Babe

I really want a pot belly pig. We took Vaughn to the Holiday Kidfest this last weekend. This was the first time we’ve gone, and I must admit, I was a little disappointed. It did not live up to my expectations, but then again, things rarely do. I’m an idealist, you know? But, frankly, really. If you’re going to call something Kidfest!!! one infers a certain festival-like excitement in store. Instead, it was just a large gymnasium with a lot of out of work clowns hawking their wares, trying to look excited about doing the millionth balloon hat for one of Satan’s little minions, a preschooler.

Anyway, they had a petting zoo there, which cost money, of course, (not all were out of work). I use the term “petting” here loosely because it basically entailed having to pay an additional buck or so to get the cone with farm animal Kibbles and Bits to even get close to the animals. They had a barred fence between the animals and the kids (probably a smart litigious protection, but not as fun), so the animals wouldn’t give you the time of day unless you had something for them, and then you could only get close to the big ugly ones that managed to bully their way to the front. Vaughn seemed to enjoy himself, though, with the exception of when he started crying inexplicably and I stupidly thought he was upset because one of the thug goats had muscled his way in front of a little lamb and got a chunk of cone. I finally got him calmed down enough to enable me to translate the blubbereeze (a mccoyism. Definition: the coughs, spits and gags heard in between sobs that serves as a means of communication), that he wasn’t upset about the injustice of the food distribution. No, he was upset because HE wanted the cone. Ah, of course. Stupid me, expecting empathy for animals from a child who literally scares the piss and poop out of our cat. (ah, you know I love him)

Back to the pot belly pig. So there was this little pot belly pig in the corner of the enclosure in his own personal pen (I don’t know. I guess pigs don’t play well with sheep.) who was getting completely ignored. I have not had any particular affinity for pigs in the past, and was roundly disgusted with the whole pot belly pig fad back in the _____ (was it 80s? 90s?), but even I was feeling a little for the guy. I didn’t even think of giving him any food because, once again, stupidly I thought this was uniquely goat and sheep cuisine. It was only after the food was gone, and I saw the pig frantically trying to get some that I had the epiphany that pigs eat EVERYTHING. Anyway, because of the pig’s obvious deficits in the cute and cuddly department, Vaughn and the rest of the kids didn’t have any particular interest in petting the little guy. I suppose it was all that and then the little wet nose and soulful look in the eyes that created this sudden impulse to want to go out and buy a pig. I shared this newly formed enthusiasm with Dave, extolling the virtues of a pig over a dog, who just looked at me and shook his head and got that painfully patient look on his face that he always gets when I have one of my inspirations.

I’m going to get me a pig.