All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others.
– George Orwell
To market, to market, to buy a fat pig;Home again, home again, jiggety jig.To market, to market, to buy a fine hog;Home again, home again, joggety jog.
– Unknown
One of Annelise’s favorite things at bedtime is to curl up with me and have me tell her a story. And true to toddler form, it is the same story every night – the Three Little Piggies.
In the last few days, however, ‘Liese has been changing things up in the details. Sometimes the villain is the Big, Bad Mushroom. Sometimes she instructs me to replace one of the characters with “Sweets-o” which is what she calls herself.
A few nights ago the story was “The Two Little Pigs and Sweets-o”. And it went something like this…
“Once upon a time there were two little pigs and Sweets-o. And they went out to build their homes. The first pig built his house out of straw, the second out of sticks. And Sweets-o built her house out of bricks…”
OK. You know how it goes. “Let me in…”; “Not by the hair on my chinney-chin-chin”; Huffing and Puffing; catastrophic pig house failure; squealing and running; repeat with next building material.
All was going as expected until…
Daddy: And Sweets-o said, “Not by the hair on my chinney…”
Sweets: No, Daddy!
Daddy:…?
Sweets: Sweets-o says, “OK, Wolf!”
Daddy: She opens the door?
Sweets: Uh-Huh. [
I could hear the grin in her voice]
…
Daddy: But he’ll eat the piggies!
Sweets: I not like piggies.
…
Daddy: [
LMAO] OK. So Sweets-o says, “OK, Wolf!” And they shared a nice pork dinner.
Sweets: Don’t forget sing the piggy song!
Daddy: [
still LMAO… and singing] “Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf…”
Tink, I want to know how you did this to my daughter.
How I Freaked Out Great FallsFair Warning: This story is funny, but largely about turning a wild animal into food. If you object to the consumption of meat or like to believe it grows in little shrink-wrapped packages, you might want to stop now. I won’t mind.It is always allowable to ask for artichoke jelly with your boiled venison; however there are houses where this is not supplied.
– Lewis Carroll, Hints for Etiquette: Or, Dining Out Made Easy
Way back when, I lived in a moderately upscale neighborhood in the definitely upscale area of Great Falls, Virginia. Some of our neighbors were nice enough, but many were, shall we say, very impressed with themselves. That would have been easy enough to ignore except there was a pipestem next to our house, placing one of the most self absorbed of the lot directly behind us – we will call them The Snooties. They complained to the HOA because they felt we had too many outdoor toys. They complained to the HOA about a brush pile on community property behind us (not our brush). But one day in May, I achieved the all time complaint – they tried to get me arrested! Heeee!
Early that afternoon I was driving with my family through a nearby town in a Buick sedan. In case you have never tried it, two parents and three kids in car seats neatly fill a Buick sedan. Traffic was heavy and moving fast when Bambi’s mom jumped out right behind us. She failed to avoid the car in the first lane which sent her flying over the second lane to land twitching in the median.
I pulled a U-turn and parked on the median. The poor thing was twitching and gasping while it tried to keep moving. I determined later that she had broken three legs and her back. So right there in the median, as DC suburban traffic whipped by on either side, I put her out of her misery. Now here is where the freaking out begins. The only thing I had with which to give her the mercy was a hatchet. Several cars nearly wrecked as I dispatched the poor critter.
Now, understand – I am a carnivore; my wife is a carnivore; and we are raising a little clan of carnivores. I am also a thrifty soul (I think it is the Scot in me) and did not like the idea of all that prime, suburban garden fed carnivore palaver going to waste. So when the local sheriff deputy showed up I asked if I could take it home. Being grateful to me for sparing him one of his bullets (and all the associated paperwork) he agreed. And further freaking ensued.
I mentioned that the Buick was fully filled with family members? So I tied the thing onto the trunk with a length of rope. And not wanting to have quite the mess at home I decided to let it, uh… shall we say, drain along the way. So out came the Swiss army knife. And commenced the draining. There were many more near wrecks between that median and our Great Falls home that afternoon. As I pulled into the neighborhood, we actually had a lady scream at the sight of us.
When we got home, I had to hang it to field dress and skin the carcass. I hung it in the most discreet spot I had – our back deck. It was there just long enough for me to clean and skin it (I took it inside to butcher it). No one could see it there – no one, that is, except the Snooties.
Ms. Snooty went whipping up the pipestem in her little Cabriolet just as I was pulling the skin off. She smoked her tires she stopped so fast. When she shrilled, “What is THAT!”, I could not contain my basically redneck self.
“Roadkill”, I replied with a big grin. She completely lost all composure.
Not 15 minutes later there was a county police cruiser in front of their house and the officer was taking statements with regard to whether I had murdered the victim outside of the appointed season. When the officer found out the death had taken place in another jurisdiction, she told the Snooties there was no crime – and came over to our house for a nice little chat.
Now, let it be understood. I did nothing that day for the shock value. In fact I did all I could under the circumstances to minimize it. Mostly my actions were driven by a desire to minimize suffering and waste. OK – and a taste for venison bar-b-que. What’s the point? I dunno; I don’t suppose there is one. I guess I just thought it was funny how I freaked out Great Falls.
