feet stink, or what.
My father says, “Interesting,” and pulls his foot back like maybe they’ll take a leak on his four-hundred dollar Armani loafers.
“Don’t worry,” Garrett says, “They’re house broken.”
“Interesting,” my father says again. He’s not much into pig talk.
Toby, the male, is obviously the boss of the two. I’d say he weighs like eighty pounds. He’s black with bits of white splashed about his tail and snout. Dixie’s much smaller, maybe sixty pounds. She’s also black, but has less patches of white. They spend most of their time rooting. I watch, fascinated, as they snurdle about the house, their noses pressed into the carpet.
“Stray bits of food,” Garrett says. “They’ll eat anything, if you don’t watch them.”
These animals are highly intelligent. They stand back and appear to listen when Garrett tells them it’s time to go outside.
“Do your business guys,” he says, and laughs.
Toby and Dixie follow Garrett eagerly to the rear door of what is a very modest home.
“My parents are teachers,” Garrett says, for no particular reason. My father didn’t ask.
“These are my siblings,” Garrett adds proudly.
Which doesn’t surprise me in the least—I’d be proud to own them, too. They’re very clean, they don’t stink and they follow along like puppy dogs when Garrett calls them. Wherever did the ridiculous sayings regarding pigs come from? “Sweat like a hog.” They’re not sweating at all. “Dirty as a pig.” Their skin’s shiny and clean. “Stink like a pig.” And I already said they don’t stink. That part does amaze me. I thought they would.
Garrett takes them outside, but not before putting on these little leashes. Just like dogs. Daisy’s is multicolored and has some rhinestone on the collar. Toby’s is plain black. Boring.
I could sit and watch these root-a-pigs for hours. I’m liking Garrett more each minute. He’s so cute with his pigs. They’re very affectionate and demand a lot of attention and Garrett’s more than happy to give them all the attention they want.
But my father has had enough of pigs for one day.
“Well,” he says, “Ready for a bite to eat?”
The pigs oink in unison at the sound of the word “eat”. For sure, they’re very smart pigs. They have a good sense of smell and major good hearing, but I don’t think they see too well. Dixie ran into the door frame scampering after Garrett. And Toby ran into her.
“Mention food or anything close to it and they go hog wild,” Garrett quips and howls like a hyena.
“Get it? Hog wild? Ha ha ha,” he laughs again.
The look on my father’s face is completely blank. I know that look. It means he thinks Garrett is a complete idiot. My father’s being too harsh, as usual.
Garrett is a dork, yes, but certainly not an idiot. He knows all about potbellied pigs and has a 4.0 grade point. Physically he’s a bit of a disappointment, but still there’s just something about him. I really really like him. I’m not sure if it’s because he has my liver, or if I’m starting to see people from the inside out.
TWENTY-FOUR
The Silver Lining
Paige decides we need more excitement.
“Time to get some real road experience,” she says.
We’ve had our learner’s permits for all of two months. Her idea is for me to take my mother’s car again and pick them up. We’ll drive around in the country, then, head to the interstate.
“It’s your turn?” I tell her, but I know that won’t matter. Paige is the leader.
“So what? It’s more fun in your mother’s Rover,” Paige insists.
What’d I tell you? So, it’s settled. I’m to pick them up at eleven.
When kids take their parent’s car and drive around in the dark without much experience, sooner or later they’re bound to have an accident, right? Well, that’s not what happened. In fact, when Paige took her mother’s car, and both time’s Annalise took her father’s Jaguar, nothing bad happened.
My father says, “Interesting,” and pulls his foot back like maybe they’ll take a leak on his four-hundred dollar Armani loafers.
“Don’t worry,” Garrett says, “They’re house broken.”
“Interesting,” my father says again. He’s not much into pig talk.
Toby, the male, is obviously the boss of the two. I’d say he weighs like eighty pounds. He’s black with bits of white splashed about his tail and snout. Dixie’s much smaller, maybe sixty pounds. She’s also black, but has less patches of white. They spend most of their time rooting. I watch, fascinated, as they snurdle about the house, their noses pressed into the carpet.
“Stray bits of food,” Garrett says. “They’ll eat anything, if you don’t watch them.”
These animals are highly intelligent. They stand back and appear to listen when Garrett tells them it’s time to go outside.
“Do your business guys,” he says, and laughs.
Toby and Dixie follow Garrett eagerly to the rear door of what is a very modest home.
“My parents are teachers,” Garrett says, for no particular reason. My father didn’t ask.
“These are my siblings,” Garrett adds proudly.
Which doesn’t surprise me in the least—I’d be proud to own them, too. They’re very clean, they don’t stink and they follow along like puppy dogs when Garrett calls them. Wherever did the ridiculous sayings regarding pigs come from? “Sweat like a hog.” They’re not sweating at all. “Dirty as a pig.” Their skin’s shiny and clean. “Stink like a pig.” And I already said they don’t stink. That part does amaze me. I thought they would.
Garrett takes them outside, but not before putting on these little leashes. Just like dogs. Daisy’s is multicolored and has some rhinestone on the collar. Toby’s is plain black. Boring.
I could sit and watch these root-a-pigs for hours. I’m liking Garrett more each minute. He’s so cute with his pigs. They’re very affectionate and demand a lot of attention and Garrett’s more than happy to give them all the attention they want.
But my father has had enough of pigs for one day.
“Well,” he says, “Ready for a bite to eat?”
The pigs oink in unison at the sound of the word “eat”. For sure, they’re very smart pigs. They have a good sense of smell and major good hearing, but I don’t think they see too well. Dixie ran into the door frame scampering after Garrett. And Toby ran into her.
“Mention food or anything close to it and they go hog wild,” Garrett quips and howls like a hyena.
“Get it? Hog wild? Ha ha ha,” he laughs again.
The look on my father’s face is completely blank. I know that look. It means he thinks Garrett is a complete idiot. My father’s being too harsh, as usual.
Garrett is a dork, yes, but certainly not an idiot. He knows all about potbellied pigs and has a 4.0 grade point. Physically he’s a bit of a disappointment, but still there’s just something about him. I really really like him. I’m not sure if it’s because he has my liver, or if I’m starting to see people from the inside out.
TWENTY-FOUR
The Silver Lining
Paige decides we need more excitement.
“Time to get some real road experience,” she says.
We’ve had our learner’s permits for all of two months. Her idea is for me to take my mother’s car again and pick them up. We’ll drive around in the country, then, head to the interstate.
“It’s your turn?” I tell her, but I know that won’t matter. Paige is the leader.
“So what? It’s more fun in your mother’s Rover,” Paige insists.
What’d I tell you? So, it’s settled. I’m to pick them up at eleven.
When kids take their parent’s car and drive around in the dark without much experience, sooner or later they’re bound to have an accident, right? Well, that’s not what happened. In fact, when Paige took her mother’s car, and both time’s Annalise took her father’s Jaguar, nothing bad happened.
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