A Family Dinner
A breeze was blowing; even so, it was warm for March. The large
extended family had gathered for their annual Easter dinner. The Smith’s
two-bedroom clapboard house was not large enough to hold everyone comfortably;
but it was their turn and besides they liked the homey atmosphere brought on by
the crowd. The women were busy in the kitchen, chatting, laughing and loving
being together as they prepared the enormous feast. The men seemed to be in the
way in the house so they meandered to the front porch, spinning tales as the
children played ghost in the grave yard, running and squealing alongside the
house. They planned to have an egg hunt after dinner.
The mid-day meal was
something to behold. Sally had baked one of Jim’s finest hams. He raised the
best hogs in the country, if she did say so herself. However, best she could
remember; not everybody liked ham, so she had also baked a turkey and fried up
a couple of chickens. With all the fixings, they would have plenty. There was
always enough left over to feed an army.
The men sat in the
white rocking chairs and along the edge of the shaded porch talking.
“That ole Yorkshire
sow had her pigs yesterday,” Jim said.
“How many did she
have?” asked Jim’s nephew, Mike.
“She had twelve, but
she ate two of them.”
“What makes a hog do
that?” Mike asked.
“She’s just a darn
fool, I guess. They sure are pretty, so white and clean, cute little fellows.”
“Let’s go see them,”
Mike said, stepping to the corner of the porch and sticking his head around the
corner. “Hey, kids want to go out to the barn to see some baby pigs?”
Mike’s boys came
running. Clay was four years old and Tommy was two. Since they lived in the city, they had never
seen a baby pig. Mike put out his cigarette and took Clay’s hand and swung
Tommy on his hip as they walked across the grassy lot to the shed where the
pigs were kept. Wide eyed the boys peered into the shadowy pen.
“Look daddy, the
babies are snuggled up close to their mommy,” Clay said.
“They’re sucking,
getting their dinner,” Mike said.
Tommy squirmed. “Let me hold him.”
“I don’t think the
mother pig would take too kindly to that. A sow can get mighty testy when
somebody’s fooling with her young,” Jim said.
The boys were excited
as they ran ahead of the men back to the house. Dinner would be ready soon.
Everyone was getting hungry. The men settled back on the porch and the children
went back to playing in the side yard, or so they thought. Jim was in the middle of telling about how
his bull had jumped the fence and gotten into a fight with his neighbor’s bull
when they heard Clay screaming:
“The sow’s got Tommy.”
The talking stopped.
Mike was on his feet and running toward the barn. Jim was right behind him.
Then they saw him; Tommy was running toward them. His clothes were torn. He was
covered in mud and blood. His eyes were set, solid white.
The women swarmed out
the door to see what the ruckus was about. Tommy’s mother grabbed Tommy and
jumped in their car. Mike drove with the lights on and the horn blowing causing
vehicles to pull to the side of the road to let them pass. The hospital
emergency room was full, but they took Tommy ahead of the others. After
examining Tommy the doctor assured his parents; a few stitches and a good bath
would make Tommy almost as good as new.
When the sow saw
Tommy standing in the doorway, she ran over him getting back to her piglets
causing him to hit his head on a nail on the side of the shed. She stepped on
his back leaving a gash while burying his face in the mud.
Sows can weigh as much
as 600 pounds and are dangerous, especially when they have babies. Tommy was a
fortunate little boy. Had he been inside the pen, there may have been a
different story to tell.
Dinner was on the
table, cold, and untouched. No one seemed to be hungry.
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