to go tearing out the door and down the driveway to try and wrestle one of his girls away from him. And that, my friends is no easy task. As I mentioned earlier he's a large, strong animal with huge teeth and he uses all of those attributes to keep anyone from disentangling him from his love interest. This Friday my husband went down and took the first can away from him. The pig fought him all the way back up the drive way. Piggy will bite in and hold on. And it's not like you can kick him off. You'd be apt to lose a foot. It's not like you can physically restrain him in any way at all. He's shaped like a muscular bullet and there is no where to grab hold of him. And even if you could grab hold of him no one wants to touch the filthy genetic material slime covered mean bastard anyway. ICK!!!

Well, as I said, my husband gets the first can away and eventually piggy returns to his own yard. We tried to trick him into going up. He was having none of it. None. Of. It. And all we could do is wait for round two. We didn't have to wait long either. Directly we heard the hollow booming sound of the empty can being raped from the bottom of the driveway. 

Now, I had just taken a shower and was on my way somewhere and didn't want to be anywhere the foulness of that beast. I thought, "Dammit I'm gonna get hog shit on my shoes and goo no telling where else on my person". I did not want to help. But since my husband did the first one alone I agreed, very reluctantly, to help him this go round.

Now on the first disentangling adventure none of the neighbors were out and about. Not so lucky this go round. My neighbor Budrow, a large and humorous black man with a deep voice and manner of speaking that always makes him sound like he's eating a large greasy pork chop, had ventured out to sit on his porch. Piggy had the other neighbors barrel just off the side of the road and...well you know what he was doing. At first my husband and I just stood there trying to devise a way to get the can away from him safely. The can was down a mild embankment covered with saw briers and slicker than goose shit. No good footing was to be had and the last thing on earth either of us wanted was to lose our footing and fall victim to the sexual advances, hell let's be really honest...it would have been sexual assault, of this rampaging, oinking, squealing horror. So, no going down the embankment to get it. Finally I retrieved a large stick from the truck and from a safe distance I was able to push and prod the pig off enough for my husband to grab the horribly defiled can and sprint for the damn truck to safety. 

All the while this spectacle is unfolding I can hear my neighbor howling and snorting laughter on his front porch. Right in the middle of our trying to get the can my neighbor hollers out, "Terry and Loretta das da horniest pig ah eva did see."  After the had exhausted his laughter over that witticism he hollers out, "Dat dar pig coulda been a porn star." And when he says porn it comes out sounding like it rhymes with cone. It's like pawn star.

When he said that I nearly fell down in the middle of the road laughing. If anything had been coming I would have been run over. There was no getting control over myself at that point because I am a sucker for humor, even sometimes at my on expense, and I'm sorry but that shit was funny.

I told my neighbor I had his can and would bring it back once it had been de-pigged. By this time piggy had run off to destination unknown and we thought since we now had both cans we were done with the humiliation at least until next Friday.

Wrong!

The very next day my neighbor drives up in my yard and asks for his trash can back. He also mentions that the sneaky pig has stashed a barrel (one that we had been searching for for months) behind his house in a ditch. He kindly requested that we get the barrel while we were there in an effort to keep piggy out of his yard. So we back the truck down again. My husband gets out and goes over to first get the barrel. Luckily piggy was elsewhere at the time, probably having his way with a tree in the woods or some such thing, so there was no wrestling it away from him. As soon as my husband reaches for the barrel my neighbor hollers out in his 'I'm eating a delicious, greasy pork chop voice, "I woulda had brought dat back to you but after all dat love he been done made to it I ain't wanna touch it."

Now, I like the pig when he isn't on a sexual assault rampage of all inanimate objects not welded, nailed or cemented down, but I've had enough. Enough to the point where if the guy who is supposed to come and relieve me of this terrible burden doesn't hurry, piggy is likely to meet with an unhappy end. 

I've always heard that vietnamese pot bellied pigs aren't good to eat. But as a friend so poignantly asked me the other day when I relayed this story, "Well, what in the hell do the Vietnamese do with them?"