A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck

of Samson. He can smell heat when we can’t. And if he does, she’ll change her tune.”
    We backed the
oxcart to
the small box pen, and put a ramp up for Samson. Removing the slats with Mr. Tanner, I got a look at that boar for the first time. He must have weighed four
or
even five hundred, and he was one big Poland. Mr. Tannergave him a prod and he left the cart walking down the ramp like a king. In his nose, the big brass ring caught the sun and it shined real bright.
    “All my sows are farrowed, so he’ll be more than happy to help. He’s been in a pen by his lonesome longer than a week. And he’s due.”
    I went around back and called Pinky. But she wouldn’t come, and she was too darn big to push, so I had to take a small switch to her. I swatted her good and proper all the way to the box pen, and in she went to mix with Samson. As she walked through the gate, Ben slapped a handful of lard on her rump. Under her tail.
    Pinky was large. But next to him, she looked only about half growed. She just looked at him, her nose close to the ground like it always was, trying to get a smell that would tell her what he was. Her rump had been dry as dust, but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t heat.
    Samson grunted. He walked to her and pushed her with his nose. She let him push her like that once more, then she backed away from him. He walked to her and by her, rubbing his shoulder against hers. He tried to smell her rump, but she bolted, kicking away at him with her hind feet. Several times he tried to get a good whiff of her, but she wasn’t holding still for it. Turning on him shegot her teeth onto his ear and tore its edge before Mr. Tanner could whack her a sharp blow with his stick.
    “All part of courting,” said he. “Samson just got his face slapped. That’s all.”
    The two hogs just stood there looking at each other, not doing anything. That’s when Ben Tanner lit up his pipe.
    “Your father,” he said. “How’s his health?”
    He asked the question real easy, like it didn’t matter none. But I knew it did. Ben Tanner looked at me when I didn’t say up, and he wanted an answer.
    “Fine,” I said. “Papa’s so sturdy, he never missed a day slaughtering his entire life.”
    I had to look away when I said it, and had no idea what I could of said next. As I was trying to think of something, Miss Sarah came out of the barn. Her three kittens were with her, but now they too were growed up almost as mighty as Miss Sarah herself.
    “Those are Miss Sarah’s kittens,” I said. “All growed.”
    “That old barn cat of mine, the big buff I call Caleb. If he ain’t the torn that serviced that litter I’ll ride Samson all the way home.”
    Looking at Samson, I figured there wasn’t a manliving or dead who could straddle him. He was one mean looking boar. Had a mean mouth, even though Ben Tanner probably tried to cut back each tusk with pliers or wire cutters. It was no picnic, I would wager, being a dentist to Samson.
    “Now that Caleb come to trespass on Miss Sarah,” I said, “it sure would be fitting if Samson would breed Pinky.”
    “Sure would. But mind, son. If he does, I expect a stud fee.”
    “Stud fee?”
    “Fifty dollars,” said Mr. Tanner, smiling. “Or two picks of the litter. You’re to choose.”
    “You can have two of her brood,” I said.
    “Done.”
    Now it was no longer a friendly visit; now it was real business, and Samson seemed to guess what we all expected of him. Butting hard into Pinky’s front shoulder with his snout, he half turned her about. Quick as silver, he jumped to her rear, pinning her up against the fence. Up on his back legs, he came down hard upon her, his forelegs up on her shoulders. His privates were alert and ready to breed her, and as she tried to move out from under him, he moved with her. His back legs strained forward to capture her, and his entire back and body was thrusting again and again. Pinky was squealing fromhis weight and the hurt of