So I’ve been trying to blog weekly. So far I’m failing. I have a couple of half written posts in my drafts, but instead of finishing one of them I’m going to tell you about our escapee pig. Not the first time escapees, those ones are in our freezer now, but the Tuesday escapee.
Tuesdays are the worst days for being busy, we skipped art class because the kids had been sick the night before, but we still had Speech Therapy, Ballet, Grocery shopping, and I volunteer as a parent adviser for a group that counsels to parents who have recently received a diagnosis of an Autism Spectrum disorder, all back to back .
I can never seem to get us out the door without rushing despite my best efforts, I honestly think my kids think that HURRY UP , WE’RE LATE means: okay guys it’s time to go now. Now this Tuesday was unusual, we were running short on time as usual, but we were about to leave with enough time to get where we were going without the rushing. Yay!
I was putting winter outerwear on the kids (isn’t that the worst about Canadian winters? Needing an extra 20 mins to get dressed to go out) and I had Micah on the floor. Dash, our Jack Russel, was barking like mad to be let in, and I was annoyed by it as I had just let him out. I tell Petra please let Dash in, and so she flings open the inner door and starts shouting “Oh no, Oh no, OH NO!” From where I was standing I look out the screened window of the outer door expecting to see a person standing out there perhaps, and see nothing.
“He’s biting her!” Screams Petra, her being the new puppy Audrey.
Dash?, I think, so I take a step forward and this is what I see, two dogs and our pig waiting to be let in.
The pig is not a pet, she’s livestock. Not being in her pen means we are no longer not late. I have to coax her back.
Pigs are Smart. They don’t do much they don’t want to do. She also weighs about 100-130 lbs: I can’t lift her.
Darn! I spend a lot of time trying to convince that pig to get in her pen. All the while thinking about how we’re going to be late for speech therapy, where we pay 120$ an hour whether we’re there or not. In the end she’s happy to follow me around like a puppy, but I can’t get her back in to the pen, even with the yummy slop bucket from the house. So I start packing the kids up to go.
Well that pig hung out with us the whole time running towards us and away from us, and eventually as I’m trying to do Micah up in his car seat she tries to get in our van on the other side with the kids. Ahh! What can I do! I’m on the wrong side and she’s halfway in already. Crap!
I’m pausing here, to remind you of this: Gobsmacked at the effort of it all. Remember Elijah kicking our animals? Remember me all worried that he was mean and just didn’t get it? Well that pig is halfway in the van, the kids are shrieking in the back that she’s going to get them and what do I say?
KICK HER ELIJAH! Kick her in the face, so she’ll get out! Reluctantly he did, and she got out.
Yeah…….Nothing like telling your kid to do something you told him to never do, never EVER do! I was so worked up about him and those animals, and in the end I’m shouting at him to kick her, in the face no less. Just goes to show you never know what life is going to throw at you.
After buckling the baby in I went around the other side and tried to buckle the kids in and that pig tried a handful of times to get in that van. She really wanted to be where we were.
Have you ever driven out of your driveway with a pig running her top speed, tromping through deep powder, snow spraying from her sides as she tries her best keep up with your vehicle, as you hit the gas hard, so as to leave her behind before you hit the road, all caught in the the frame of your side mirror? I have.
I was sure we’d have no pig when we got home, but we live in Canada and that cozy hay-lined lean-to and full feed trough was too much to give up and go wandering. When Kyle and the kids got home she was snuggled into the hay of her bed and I’d never know she had escaped if I hadn’t been there to see it.