Week 20, Day 2 (This little piggy...)

I need a good laugh to bring down my blood pressure, but before I regale you with another "funny", time for a few quick updates.

Firstly about the naughty client - we went to the police yesterday and after a bit of persuasion, convinced them to accept our complaint of fraud. It turns out the woman in question is well practiced in this scam; another Chch firm laid on the catering for the event, and our complaint was added to the CIB file for further action. We're going to contact the firm in question and offer them all the information we've gleaned on this woman. Victims unite! Btw, it was a 21st, NOT a wedding!! Hard to spring a 'surprise' 21st on the parents, but I guess we can assume that this woman can't lie straight even in bed, so no surprises there.

On Monday we will lodge the debt with debt collectors. It might even work out that all the victims might be able to get together and perhaps file a claim on her known asset (the property at Amyes Rd, rateable value $250,000). If we share the legal costs between us, it may not be unfeasible, and perhaps the wench will learn a lesson that the law is not always in favour of the criminal.

But enough about that :-)

Tadpole is doing very well, and is very active. Every so often (about 6-10 times a day) he decides to get his jazzercise in, and the most common sensation is one that I can only describe as the action you employ when swimming laps and you do the flip at the end of the lane. Weird!! Lying on my back for any reason is now incredibly uncomfortable because of the fat baby.

I play little games with him, partly because I want to relieve his boredom and partly because it's a lot of fun to interact with your parasite :-) You know the gentle steady pats you give a baby to help them bring up wind and comfort them towards sleep? Well I do that (among other things), and he responds well. If he's really fidgety, the pats soothe him into a state of relaxation, and if he's playful he waits until I stop tapping then he belts outward towards my hand with some unidentified bit of his anatomy.

I wonder if babies have their own Morse Code? Three belts for "I'm hungry" and six for "Yuck, mother! Eat something different for a change!"

He shared some 'code' with his dad again last night :-)

Okay.. on with the funny!

As you know, we live on a lifestyle block and on occasion we try a little bit harder to be self sufficient. One of those efforts involves periodically raising some piglets for the freezer.

The second batch of piglets we raised were purchased at weaning age, from a local farmer. Picture this:

Setting: sloppy wet spring weather, nothing but mud underfoot. Early morning, just past dawn (ie middle of the night for me), gum-boots and swanndri's all round.

Cast: Paul (farmer), Wayne, Karl, two sows and a couple of dozen young piglets.

Props: Two electric fences, an open-topped stock crate, and our small truck.

Paul had the piglets gathered into the stock crate, and was very kindly vaccinating the four we were buying, before putting them into sacks for transport back to our farm. Two sows were behind the two fences nearby - one stayed in her 'house' snoring and unconcerned, the other stomped up and down along the fenceline, growling in increasing anger at the 'abuses' the piglets were being subjected to.

Can't really blame her. Pigs can make an ungodly noise when they feel aggrieved, and these babies were screaming shrilly about being handled and injected. Wayne was standing on the deck of the truck, and it was "Muggins" job (ie, me!) to collect each squirming sack from Paul and carry it over to Wayne, about 40 metres away.

Just our luck the syringe gun jammed and the first piglet had to be injected three times before we actually got any drench into him. By the third injection, he was achieving high C (good thing none of us wore glasses or they'd have shattered), and really did sound like he was being slowly murdered.

I guess from his point of view, that's just what it felt like. (I don't like needles either mate.. I feel for you!)

I watched the sow gain momentum and attitude, and asked Paul "She can't get to us, right???"

"Don't worry," he grinned, "there's two fences between her and us."

Bang!

"Um... Paul...? She's just gone through a fence!"

"No worries, there's another one yet. That'll hold her."

Mrs Pig continued to pace along the new fenceline, and the threats she was making were coherent enough that just for a moment I spoke fluent Pig.

"They're not even her babies," Paul continued. "Her piglets are asleep in her hut. These piglets belong to the sow in the next hut, and she couldn't give a damn."

(Did I mention this sow was a very large example of a cross between a Large White and a Landcross? It probably won't mean anything to non-piggy peoples, but she was a very solid individual, standing as high as a Shetland pony, and more yellow teeth showing than a doberman.)

We carried on regardless, with me keeping a very weather eye on Mrs Outraged, who clearly considered me to be the sole reason for her distress, and she kept pace with me as I carried the next piglet to the truck. I returned to the crate, reached for the next piglet, when ....................

oh SHIIIITTTTTTTTT here she comes!

Mrs Pig broke through the next electric fence like it was tissue paper, and came after me at full charge. As luck would have it, she broke out BETWEEN me and the truck, and the only thing I could do was to run around the opposite side of the stock crate, with her in hot pursuit.

Can you picture that? Now remember, I'm of Rubenesque stature, and I am possibly the most clumsy person imaginable. I trip over my own bare feet so often that I've broken nearly every toe I own at least twice. Now imagine me in steel-capped gumboots, in deep mud, RUNNING for goodness sakes, and trying to keep my footing as I spin around the tight corner and head back to the distant safety of the truck.

The sow's breath was hot on my calves as I skidded, sloshed and sped, wondering the whole time how many more steps before I lost it completely and ended up sprawled in the mud at the mercy of an enraged pig.

And where were the big brave heroic MEN during my flight?

Paul and Wayne were both yelling at the top of the lungs "RUN!"

(gee.. and I thought I was doing that)

I remember yelling "Truck!" (or something that maybe sounded a bit like that, do you blame me?)

Once we got past the stock crate, Paul leapt out and diverted her with some yells and whoops, but I didn't know that until I reached the safety of the truck (with my hero still standing on the deck, yelling encouragement). As far as I still knew, that sow was still after me the entire distance.

I never knew I could run so fast. Hell.. I didn't know I could run!

To add insult to injury, those big brave HELPFUL men laughed at me. Wayne, especially.

Bastards ;-) (but I got him back.. I'll tell you about that another time. Just say "Grandly" to me to remind me)

After that, I stayed in the cab of the truck and let them get the sow back in her pen. With me out of the way, she settled down P.D.Q. and it didn't take them long to finish.

When I challenged Wayne later as to where he'd mislaid his white knight's armour, he replied "We did help, we told you to run! Don't worry hon, we wouldn't have let that pig get you."

Yeah... it sure felt like it at the time.