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He came with his father this morning to buy two gilts. I was watching him out of the corner of my eye, holding a little boar while my husband Fred was performing a castration. I was a little concerned that the boy might get queasy. It's not a messy procedure, but the way the pigs carry on, you would think they were being burned alive. He was about six or seven I guess, wearing overalls, the bib pockets stuffed full of God knows what all little boys carry, one hand crammed in his hip pocket, fiddling with something. The red sucker he had plugged in his mouth moved from one side of his jaw to the other, and he squinted in the morning sunlight as he watched the process.
"Why ya havta do that?" he asked, taking the sucker out of his mouth and holding it pinched between thumb and forefinger as he waited for his answer. Three grownups, Fred, and I, and the boy's father all started talking at once, each wanting to explain it in the most reasonable and gentle manner. Fred took center stage. He did very well.
"Oh". The sucker went back in and then came right back out.
"Does it hurt?"
"Well," I say, "I guess it has to hurt a little, but it heals up pretty fast. I think it's more scary than anything."
"Oh"
The sucker went back in. Father and son waited patiently while we disinfected the little boar. Fred dropped the now useless family credentials from the pig, in a bucket at his feet and we washed our hands in preparation of catching their pigs. The sucker came out again and I cringed. I knew what the next question was going to be.
"Whatcha gonna do with them now?" He asked, eyes serious as a heart attack as he studied the contents of the bucket. Before I could say anything Fred launched into his standard answer.
"Gonna make some soup" Fred says, "throw in a hambone or two, a few carrots. Good stuff." Of course we weren't. We were going to bury them as usual, but Fred has that tendency to tease, likes nothing better to hear 'ooohh, gross, that's nasty', and so on.
The boy stood there holding that sucker in his hand as he mulled it all over and then he met Fred's eyes and smiled a wry little smile. He was not unaccustomed to the feeling of someone tugging on his leg, apparently.
"Oh" he said simply, after a moment or two, and then he looked up at his dad, " 'mind me not to eat here."
Back in went the sucker, and he grinned widely around the stick, clearly proud of the fact that he had caught the joke. I thought we all were going to die laughing. I nudged Fred.
"You just met your match."
We all enjoyed a good laugh, and while dad carried away two fat healthy little pigs, son went off walking just a little bit taller than he had been when he got here.
"Why ya havta do that?" he asked, taking the sucker out of his mouth and holding it pinched between thumb and forefinger as he waited for his answer. Three grownups, Fred, and I, and the boy's father all started talking at once, each wanting to explain it in the most reasonable and gentle manner. Fred took center stage. He did very well.
"Oh". The sucker went back in and then came right back out.
"Does it hurt?"
"Well," I say, "I guess it has to hurt a little, but it heals up pretty fast. I think it's more scary than anything."
"Oh"
The sucker went back in. Father and son waited patiently while we disinfected the little boar. Fred dropped the now useless family credentials from the pig, in a bucket at his feet and we washed our hands in preparation of catching their pigs. The sucker came out again and I cringed. I knew what the next question was going to be.
"Whatcha gonna do with them now?" He asked, eyes serious as a heart attack as he studied the contents of the bucket. Before I could say anything Fred launched into his standard answer.
"Gonna make some soup" Fred says, "throw in a hambone or two, a few carrots. Good stuff." Of course we weren't. We were going to bury them as usual, but Fred has that tendency to tease, likes nothing better to hear 'ooohh, gross, that's nasty', and so on.
The boy stood there holding that sucker in his hand as he mulled it all over and then he met Fred's eyes and smiled a wry little smile. He was not unaccustomed to the feeling of someone tugging on his leg, apparently.
"Oh" he said simply, after a moment or two, and then he looked up at his dad, " 'mind me not to eat here."
Back in went the sucker, and he grinned widely around the stick, clearly proud of the fact that he had caught the joke. I thought we all were going to die laughing. I nudged Fred.
"You just met your match."
We all enjoyed a good laugh, and while dad carried away two fat healthy little pigs, son went off walking just a little bit taller than he had been when he got here.
