itsmecindi
Gold Member
Jose\'s Hog
I seperated out a hundred and fifty pound barrow yesterday, and penned him up in a holding pen for pickup this morning. Somehow during the night, he escaped.
Seven a.m. the customers arrived. A hispanic man named Jose, and his two brothers. The pig was for a fiesta for his daughter's wedding. Their english was kinda shaky, so I tried to explain what happened as best I could, and the adventure began.
The hog was now running with thirty other hogs anywhere from twenty to six hundred pounds. He already knew he had a price on his head, so singling him out again was a chore at best. We tried chasing, baiting, and penning him in a corner and tackling him, which almost worked until he wiggled his way free. It was at this point that Jose rattled off a three minute snarling speech that was dotted generously with the word 'pistola'.
Despite all this, he had a wicked grin on his face and a measured determination in his eyes that was something to see. Finally the hog was caught. We were all out of breath. I had long ago stop cussing. Jose, however, was still at it. I picked up something that started with what sounded like 'chin-cow' and ended up with 'madre'. Whatever was in between was unrecognizable but sounded pretty bad.
I apologized for the inconvenience, while Jose and his brothers clapped each other on the back, laughing and smiling.
"We come back! We come back again! Another hog later! Okay?" Jose said enthusiastically amid more smiling and back slapping.
The agreed upon amount of money changed hands and I marveled that he didn't insist on a discount after what he'd just been through. We shook hands and it was when our eyes met for the last time that I understood.
Jose didn't just get a hog for his daughter's wedding. He and his brothers got an adventure from which I felt sure many tales would be spun. Over time I can almost guarantee that the size of the hog and the degree of difficulty will grow until it becomes an event of epic proportions, and years down the road that hundred and fifty pound hog will be five hundred pounds with six inch cutters, with the chase lasting for days and spanning three counties. Suddenly I didn't feel so bad anymore. Despite the aggravation and the sweat and the dust and the cussing, I was comfortable with the fact that Jose got his money's worth. /forums/images/graemlins/grin.gif
I seperated out a hundred and fifty pound barrow yesterday, and penned him up in a holding pen for pickup this morning. Somehow during the night, he escaped.
Seven a.m. the customers arrived. A hispanic man named Jose, and his two brothers. The pig was for a fiesta for his daughter's wedding. Their english was kinda shaky, so I tried to explain what happened as best I could, and the adventure began.
The hog was now running with thirty other hogs anywhere from twenty to six hundred pounds. He already knew he had a price on his head, so singling him out again was a chore at best. We tried chasing, baiting, and penning him in a corner and tackling him, which almost worked until he wiggled his way free. It was at this point that Jose rattled off a three minute snarling speech that was dotted generously with the word 'pistola'.
Despite all this, he had a wicked grin on his face and a measured determination in his eyes that was something to see. Finally the hog was caught. We were all out of breath. I had long ago stop cussing. Jose, however, was still at it. I picked up something that started with what sounded like 'chin-cow' and ended up with 'madre'. Whatever was in between was unrecognizable but sounded pretty bad.
I apologized for the inconvenience, while Jose and his brothers clapped each other on the back, laughing and smiling.
"We come back! We come back again! Another hog later! Okay?" Jose said enthusiastically amid more smiling and back slapping.
The agreed upon amount of money changed hands and I marveled that he didn't insist on a discount after what he'd just been through. We shook hands and it was when our eyes met for the last time that I understood.
Jose didn't just get a hog for his daughter's wedding. He and his brothers got an adventure from which I felt sure many tales would be spun. Over time I can almost guarantee that the size of the hog and the degree of difficulty will grow until it becomes an event of epic proportions, and years down the road that hundred and fifty pound hog will be five hundred pounds with six inch cutters, with the chase lasting for days and spanning three counties. Suddenly I didn't feel so bad anymore. Despite the aggravation and the sweat and the dust and the cussing, I was comfortable with the fact that Jose got his money's worth. /forums/images/graemlins/grin.gif
